"I'll tell you why Lady Valerie was frightened of you," he said. "I expect she was thinking of what happened to Kennet and Windlay. She knew you were trying to make trouble for Mr Luker and Mr Fairweather, and since she was a friend of theirs—"
"Was Kennet a friend of theirs?" asked the Saint pungently.
Fairweather said, with solemn and unshakable pomposity: "He was a guest in my house. I think that should be sufficient answer."
Teal nodded implacably.
"You've pulled the wool over my eyes often enough, Templar, but you can't do it this time. What's the use of bluffing? There's enough circumstantial evidence already to put you away for a long time. If you want to be smart you won't make things any worse for yourself. Tell me what's happened to Lady Valerie Woodchester, and you may get off with eighteen months."
The Saint looked at him for several seconds. And then he laughed out loud.
"You poor pin-brained boob," he said.
The detective's face did not change.
"That won't—"
"Won't do me any good?" Simon completed the sentence for him. "Well, I'm not interested. I'm not trying to do myself good — I don't have to. I'm trying to do you some. You need it. Have you gone so completely daft that you've lost your memory? Have you ever known me to threaten, beat up, bump off, or otherwise raise hell with women? Have you ever had even the slightest reason to suspect me of it? But because you're too bat-eyed and pigheaded to see any further than the pimples on the end of your own nose you want to believe that I've turned myself into an ogre for Lady Valerie's special benefit. What you need—"