The man in the centre smiled.

"Surely, Professor Smith," he remarked, "you aren't going to leave me out of your series of brief biographical sketches?"

"For the moment I prefer to," answered the Saint steadily. "At any moment, however, I may change my mind. When I do, you'll hear from me soon enough. Good-morning, my lovely ones."

. He turned his back on them and walked quietly to the door; but he opened the door with an unexpectedly sudden jerk, and the movement was so quick that Basher Tope had no time to recover his balance and fell sprawling into the room. Simon caught him by the collar and yanked him to his feet.

"This reminds me," said the Saint, turning. "There was another man skulking around when I came down this morning. I know him, too."

The other three were plainly surprised.

"Everyone here of importance is presently in this room," said Raxel. "You must be suffering from a delusion."

"The man I saw was no delusion," Smith replied. "His name is Duncarry. He's a much-wanted American gun artist who's come to England for his health. We still don't know how he slipped into the country, but he's one of the men I'm taking back to London with me when I go. There's a seat reserved for him in the hot chair at Sing Sing, and if you see him loafing around here again you can tell him I said so!"

With that parting shot he left them, and as he closed the door softly behind him he began to whistle.

"Now I guess I've rubbed the menagerie right on the raw!" Simon Templar thought cheerfully. "If my after-breakfast speech doesn't make those gay birds hop, I wonder what will?"