“Get that there electric broiler down from that shelf an’ stick his feet in it,” he advised. “It works well.”
He vanished; and the Saint gazed speculatively at the indicated shelf.
“Not a bad idea,” he drawled. “Hoppy, what goes with Sammy?”
“Huh?” Hoppy said. “He went out.”
“Yes, I noticed. What I want to know is whether you’re sure Sammy the Leg is levelling with us.”
“Lissen,” Hoppy said, almost indignantly, “Sammy an’ me was in Joliet togedder.”
He made this statement more devastatingly than any Harvard graduate identifying a brother alumnus, and in the face of such credentials Simon relaxed.
“In that case,” he said, “go ahead and plug in the broiler.”
Junior jumped out of his chair. The Saint did not rise. His foot shot forward, and Junior sat down again abruptly.
“My God,” Junior gasped. “You wouldn’t d... do...”