Dr Spangler chuckled.
“Forgive me. I was merely referring to your habit of living on other people’s enterprises.”
“Meaning, no doubt, that you think I’ve come for a cut of your take in the Masked Angel — is that it?”
Spangler shrugged deprecatingly.
“What else?”
“Doc, whassamatter, huh?” the Angel queried with a puzzled grin which exposed several broken teeth. “What’s he want?”
“Take it easy, Barrelhouse,” Hoppy rumbled. “Dis is strictly social.”
The Saint laughed.
“You’re wrong, Doctor.”
“Am I?” Spangler said. “I’ve always known that at some unexpected point in the strange geometry of providence our paths must surely cross some day. We have much in common, Templar. We would work well together.”