“I didn’t know de Champ’s a southpaw, but everybody knows Whitey has it in for de Doc ever since Spangler finagles Bilinski’s contract away from him. Dat’s an old story.” He shook his head dazedly. “And all de time I t’ink Nelson is a right-hander! He fights like one.”
Pat suppressed a smile.
“There doesn’t seem to be much wrong with having a handler who’s so interested in seeing the Angel beaten.”
“But the Angel won’t be beaten,” Connie said hopelessly. “Steve’ll be killed! He hasn’t a chance!”
Simon studied her broodingly.
“You’re very sure of that,” he said, and reached into his pocket to bring something out. He went on without a change of tone, “Did you ever see this before?”
On the table between them he laid the revolver which last night’s visitor had left behind.
By no perceptible sign, the Saint sensed a sudden change in her, an inner freezing, her eyes coming in focus on the gun, her whole being gripped by that thanatoid stillness that stands on the threshold of panic.
“Where,” she said in a small, tight voice, “did you get — that?”
“It was left here last night as a sort of — calling card.”