Simon’s eyes changed. “Scopolamine? That wasn’t what killed him?”
“You know damn well what killed him. You saw the bullet hole. I’m not doing any more talking to you. Not yet. I will later. I don’t care if you know the Commissioner or the Mayor or the President of the United States! Just don’t leave town, understand?”
“Yes,” Simon said. “I get it. All right, Alvin. I’ll string along. In fact—” He hesitated. “I’ll even tell you why I was seeing Cleve Friend.”
Kearney said suspiciously, “Yeah? Another gag?”
“No. You might as well know, I suppose. I can’t keep it quiet for ever.”
“Okay,” Kearney snapped. “Spill it.” He could not quite keep the eagerness out of his voice.
The Saint said mildly, “We were plotting his murder. Goodbye, Alvin.”
He hung up, leaving the detective gibbering inarticulately, and poured himself another cup of coffee.
“This is what is known as a cumulative frame,” he remarked to Hoppy, who was starting his morning target practice. “I wonder how thorough it’s going to be.”
Mr Uniatz bounded a BB accurately off the coffee-pot.