“Oh, the pearls,” Simon said innocently. “I didn’t notice. I was talking about her daughter.”
Wendel squinted past him.
“She doesn’t have a daughter. I guess that’s just a friend. Maybe came with her from Hollywood — she’s pretty enough.” His eyes snapped back to Simon with a scowl. “Now quit tryin’ to head me off again. When I read this Offchurch was in town, I naturally start wondering if any big operators have checked in about the same time. I’m a lazy guy, see, and it’s a lot easier to stop something happening than try to catch a crook after he’s done it... And the first register I go through, I see your name.”
“Which proves I must be up to something, because if I wasn’t planning a Saint job I’d obviously use an alias.”
“It wouldn’t be out of line with the kind of nerve I hear you’ve got.”
“Thank you.”
“So I’m tellin’ you. I’m having Lady Offchurch watched twenty-four hours a day, and if my men ever see you hanging around they’ll throw you in the can. And if those pearls ever show up missing, whether anybody saw you or not, you better be ready with all the answers.”
Simon Templar smiled, and it was like the kindling of a light in his keen, dark, reckless face. His blue eyes danced with an audacity that only belonged with cloaks and swords.
“Now you’re really making it sound interesting.”
Wendel’s face reddened.