Simon searched for words to express his revulsion at such perfidy, but before he had formulated the fitting phrase he was saved by the bell again. The same heaven-sent bellboy stood by the table again.
"Telephone, Mr Templar."
"Thank you," said the Saint, and really meant it.
He went out to the booth in the lobby and said: "Hullo."
"What the hell," roared the voice of Inspector Fernack, like a bursting dam, "are you doing there?"
The Saint smiled, and picked a cigarette out of the pack in his pocket.
"Hullo, John Henry," he said cordially. "I'm just finishing lunch and making love to a retired Ziegfeld girl. What are you doing?"
"How did you get loose?"
"I didn't. The FBI turned me loose. I promised to be a good boy, and they took one look at my cherubic countenance and knew they could trust me."
"If you think—"