“That’s the hell of a way to talk about a guy who’s just going to save your worthless neck,” said the Saint.
Newt Haskins pushed his black hat onto the back of his head.
“This had shuah better make a good story, son,” he observed. “But I’m listenin’.”
“It wasn’t too hard to work out,” Simon said seriously. “Lida Verity was being blackmailed, of course. That’s why she told us she was in trouble, instead of calling on you. Blackmail has been a side line in this joint for some time — and a good hunting ground this must be for it, too. This town is always full of wives vacationing from their husbands, and vice versa, and the climate is liable to make them careless. Somebody stooging around this joint could build up interesting dossiers on a lot of people. In fact, somebody did.”
He took a small notebook from his pocket.
“Here it is. Names, dates, details. Items that could be plenty embarrassing if they were used in the wrong way. I’m going to rely on your professional discretion to see that it’s destroyed when you’re through with it.”
“He’s trying to pull the fast one!” Esteban burst out. “He never found such a book in my safe—”
“I didn’t say I did,” Simon responded calmly. “I found it on somebody else. But since you were the most obvious person to be behind the operation, I wanted to nose around in your safe to see if there was anything in it that would confirm or deny. I’m afraid the results let you out. There doesn’t seem to be anything that even remotely connects you. On the other hand, I found this.”
He handed Haskins a slip of paper, and the sheriff squinted at it with his shrewd gray eyes.
“Seems to be a check made out to Esteban,” Haskins said. “It says on the voucher ‘January installment on car-park concession.’ What do you figger that means, son?”