A slight scowl settled over Lansing’s black eyes.
“I told you before — the comedy belongs outside.”
“I don’t doubt the show could use it,” said the Saint. “Only whether you like it or not, the comedy is right here. Because I give you my word that I’ve never spoken to you on the phone in my life, and I don’t have the least idea how to start proving that Jake was helped out of his window.”
Lansing stared at him for several seconds.
“Is that on the level?”
“Absolutely.”
“Then who is this guy who’s pretending to be you?”
“That,” said the Saint, “is what I’d like to know. I’ll have to try and find out.” He took the hand out of his left side pocket. “Now that we understand each other, I guess you won’t mind if I leave.”
Rick the Barber stood up and came around the desk. He opened the door.
The first gunman, reinforced by two others, stood watchfully in the corridor outside.