Simon paused while their drinks were delivered; and while he waited it crossed his mind that the trouble with all the creeps he had met so far in this business was that they responded to a leading question about as actively as a dead mouse would to a slab of Camembert. It also crossed his mind that a great deal of aimless chatter was being cast upon the chaste air of that burnished beanery.
Was there some dark and undefined purpose in the doctor's Hegelian calisthenics? Did that turgid bouillabaisse of un-semantic verbiage have significance, or was it only stalling for time? Surely the distinguished salver of psyches hadn't asked Simon and Avalon here to philosophise with them?
Well, the ulterior motives, if any, would be revealed in due course. Meanwhile, it seemed as if the vocal merry-go-round, if it had to keep rolling, could spin to more profitable purpose.
So Simon Templar, in that completely unexpected fashion of his which could be so disconcerting, turned the channels of the conversation towards another direction of his own choosing.
"In the Orient," he said, "the standard of living remains a fairly deplorable constant. Millions of those people put an astounding amount of energy into the process of survival, and what do they get?" His shrug answered the question.
Dr. Zellermann made a small motion with one hand. He took his fingers from the stem of his Martini glass and moved them. The Saint, who happened to be looking at the hand, marvelled that so much could be expressed in a gesture. The small, graceful, yet definite motion said as clearly as if the thought were expressed in boxcar letters: "But, my dear Mr. Templar!"
"What do they get?" Dr. Zellermann asked, looking somewhat like an equine bishop granting an indulgence. He answered his own question. "Life, my dear Mr. Templar — the only actually free gift in the universe. What they do with it is not only their business, but the end product is not open to censure or sympathy."
"Still the old free-will enthusiast?"
"That's all we have. What we do with it is our own fault."
"I can be president, eh, or dog catcher?"