“ I sent him to your apartment?” he said in shocked tones.
“You hoid him! “ Hoppy growled.
“But my dear boy, I did no such thing!” Doc Spangler plucked a handkerchief from his breast pocket and mopped his shining pink brow. He frowned at Karl, who was beginning to stir again in the corner. “If he took it upon himself to... uh... visit you last night, it must have been a matter of personal inspiration. I had nothing to do with it, believe me.”
“Strangely enough,” said the Saint surprisingly, “I do.”
“He’s lying,” Whitey grated fiercely. “He was gonna knock me off if you hadn’t come when ya did.”
“That’s entirely untrue,” Spangler said. “Mullins forced his way in here; he was abusive and threatening, and when he tried to attack me physically Karl had to fire a shot in my defence.”
“However,” the Saint continued, “a repeat performance was staged less than an hour ago near Sixth Avenue, with three characters and a black sedan taking the chief roles in another attempt to reunite Hoppy and me with our illustrious ancestors.”
“I assure you, sir, that I—”
“Excuse me,” the Saint interrupted. “I’m willing to believe that Karl might attempt a solo mission on account of the kicking around we gave him in the dressing-room, but there were three men in the second try. I’m rather certain the driver was Karl. He might have done that to grind a private axe, but the other two must have had other inducements, Doc, old boy. Inducements supplied by you, perhaps.”
Spangler shook his head bewilderedly.