"Raul," he said, "how could anyone get out of here without going through the lobby?"
If the maitre d'hotel had his own and incidentally erroneous theories about the Saint's motives, he was far too polished a diplomat to give them any expression. In addition to which, and for no professional reasons, he had long since taken the Saint under his generous wing.
"There is a back way out," he said. "Would you like to see it?"
"I might even fall in love with it," said the Saint.
They went down to the other end of the dining room, through well-organised pantries and one end of the clean busy kitchen, and past a row of food lockers to a wire-mesh door where the timekeeper rose from his little table and a plate of roast beef to let them out. Beyond that there was a short narrow passage and another door that opened inconspicuously on to Forty-fourth Street.
Simon stopped and looked back the way they had come. He pointed.
"Is that the service elevator?"
"Yes, sir. Do you want to use it?"
"That would get me upstairs and back again without going through the lobby too, wouldn't it?"
"Yes, sir."