"Yes," he said, "even in these days of flowing lucre, it must be sad to lose a good patient."
"I wasn't thinking of the money," Dr. Zellermann began. He broke off suddenly, leaving the remainder of the thought unexpressed. "How did you know he was a patient of mine?"
The Saint sipped at his Manhattan.
"I saw his name on your secretary's appointment pad," he said calmly.
"But look here, Templar. When were you in my office?"
"Oh, I thought you knew," Simon said with a touch of surprise. "I broke in on Thursday night."
3
This brought motionless silence to Dr. Zellermann. He eyed the Saint coldly for a long moment. Then he said: "Are you in the habit of breaking and entering?"
"I wouldn't say it's a habit, old boy. The word habit has connotations of dullness. As a matter of fact, I should say I have no habits whatever, as such, unless you classify breathing as a habit. That is one to which I cling with — on occasion — an almost psychotic firmness. There have been times, I admit, when certain persons, now among the dear departed, have tried to persuade me to give up breathing. I am glad to say that their wiles had no effect on my determination."
The doctor shook his head irritably.