“I wouldn’t say that,” Simon said gravely. “One of Dr Spangler’s assistants happened to trip on one of Hoppy’s big feet and knock himself out. The Angel fell over a table, causing Dr Spangler to get the wind knocked out of him.”
“But... You... didn’t go down to see this... Masked Angel because you saw something... something wrong?”
“Wrong? No, Connie, if you mean fouling or anything like that, I didn’t see a thing. By the way, it seems the Masked Angel is one of Hoppy’s old chums.”
“Oh.”
“What makes you think there was anything wrong?”
“I... I don’t know. I’m... I’m just afraid.” Her answer was just as vague now as it had been the first time. “I thought you might have been able to... to see something, or... or figure something out. I...”
“Why not drop in for breakfast and we’ll talk it over?”
“All right.” She seemed reluctant to finish, and yet unable to find an excuse to go on. “And thanks again.”
The Saint poured himself another drink, and surrendered the bottle.
“Who was dat, boss?” Hoppy asked.