"I'm seeing things, too."
"Surely not what I'm seeing. Describe to me carefully what you think you see."
"Well, there's a kind of liveried slave on the end of a dog leash. Then, on the other end of the leash is a mink coat, and inside the coat is a dachshund. The man is leading the dog — or vice versa — from, er, pillar to post."
The Saint sighed explosively.
"If you see it, too, there's nothing wrong with me, I guess."
The sad-faced little dog led the liveried attendant nearer. The dog wagged its tail at them, the attendant elevated his nose a trifle.
"Doesn't the little beast find that a trifle warm, this time of year?" he asked the attendant.
"It isn't a question of warmth, sir, it's — ah, shall we say face? He's a Meldon property, you know."
Simon could detect no trace of irony in tone or attitude.
"But — mink? A trifle on the ostentatious side?"