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drink.
    “Naturally not,” he said. “That was rather a silly
question.”
    Sylvester Angert finished his drink and got out of his chair. He
laughed rather uncertainly.
    “I’m sorry I was so—so harsh when I first—er—arrived here, but the surprise … I guess I do owe you an apology at that. Perhaps we could get together for a
drink tomorrow.”
    “Perhaps,”
said the Saint noncommittally.
    “And now I’d better be getting up to my room. It’s getting late and I’ve had a hard day. Goodnight Miss Van Ess, Mr. Templar.”
    He ducked his head and scuttled out of the room.
    Madeline giggled.
    “A funny
little man,” she said.
    “Very. Will you excuse me for a second? I’ve got a couple of calls
to make.”
    He went into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. He called a local number which was not in
any directory, and talked
briefly with a man named Hamilton, whom very few people knew. Then he called the desk and exchanged a
few words with Information. He
returned to the living room, smil ing in his satisfaction.
    “A funny little man indeed,” he said. “There is no such
ani mal as the Choctaw Pipe and
Tube Company of Cleveland. And the suite above this is occupied by a senator who’s been living
there ever since his misguided constituents banded to gether in a conspiracy to get him out of his home state.”
    “Then—— ”
    “Oh, he’s
harmless,” the Saint assured her. “I don’t think he’ll bother us
again. It will be somebody very different from little Sylvester who’ll probably
get the next assignment.
    “But who’s he working for?”
    “The same
people, my dear, who seem to be determined that your father’s invention is going to blush unseen. I only hope for your sake that hereafter they limit their
activities to such things as visits
by Sylvester Angert. But I’m afraid they won’t.”
    “What
difference does it make?” she protested. “If you’ll really help me—and if you’re really
like any of the things I’ve read about
you—you should be able to wangle an appointment with Imberline in a few days at the outside.”
    The Saint’s fingers combed through his hair. The piratical chiseling of his face looked suddenly
quite old in a sardonic and careless way.
     
    “I
know, darling,” he said. “That isn’t the problem. The job that’s going to keep me busy is trying
to make sure that you and your father are allowed to live that long.”

     
    2. How Simon
Templar interviewed Mr. Imberline ,
    and was Interviewed in his Turn.
     
     
    A change of
expression flickered over her face, that started with a half smile and ended with half a frown; but under the half- frown her brown eyes were level and steady.
    “Now are you giving me what you thought I was asking for, or do you mean that?”
    “Think
it out for yourself,” he said patiently. “Somebody was interested enough to make your father a present of two
explosions and a fire—according to what you told me. Some body followed you long enough to know you’d been
trying to see Imberline. Somebody
thought it was worth while calling you
and making a phony appointment, and then sending you a threatening note to see how easily you’d scare
off. Somebody even thought it was
worth while trying another note on me, after they’d seen us
talking.”
    “You don’t
know how it got into your pocket?”
    “No
more than you know how yours fell into your lap. But I was bumped into rather heavily on two occasions, so
it was on one of those occasions
that the note was planted. The face of Walter Devan and the tall man who had
been in Imberline’s entourage passed through the
Saint’s memory. “Anyway, since you
didn’t scare, there was an ambush waiting for you on the way. If you’d taken a cab it doubtless would have
been run off the road.”
    She was neither frightened nor foolish now. She simply watched his face estimatingly.
    “What
do you think they meant to do?”
    “Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe they