"Of course I do."
"Well, so do I." The Saint thought for a while, and made up his mind. "All right, Claud. You asked for it, and you can have it. For about the first time in my life I'll be perfectly frank with you. It'd be worth while if it only meant that I could get on with my job without having to cope with all your suspicions and persecutions as well as my own troubles. But I don't suppose it'll do any good, because as usual you probably won't believe me… You see, Claud, the fact is that I don't know any more than you do."
Teal's face darkened.
"I didn't come here to waste my time—"
"And I don't want you to waste mine. I told you you wouldn't believe me. But there it is. I don't know any more than you do. The only difference is that not being a policeman I haven't got so many great open spaces in my brain to start with, so I don't need to know so much."
Mr Teal's spearmint, under the systematic massage of his molars, became in turn a sphere, an hourglass and something like a short-handled frying pan.
"Go on," he said lethargically. "Make allowances for my stupidity, and tell me how much I know."
"As you like. Let's start with Comrade Luker. As you know, he is the current top tycoon of the arms racket."
"I suppose so."
"Comrades Fairweather and Sangore are his stooges in a couple of British armaments firms which he controls."