At the same time, Simon Templar suddenly applied his weight to the door. The man inside was not ready for this, and he was thrown off his balance. Simon calmly walked in, shaking the rain off his hat.

"Go on--tell your boss what I said," said the Saint encouragingly. "I want a room here to-night, and I'm going to get one."

The man departed, grumbling, and Simon walked over to the fire and warmed his hands at the blaze. The man came back in ten minutes, and it appeared at once that the Saint's warning had had some effect.

"The Guv'nor says you can have a room."

"I thought he would," said the Saint comfortably, and peeled off his coat. There were seventy-four inches of him, and he looked very lean and tough in his plus-fours,

"There's a car outside," he said. "Shove it in your garage, will you. Basher?"

The man stared at him.

"Who are you speaking to?" he demanded. "Speaking to you, Basher Tope," said the Saint pleasantly. "Put my car in the garage."

The man came nearer and scowled into Simon's face. The Saint saw alarm dawning in his eyes. "Who are you?" asked Tope hoarsely, "Are you a split?"

"I am," admitted the Saint mendaciously. "We wondered where you'd got to, Basher. You've no idea how we miss your familiar face in the dock, and all the wardens at Wormwood Scrubs have been feeling they've lost an old friend."

Basher's mouth twisted.

"We don't want none of you damned flatties here," he said. "The Guv'nor better hear of this."

"You can tell the Guv'nor anything you like after you've attended to me," said the Saint languidly. "My bag's in the car. Fetch it in. Then bring me the register, and push the old bus round to the garage while I sign. Then, when you come back, bring me a pint of beer. After that, you can run away and do anything you like."