The Saint waved him away in despair.
“Never mind,” he said. “Bring on the solid food.”
“Okay, boss.” Hoppy removed the offending liquor and drained it at a gulp. He went back into the kitchen and looked over the partition on to the top of Pat’s blonde head. “Dijja read about de fight in de paper dis morning?” he asked.
“They arrested the Masked Angel, didn’t they?”
“But not for long,” Hoppy said complacently. “We fix dat, don’t we, boss?”
Pat’s clear eyes studied the Saint.
“What does he mean — you fixed it up?”
“We informed the Law that the Masked Angel is an old chum of Hoppy’s,” Simon explained glibly. “Naturally, with that kind of a character reference, they’re bound to let Bilinski go.”
“I don’t trust you,” Patricia said coldly. “Not for a minute. What goes on?”
“Goes on?” The Saint’s eyebrows lifted.