“Exit Stratford, pursued by a bear,” Belden said sepulchrally.
And then suddenly the voice of Stratford Keane boomed out again with remarkable verisimilitude. “Ye gods, what have I done to deserve this? I, Stratford Keane, who have striven all my life to learn understanding and patience!”
There was a general chorus of laughter.
Patricia’s fingers tightened on the Saint’s arm.
“Simon! Did you notice—”
“Stratford didn’t really do him justice,” said the Saint.
On the stage, Iris Freeman was saying, “Better run along kids. You’ll probably be called back as usual after Mr Keane cools off.”
In a little while the footsteps and voices of the rest of the cast died away and the theater was silent again. The Saint held Patricia motionless in the shadows. Then Iris Freeman spoke again with a rather tired relaxation.
“You know, Mark, this sometimes seems like doing it the hard way.”
“Don’t worry, honey,” Belden said. “As soon as I collect a few more touches with the dope you’re giving me about the people who’ve used Rick in their various operations — why, I’ll be all set to back the show myself. Then you can divorce him and we can be married.”