of those stories about me are still true. Once upon a time, before the Hays Office got hold of me, I might easily have killed him myself.'
Her eyes suddenly blurred in front of him.
' 'Saint,' ' she said, and her voice gave the word new meaning. But she didn't finish.
The butler came in on padded feet, and said: 'Lieutenant Condor is asking for Mr. Templar.'
Simon stood up.
Her eyes never left him as she stood up too.
'I'll try and take him away,' he said. 'May I come back and finish my drink later?'
Without waiting for an answer he strolled out into the hall to greet the hungry lugubrious figure of Lieutenant Condor. The Saint's smile was genial and carefree.
'Well, well, well!' he murmured. 'The never-sleeping bloodhound. How did you know I was here?'
'I figured you'd be with somebody,' Condor said rather cryptically. 'I just tried one or two places, and this was it. Do you want to talk here or shall we go outside?'
'Let's go outside.'
They went out into the dark that had fallen outside, and sauntered over the lawn towards the sidewalk where Condor's police car was parked. A street lamp shone down on it like a dull white moon among the palms. Simon saw the driver stick his head out and watch them.
'You get on pretty well with her?' Condor asked, with matter-of-fact impersonality.
'Very well.'
'Was she helping you work out another alibi for when Flane was shot?'
Simon slowed his step, with his hands in his pockets, and said quite amiably: 'If you're serious about that, I'd like an official warning and we'll talk it over with the District Atнtorney and my own lawyer. Otherwise you'd better go easy with those cracks. I can't let you go on like this indefinitely. Now do I really need an alibi or what?'
'I'm afraid not,' Condor admitted lugubriously. He sighed. 'This time you seem to be in the clear. Do you know anything about it?'
'Only what I heard on the radio.'
'Flane rushed into his home, quite cockeyed apparently, and went straight to his bedroom. His housekeeper was trying to ask him about something, but he just didn't pay any attention. He must have grabbed a gun out of a drawer and shot himself, bang, just like that. She rushed right in and there he was, falling down, with a gun in his hand.'
'That's quite a relief to me,' said the Saint. 'So now why did you want me?'
'I thought you might have done some more figuring since it happened.'
The police driver opened the car door and got out, as they stopped on the pavement. He kept moving towards them with short awkward steps, his face fixed and staring.
'If it happened the way you say it did,' Simon observed, 'it might have been a genuine suicide. In fact, I should say it must have been. So it's no use dreaming about your murнderer following up to cover himself.'
'Unless he's a genius,' said Condor.
The driver was right with them now. He was still staring at the Saint, his eyes popping a little. Suddenly his hand setнtled on to his gun.
'Is this Templar?' he interrupted hoarsely.
'Yes,' Condor said, glancing at him.
The driver's mouth worked.
'Well, I saw him last night! I was circlin' round to cover the back, an' I had my flashlight right on him. I thought he'd come out of another house where they was havin' a party. He musta bin at Ufferlitz's when we got there!'
10
'THIS HAD better be good,' said Condor dispassionately.
He sat beside the Saint with a fresh toothpick between his teeth and a gun in the hand on his knee, while Simon zigнzagged his big Buick down on to Beverly Boulevard. He glanced once over his shoulder at the lights following behind them, and added: 'Dunnigan's right on your trail, so I hope you weren't thinking of pulling any fast ones.'
'I'm hoping to save you a hell of a stink and a lawsuit for false arrest,' said the Saint. 'Have you read that note?'
Condor looked at it again under the dashboard lights.
'And this is supposed to be why you went there.'
'That's why I went there.'
'When did you write it?'
'I knew you'd say that. That's why I got the hell out. I walked in, and there was Ufferlitz with his brains all over the desk. Then the cops came. I knew I was being framed, so I went away quickly.'
'You didn't even say anything about it when I talked to you this morning.'
'Of course not. Nothing had been changed. You'd still have thought I was trying to put over a clever story. But you can check on it yourself now. I did. According to the night man at the Chтteau Marmont, that note was delivered by a meнdium-sized man in a buttoned-up tweed overcoat and a bushy red beard. A disguise, of course. And of course it sounds phony as hell. I could just as well have done it myself, with my knees bent to cut my height down. I knew you'd think that, and I'd have been crazy if I'd told you.'
Condor chewed audibly on his flake of timber.
'I like having my mind put straight for me,' he said. 'So you played secrets. Did you know who the murderer was then?'
'No,' said the Saint honestly. 'I had to get away and think and investigate for a bit. But I had to find him. I had to find him before he got me into some more trouble that I wouldn't be able to get out of so easily. I knew it must have been someнbody who hated my guts. Somebody who was tough enough to kill Ufferlitz in the first place, and vicious enough to try and frame me for it. A guy with two motives.'
'And you found him all by yourself.'
'Yes,' said the Saint. 'Orlando Flane.'
They stopped for a traffic light. Simon shifted into low gear and held the clutch out. He kept his eyes ahead, but he knew Condor was still watching him.
'You tell it,' said Condor. 'It's your story.'
'There wasn't much to it. I'd taken a part away from Flane. He was on the skids, and that part might have saved him, but I took it away. I didn't mean to. It was Ufferlitz's idea. Flane was just letters in lights to me. But he didn't understand that. His brain was all rotten with alcohol, anyнway. He was drunk at Ciro's last night when we were there. You can check on that, too. And I guess he was just too mad to have any sense.'
'But why did he kill Ufferlitz?'
'Because Ufferlitz was blackmailing him. Flane wasn't alнways a glamor boy for cameras. There was a time in New Orleans when he was charming feminine hearts for a much less romantic racket. He was in a bad spot once, and there was a girl who was a witness. She died-very conveniently. But Ufferlitz had the goods on him.'
'How do you know that?'
'You forget,' said the Saint gently. 'Crime is my business. And I've got a rather phenomenal memory. Only sometimes it's a little bit slow. But you don't have to take my word for it. You can confirm it with New Orleans.'
They were rolling eastwards on the boulevard again.
'Why didn't you tell me that this morning?'
'It just hadn't come into my head then. I got it after I left you this afternoon. Going off on a wrong tack after Groom- that business about the girl-girls-dirty work with girls- and suddenly the gates were open and it all poured in. I was in the Front Office then; and by God, Flane was there. Well, I'm just not a good citizen. I never could see why policemen should have all the fun. I just have to stick my own nose in. So I did. I told Flane I was wise to him. I told him the whole story, and invented what I wasn't sure of. But I made it good. Just to see if I could make him break.'
'And then--'
'Then he broke. I don't have to try and convince you about that. Here's my first witness.'
