A stream of earnest profanity issued from Mr Uniatz’s practised lips.
“You shoulda stuck a knife in de rat when you was under wit’ him,” he concluded. “Dose dumb jackasses back dere are liable to pull him out before he drowns.”
“They’ll have to pull him off that steering column first,” Simon said callously. “He’s stuck on it like a bug on a pin.”
“But why,” Steve Nelson puzzled, “did he try to do it? What has he got against you?”
“Maybe he thinks I’m bringing you luck. If I’m out of the way, he’s backing the Angel to take care of you.”
Nelson said nothing for a moment. Then he shook his head.
“It doesn’t make good sense,” he said. “I don’t get it.”
The Saint shrugged.
“Forget it. Spangler and his outfit are a bunch of psychopaths, anyway.” He unhooked a key from his ring and handed it to Nelson. “Here — to the apartment. I’ll use Hoppy’s key.”
Nelson took it with troubled gratitude. “Thanks — thanks a lot, Saint. I expect I’ll take my stuff over some time this afternoon. I’ve got some things to do before I move.”