And Simon Templar smiled at Heinrich Dussel, a rather thoughtful and reckless smile; for Heinrich Dussel was the kind of man for whom the Saint would always have a rather thoughtful and reckless smile. He was short, heavily built, tremendously broad of shoulder, thin-lipped, with a high bald dome of a forehead, and greenish eyes that gleamed like glazed pebbles behind thick gold-rimmed spectacles.
"May I ask what you mean by this?" Drussel was blustering furiously.
The Saint threw out his hands in a wide gesture.
"I wanted to talk to you, dear heart.''
"And what do you imagine I can do for you?"
"On the contrary," said the Saint genially, "the point is—what can I do for you? Ask, and you shall receive. I'm ready. If you say 'Go and get the moon,' I'll go right out and get the moon—that's how I feel about you, sweetheart."
Dussell took a step forward.
"Will you stand away from that door? "
"No,'' said the Saint, courteous but definite.
"Then you will have to be removed by force."
"If you could spare me a moment—" began the Saint warily.
But Heinrich Dussel had half turned, drawing breath, his mouth opening for one obvious purpose.
He could hardly have posed himself better.
And before that deep purposeful breath had reached Dussel's vocal cords on the return journey, his mouth closed again abruptly, with a crisp smack, under the persuasive influence of a pile-driving uppercut.
"Come into my study," invited the Saint, in a very fair imitation of Heinrich Dussel's guttural accent.
"Thank you," said the Saint in his own voice.
And his arms were already around Heinrich Dussel, holding up the unconscious man; and, as he accepted his own invitation, the Saint stooped swiftly, levered Dussel onto his shoulder, moved up the hall, and passed through the nearest door.