The detective jerked his hand back with a yelp.
“Oh, sorry, John!” Simon exclaimed contritely. “That should teach me a lesson, shouldn’t it?”
Fernack glared at him speechlessly. Then, thrusting the gloves under his arm, he turned and stalked out of the living-room. Simon followed him politely to the apartment’s threshold.
“Good night,” said the Saint, as Fernack yanked open the door. “If you should ever need me, you know where to find me.”
“If I ever want you,” Inspector Fernack growled, “I’ll find you, don’t worry.”
He strode out, and with a cheerful grin at the two harness bulls waiting outside by the elevators, Simon quietly closed the door.
“Well,” he sighed, “now maybe we can get some sleep at last!”
Hoppy yawned in soporific sympathy, but had enough presence of mind to reach for the Old Forester, which still contained an appreciable amount of fluid.
“I better have a nightcap,” he explained. “I don’t wanna stay awake t’inkin’ about Torpedo.”
“A nightcap that size,” Simon observed, watching the level of the bottle descending, “could double as a sleeping-bag.”