“It ain’t exactly probable, ma’am,” he agreed. “But on the other hand, it ain’t impossible, either.”
“Permit me to call your attention,” Simon said, “to one thing that is impossible.”
“The white thread caught in the trigger guard?” Haskins anticipated blandly. “Yup, I saw that, son.”
“You’ve got good eyes for your age, daddy. It’s a white cotton thread. Lida Verity was wearing a green silk dress. She didn’t have anything white on her that I noticed. On the other hand, if someone had wiped the gun with a handkerchief to get rid of fingerprints—”
Haskins nodded, his eyes on Patricia.
“You’re wearin’ a white jacket thing, Miss Holm.”
“This bolero? You can’t suggest that I—”
“Don’t get excited darling,” said the Saint. “The sheriff is just stirring things up, to see what comes to the top.”
Haskins held the creases in his leathery face unchanged.
“Any reason, son, why you and Miss Holm shouldn’t lay your cards on the table?”