“A lady,” Simon replied, “who is holding out on me.”
“You can’t trust ’em boss,” Hoppy affirmed, shaking his head. “None of ’em. I know a doll once.” He sighed, shaking his head like a wistful grizzly. “She has coives like a... a...”
“A scenic railway?” Simon suggested.
Hoppy beamed.
“Dat wuz Fanny, boss! All over! I can see her now.” He sighed with stentorian nostalgia. “She was de goil of my dreams!”
The Saint yawned and turned to the bedroom.
“Then let’s go see her there,” he said.
The doorbell rang a sudden prolonged pizzicato.
Simon halted in his tracks. Ghostly caterpillars crawled along his backbone. Instinct, sensitive and prescient, had whispered its warning of further explosions in the chain reaction he had started that night; the clamour of the bell came as if on a long-awaited cue. A faint smile flitted over his reckless mouth.
“Who da hell is dat dis time of night?” Hoppy wondered.