“Looking for the clown auditions?” he asked obligingly. “The circus manager’s room is next door.”
“Never mind,” said the one with the gun, displaying a notable lack of a sense of humor. “Stand back.”
Simon obeyed, being sure that his calm retreat took him toward the closed bathroom door.
“Did you enjoy your swim?” he inquired.
“Where is she?” demanded the thin one.
“Who?” asked Simon.
“The girl.”
“Gone about her father’s business, I suppose.”
“Mister,” said the fat one, “you’re getting in our way. I dislike violence, but if I have to I’ll rub you out like a chalk mark.”
At that point the brush clattered into the washbasin, and Simon made an exaggerated move to put himself between the men and the bathroom door. The one with the gun stepped forward, then gestured for the thin one to investigate. There was a brief moment when the thin one was just inside the bathroom, and the fat one was off his guard, turning to peer over his companion’s shoulder. That was the moment the Saint chose to use his foot, for the second time that day, on the posterior of the plumper of the pair, who was propelled forward through the doorway, striking his partner with something like the effect of a billiard on a ping pong ball. The thin man caromed into the shower stall, while the fat one carried enough momentum to send him stumbling to another corner of the little room. Simon quickly closed and locked the door, and almost before the captives had had time to start shouting and thumping he had opened the wardrobe and let Mildred out.
“Our friends have a great affinity for water,” he said, picking up the telephone and dialing Kelly’s room.
“Oh, you’re wonderful!” said Mildred. She stationed herself at the door for a quick getaway. “How did you do it?”
“Pat,” Simon said, when his friend answered. “I’m afraid the turnover in this hotel is a little fast for us. We’ll have to hurry along and meet you at your house.”
Before the startled Irishman could reply, Simon hung up, lifted one of his suitcases in either hand, and followed Mildred out into the corridor toward the elevator.
“What if... Kleinschmidt is down in the lobby?” she asked.
“Kleinschmidt?” said Simon. “Oh — the one who’s taking over Ireland after the uprising. Well, I think I could handle him. If you prefer using the fire escape, go right ahead.”
She chose to come with him in the elevator.
“Here, now, sir,” the aged operator said, hurrying to take the suitcases. “Couldn’t ye get a boy for helpin’ with those?”
“We were in a hurry,” the Saint answered. “Some people were anxious to see us, but we weren’t so anxious to see them.”
“Ah, and that’s understandable enough,” said the operator with a wink, casting an appreciative eye over Mildred’s shape and virgin ring finger. “We’ll have someone get those bags out front for ye now in a jiffy.”
Simon tipped him and walked with Mildred to the desk, where he paid his bill and asked for his car to be brought around to the main entrance.
“I heard a lot of banging on my floor,” he said to the clerk. “Like somebody trying to break a door down.”
“I’ll see to that, sir,” the clerk said, and rang for a porter.
“Oh, Mr. Templar,” Mildred said admiringly as they went out to the street, “how did you ever lock up both those men?”
“It’s no more miraculous than the fact that they knew where we were.” He looked at her closely. “Is it?”
“I... guess not. They’re... diabolical. They’ve got agents everywhere. And maybe they did recognize your face this afternoon, and found out where you were staying.”
The doorman stood by Simon’s car at the curb.
“It’s possible,” Simon said as he helped Mildred in. “But I’m sure there’s a simpler explanation. When we’ve had a chance to catch our breath, I want you to tell me the truth about it. If that won’t be too frightful an effort.”
4
As the Saint drove west through Dublin along the Liffey, he had the unmistakable feeling that his request for truth had put a damper on Mildred’s ordinary talkativeness. She did not say anything, indeed, for more than twenty minutes. That fact was not totally without its charm, so Simon did not try to change the situation until they were driving through the dark countryside toward Leixlip and Kilcock.
“Now,” he said, “how about telling me your real story.”
Mildred performed a flouncing jerk and twisted around so that she was facing her own side of the car. A moment later Simon heard whimpering sounds.
“I realize the thought of being honest must be terribly painful for you,” said the Saint, “but try to bear up.”
There were snuffling noises, and then Mildred suddenly turned and looked through the back window.
“I think they’re following us,” she said in an urgent voice.
“You’re changing the subject.”
“No,” she insisted, wiping her eyes excitedly as she went on looking. “I didn’t mention it before, but I thought they picked us up just after we left the hotel. They must have got out of your room faster than we thought.”
“The Keystone Stormtroops?” said Simon. “It doesn’t seem very likely.”
“They’re probably just staying back there waiting till we stop someplace where they can get me.”
In the rear view mirror Simon could see two pairs of headlights several hundred feet behind. He slowed his own car as a test of the others’ reactions, and they began closing the distance at a normal rate.
“If they were following us,” he said, “they probably wouldn’t catch up like that.”
He increased the pressure of his foot on the accelerator.
“I can’t help it,” said Mildred. “I still think I saw them.”
“And I still think you’re looking for ways to avoid talking about yourself, Miss Hitler.” He glanced at her. “Or is it Anastasia? Bridey Murphy?”
Mildred gave a sigh, let her shoulders slump for a moment, and then sat up straighter and looked at him.
“I think you know who I am,” she said.
“I’m touched by your confidence.”
Mildred’s voice had lost some of its little-girl quality.
“You saw me react when my father walked into the lobby at the hotel.”
“SS Führer Kleinschmidt is your father?”
“Eugene Drew is my father,” she replied patiently. “And I think you’ve known all along.”
The Saint nodded.
“You seemed a little young to be Hitler’s daughter — though there was a family resemblance.”
“Thanks.”
They were driving through Leixlip, and Mildred pointed to a pub on a corner just ahead.
“Oh, let’s stop in there a minute I I feel like a beastly mess after all that sniveling — and I could use a shot of something.”
Simon slowed the car.
“I thought you were so worried about those goons you claim are following us.”
She looked back.
“Maybe I was wrong — and we’ve got to stop sometime. Anyway, what can they do in the middle of town? Drag me kicking and screaming out of the local?” She gave him a stern look, like a child threatening its parent. “And if you won’t stop here I’ll never tell you why they’re after me — and all the other juicy tidbits.”
Simon turned off the main street and pulled up across from the pub.
“All right, Mildred, or whatever your name is at the moment...”
“It is Mildred,” she interrupted.