Patricia Holm smiled.

"Won't you ever take an interest in something outside the racing reports?" she asked. "I don't believe you even know whether we've got a Conservative or a Labour Government at the moment."

"I haven't the faintest idea," said the Saint cheerfully. "Apart from the fact that a horse we've never seen has earned us the best dinner that London can provide, I refuse to believe that anything of the least importance has happened in England to-day. For instance"-he turned the pages of the newspaper-"we are not at all interested to learn that 'Evidence of a sensational character is expected to be given at the inquest upon Henry Stobbs, a mechanic, who was found, dead in a garage in Balham yesterday.' I don't believe the man had a sensational character at all. No man with a really sensational character would be found dead in a garage in Balham. . . Nor are we thrilled to hear that 'Missing from her home at South Norwood since January last, the body of Martha Danby, a domestic servant, was discovered in a disused quarry near Tavistock early this morning by a tramp in an advanced state of decomposition.' Not that we don't feel sorry for the tramp -it must be rotten for the poor fellow to have to cruise about the world in an advanced state of decomposition-but my point is--"

"That'll do," said Patricia.

"O.K.," said the Saint affably. "So long as you understand why I'm so-- Hullo-what's this?"

He had been folding the paper into a convenient size for the nearest waste basket when his eye was caught by a name that he knew; and he read the paragraphs surrounding it with a sudden interest. These paragraphs figured in that admirable feature "Here and There," conducted by that indefatigable and ubiquitous gossip "The Eavesdropper."

"Well, well, well!" drawled the Saint, with a distinct saintliness of intonation; and Patricia looked at him expectantly.