“What home, boss?” Hoppy insisted practically.
The Saint peered at the numbers of the houses slipping by.
“Doc Spangler’s.”
Hoppy’s eyes became almost as wide as shoe buttons.
“Ya mean it’s de Doc what tries to gun us?”
“It was more likely one of the bad boys he chums around with,” said the Saint. “But he probably knew about it. Bad companions, Hoppy, are apt to get a man into trouble. Of course you wouldn’t know about that.”
“No, boss,” said Mr Uniatz seriously.
The Saint was starting to pull in towards one of the grey stone houses when he saw the other car. The rear licence plate was on now, but there was no doubt about the genesis of the neat hole with its radiation of tiny cracks that perforated the rear window. Simon pointed it out to Hoppy, as he kept the convertible rolling and parked it some twenty yards farther down the block.
“Chees,” Hoppy said in admiration, “I hit it right in de middle. Dey musta felt de breeze when it goes by.”
“I hope it gave them as bad a chill as theirs gave us,” said the Saint.