He had blown out the lamp, and he was just dozing when the first alarm came, for he heard the door rattle as someone tried the handle. There followed three soft taps which he had to strain to hear.

With a groan, Simon flung off the bedclothes, lighted the lamp, and pulled on his dressing gown. Then he opened the door.

The girl he had met that morning stood outside, and she pushed past him at once and closed the door behind her. The Saint seemed shocked.

"Don't you know this is most irregular?" he demanded reprovingly.

"I haven't come here to be funny," she flashed back, in a low voice. "Listen to me---were you talking nothing but nonsense this morning?"

"Not altogether," replied Simon cautiously. "Although I don't mind admitting--"

"You're a detective?"

"Er--occasionally," said Simon modestly.

The girl bit her lip.

"Whom are you after?" she asked.

Simon's eyebrows went up.

"I'm after one or two people," he said. "Marring and Crantor, for instance, I hope to include in the bag. But the man I'm really sniping for is Bunnywugs.''

"You mean Professor Raxel?"

"That's what he's calling himself now, is it? I've heard him spoken of by a dozen different names, but he's best known as the Professor. He has a certain reputation."

The girl nodded.

"Well," she said, "you gave the gang some pretty straight warnings at breakfast. Now I'm warning you. If the Professor's got a reputation, you can take it from me he's earned it. You've bitten off a lot more than you can chew, Smith, and if you go on playing the fool like this it'll choke you!"

"Rameses is rather a mouthful, I grant you, so my friends usually call me Simon," said the Saint wistfully.