What Iris Freeman said cannot be printed without grave risk to the publisher.
Simon and Patricia strolled south on Michigan Avenue in a rather noticeable silence.
“Kearney was pretty nice about you, wasn’t he?” said Patricia at last.
“He’s not a bad guy,” Simon agreed. “And he’s got something to thank me for. Getting the real blackmailers ought to be worth more to him than trying to hang a shaky rap on me... Of course, it started to be obvious as soon as Iris showed up as a connecting link. It would have been too much for her to imitate my voice, but the only thing left was to identify her stooge. It occurred to me at once that we couldn’t rely on Stratford Keane’s definition of Belden. A ham like Keane wouldn’t know the difference between one vaudeville performer and another, but I’ll bet Belden wasn’t a hoofer. I’ll bet he was one of those dreadful acts which start, ‘I would like to give you my impression of...’ I always wanted to see something unpleasant happen to that kind of artist, but I never hoped I should have the chance to arrange it.”
There was a further silence.
“Now,” said Patricia with difficulty, “I suppose you’re only waiting to tell me that you knew all along I wouldn’t shake Kearney off.”
“I was betting on it,” said the Saint blandly. “And I owe you a lot for your co-operation.” He turned and hailed a passing taxi. “However, I shall let Rick the Barber contribute to your reward. Things may not be too happy for him when Iris blows her top, as she probably will, and I think Rick ought to pay us quite well for a tip-off.”
Lida
The moon was a paste-up job. True, it had come up dripping out of the sea two hours before, but now it hung in the Florida sky like a cut-out from golden paper, and looked down with a bland open countenance on the denizens of Miami Beach and all the visiting firemen therein.
Including wives whose husbands were busy in their offices from Chicago to Boston providing the wherewithal for their help-meets to fritter around; certain characters who went around with thousand-dollar bills in their pockets but never paid any income tax; touts, pimps, and prostitutes; hopeful gents and girls who felt that one more throw of the dice would get them even with the board again, and Simon Templar and Patricia Holm.