"If Diogenes had rolled up against you," he observed, "he'd have got out of his barrel, filled it with booze and made whoopee."

"I suppose you mean to be nice," said Nigel in a relieved voice.

"I suppose I do. What happened afterwards?"

"We made perfectly dreadful conversation. I must say she gave a marvellous performance."

"I believe you."

"She asked me to go and see her." Nigel shuddered.

"You're not to go."

"Am I likely to?"

"Listen to me. You're to pay no more visits to these people. Understand?"

"Yes—but what's biting you?"

"Unless I'm with you. Write your little articles, and mind your little business."

"This is what I get for doing the beastliest job of my life."

"My dear Bathgate, I do honestly appreciate your difficulty and am genuinely grateful," said Inspector Alleyn, with one of his rather charming turns of formality. "But I do ask you to behave as I suggest. I can reward you with a very choice bit of copy."

"What's that?"

"You may inform your public that Mr. Jacob Saint has been arrested, but that the nature of the charge is not known."

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Arrest

"AS A MATTER OF HARD FACT," Alleyn continued, when he had noted, with satisfaction, Nigel's dropped jaw, "Mr. Saint is still at large. I am just off now to do my stuff. Care to come?"

"You bet I would. May I just ring up the office? I'll catch the stop press for the last edition."

"Very well. Say no more than what I've told you. You'd better warn them to hold it back for another twenty minutes. If he's not arrested, you can ring up. Aren't I good to you?"

"Very," said Nigel fervently. He rang up and was well received. "That's that," he said.

"Well, we must hustle along as soon as I get the word from my myrmidon. Don't let me forget my handcuffs. Dear me, I'm quite excited!"

"Five minutes ago," observed Nigel, "you looked as though I'd punched you between the eyes. What's come over you?"

"I've taken thought, or rose leaves, or something, and am 'no longer a Golden Ass.'—"

"Are you arresting Saint for the murder?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

A single knock on the door heralded the entrance of Inspector Fox.

"Our man's just rung up," he said. "The gentleman is in the office of the Unicorn. 'Evening, Mr. Bathgate."

"Away we go then," cried Alleyn.

"Handcuffs," said Nigel.

"What would I do without you! Handcuffs, Fox?"

"Have got. You'd better put your top coat on, Chief. It's acold evening."

"Here's the warrant," murmured Alleyn. He struggled into his overcoat and pulled on his felt hat at a jaunty angle.

"Am I tidy?" he asked. "It looks so bad not to be tidy for an arrest."

Nigel thought dispassionately, that he looked remarkably handsome, and wondered if the chief inspector had "It." "I must ask Angela," thought Nigel.