“The other way, Hoppy,” he said, and turned in the opposite direction.
They sped swiftly through the underground maze toward the basement exits that opened into the street at the other end.
Chapter three
Hoppy Uniatz eased the big convertible adroitly through the midnight traffic and past the bright lights of the Times Square district, and presently gave vent to a cosmic complaint.
“Boss,” he announced with the wistful appeal of an arid hippopotamus being driven past a water hole, “I gotta t’oist. Exercise always gives me a t’oist, boss.”
“Keep going,” the Saint commanded inexorably. His long brown fingers were carefully probing the gloves on his lap. “You can refresh yourself after we get home.”
Hoppy sighed and trod on the accelerator again.
“Anyt’ing in dem gloves, boss?”
“I can’t feel anything.”
Simon lifted a glove and sniffed it thoughtfully. He rubbed his finger over the damp leather and tasted it.