“I know all about that. If Whitey or anybody else goes to another man’s house to threaten and raise a shindy, he should be prepared to take the consequences.” Grady’s lip curled scornfully. “And that’s the manager Nelson picks for himself, is it? Ivory from the neck up! It’s two of a kind they are, and no mistake.” He leaned forward again. “Why, I ask you, why in God’s name should Spangler want to put you away? Why? Give me one reason I can believe.”
The Saint smiled sympathetically.
“I know — mysterious, isn’t it? Or have I already told you that he’s afraid I might be able to show Steve how to beat the Angel?”
Grady snorted impatiently.
“Nuts to that! There’s no man livin’ who can beat the Angel! Neither you nor anyone else can make a winner out of a second-rater like Steve Nelson!”
The Saint’s brows lifted politely.
“Second-rater? He only happens to be the champion. If you’re betting your shirt on the Angel, I hope you have a good laundry. You might have to wait a long time for—”
He stopped short as he saw Grady tense, staring past him. The Saint looked back.
Connie Grady and Steve Nelson stood in the open doorway.
They came in, hand in hand, Nelson shutting the door behind them as they entered, his youthful face set and determined.