"Of course — the gentleman who made that magnificent attempt to rescue poor old Kennet. I ought to have got in touch with you before, but — um — I'm sure you'll forgive us, everything has been so disorganized…" He shuffled his feet uneasily. "At any rate, it's a great relief to see that you don't look much the worse for your adventure."
The Saint smiled — and to anyone who knew him well, that smile would have seemed curiously like the smile on the face of a certain celebrated tiger.
He had been amazingly lucky. The return of Luker and Company had been delayed just long enough for him to coax out of Lady Valerie the whole incalculably important story which she had to tell; their reintroduction couldn't have been more desirably timed if he had arranged it himself. He could look for no more information, but he already had enough to keep his mind occupied for some time. Meanwhile, he could contribute something of his own which might add helpfully to the general embarrassment. He was only waiting for his chance.
"I come from a long line of salamanders," he said cheerfully. "Wasn't that Kennet's father I saw you speaking to just now?"
"Er — yes. I've known him for a long time, of course."
"This inquest isn't being heard in camera by any chance, is it?"
"Er — no. Why should it be?"
"It seems to involve rather a lot of private interviews."
"Urn." Fairweather looked even more uncomfortable. He seemed to inflate himself determinedly. "I fear I have never had any experience of these things. But of course it's the coroner's job to save as much of the court's time a possible."
Simon toyed gently with his cigarette.