“Because I hate people taking my name in vain, and because I’m beginning to think it’s someone quite close to you. Someone who knows much more about your affairs than I do,” said the Saint thoughtfully. He went to the door. “Think it over, chum.”
There was a drugstore on the corner of the block, and he stopped there to phone Patricia.
“No doubt you’ve seen Kearney,” he said.
“And heard him.” She was trying to keep the anxiety out of her voice but he still felt it. “What on earth did you do it for?”
“It was the only thing I could do, baby. I couldn’t run down this character who’s impersonating me if Alvin had me in the hoosegow, and if I don’t run him down I can’t clear myself. It’s a stock situation straight out of any pulp detective story, but it can happen.”
“But what’s this now about Vincent Maxted?”
“Well, apparently my alter ego is expanding his business.”
“Can’t I meet you somewhere?” she said.
“Darling, it’s a sure bet that Kearney’ll have you followed, hoping for just that.”
“Then you don’t really think any of the tricks you’ve taught me for losing a shadow are any good.”