“Thought I’d find you up,” murmured the Saint. “Mind if I split a small lemonade with you?”
He had sidled past Carn into the miniature hall before the detective could answer, and Carn closed the front door resignedly.
“I didn’t expect to be honoured again so soon, Mr. Templar,” said the detective. “As a matter of fact, I’ve a visitor with me. . . .”
The last sentence was uttered in a tone that was intended to convey a gentle hint, as man of the world to man of the world, that the Saint should pause and consult his host before making himself at home, but the Saint had opened the door of the study before the detective had finished speaking.
“Why, it’s Miss Holm!” exclaimed the Saint. “Fancy meeting you!” He turned to Carn, who was reddening silently on the threshold. “I hope I’m not interrupting a consultation, Doc? Throw me out of the window if I cramp your style, won’t you? I mean, people never stand on ceremony with me. . . .”
“As a matter of fact,” said Carn, on the defensive, “Miss Holm simply came round for a chat.”
“No? Really?” said the Saint.
“Yes!” returned Carn loudly.
“Well, well!” said Simon, who was enjoying himself hugely. “And how are we, Miss Holm?”
He was wondering just how much she had told Carn, and she read the unspoken question in his eyes, and answered it.