Enter the Saint by Leslie Charteris

fact that he had seen the boy help to tackle the Saint and get the worst of it in their company did not mitigate his wrath. “You damned fool!” he blazed. “Couldn’t you see he was up to something? Are you taken in by everyone who tells you the tale?”
    “I told you I couldn’t guarantee him,” Stannard protested. “But when I met him he wasn’t a bit like he was to-night. Honestly, Mr. Hayn-how could I have known? I don’t even know what he was after yet. Those cards …”
    “South African grandmothers,” snarled Hayn.
    Braddon intervened. “Who was this gentleman, anyway,” he demanded. “Gentleman” was not the word he used.
    “Use your eyes, you lunatic!” Hayn flared, pointing to the table, and Braddon’s jaw dropped as he saw the cards.
    “You’ve had that guy in here?”
    “What the hell d’you think? You probably passed him coming in. And from what the Snake said, and what I’ve seen myself, he’s probably right at the top-he might even be the Saint himself.”
    “So that was the gentleman!” said Braddon, only once again he described Simon Templar with a more decorative word.
    Hayn snorted. “And that fool Stannard brought him here,” he said.
    “I’ve told you, I didn’t know much about him, Mr. Hayn,” Stannard expostulated. “I warned you I couldn’t answer for him.”
    “The kid’s right,” said Braddon. “If he put it over on the Snake, he might put it over on anybody.”
    There was logic in the argument, but it was some time before Hayn could be made to see it. But presently he quieted down. “We’ll talk about this, Braddon,” he said. “I’ve got an idea for stopping his funny stuff. He didn’t get clean away-I put Keld on to follow him. By to-night we’ll know where he lives, and then I don’t think he’ll last long.”
    He turned to Jerry. The boy was fidgeting nervously, and Hayn became diplomatic. It wasn’t any use rubbing a valuable man up the wrong way.
    “I’m sorry I lost my temper, old man,” he said. “I can see it wasn’t your fault. You just want to be more careful. I ought to have warned you about the Saint-he’s dangerous! Have a cigar.”
    It was Mr. Hayn’s peace-offering. Stannard accepted it. “No offence,” he said. “I’m sorry I let you down.”
    “We won’t say anything more about it, old man,” said Hayn heartily. “You won’t mind if I leave you? Mr. Braddon and I have some business to talk over. I expect you’ll amuse yourself upstairs. But you mustn’t play any more, you know.”
    “I shan’t want to,” said Stannard. “But, Mr. Hayn-“
    Hayn stopped. “Yes, old man?”
    “Would you mind if I asked you for that check? I’ll give you an I O U now.”
    “I’ll see that you get it before you leave.”
    “It’s awfully good of you, Mr. Hayn,” said Stannard apologetically. “Three thousand pounds it was.”
    “I hadn’t forgotten,” said Hayn shortly. He moved off, cursing the damaged waiter out of his path; and Stannard watched him go, thoughtfully. So far, it had all been too easy, but how long was it going to last?
    He was watching the early dancers assembling when a waiter, whose face was obscured by a large piece of sticking-plaster, came through with a sealed envelope. Stannard ripped it open, inspected the check it contained, and scribbled his signature to the promissory note that came with it. He sent this back to Hayn by the same waiter.
    Although he had disposed of several cocktails before dinner, and during the meal had partaken freely of wine, and afterwards had done his full share in the consumption of liqueurs, his subsequent abstemiousness was remarkable. He sat with an untasted brandy-and-soda in front of him while the coloured orchestra broke into its first frenzies of syncopation, and watched the gyrating couples with a jaundiced eye for an hour. Then he drained his glass, rose, and made his way to the stairs.
    Through the window of the office he saw Hayn and Braddon still engaged in