Kearney’s eyes opened.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Simon said, and brought his mouth close to the detective’s ear. “Don’t breathe a word of it, but I’ve decided to kill everyone in Chicago.”
He went back to the hotel and told Hoppy the story, and Mr Uniatz’s jaw sagged lower and lower as it proceeded.
“I don’t get it,” Mr Uniatz said finally, making a great confession.
“Neither do I, to put it mildly,” said the Saint. “And fortunately, neither does Kearney. But he’s no fool. I didn’t want him to start asking me the wrong questions. He was on the right track, you know.”
“Yeah?” Hoppy said.
“He knows I’m mixed up in something. And I can’t let the police in on this yet. If I did, the King would simply go underground. As long as I keep His Majesty thinking there’s only one man on his track, he won’t be frightened into a strategic retreat. Ever try to scrape a sea anemone off a rock?”
“What would I wanna do a t’ing like dat for?” Hoppy inquired aggrievedly.
The Saint considered the question solemnly.