“Ay tank we go home,” he murmured, and turned rapidly back.
He didn’t hesitate for a moment over the idea of flinging the door open and congratulating them on their prompt arrival. If the police were already preparing to take an interest in the premises, they must have already received a hint that there was something there to merit their professional attention, and with the Saint’s unfortunate reputation there were inclined to be certain technical complications about being caught in strange houses with dead bodies spilling their brains over the furniture. The Saint knew better than anyone how sceptical policemen could be in circumstances like that, and he had no great faith now that the note which he might have produced from his pocket to substantiate part of his story would stand up to unfriendly scrutiny.
He wrapped a handkerchief round his right hand again as he went back through the study, where he had already noticed a glazed door to the garden. It was bolted on the inside — another partial confirmation of his theory that the murderer had not crept in on Mr Ufferlitz unseen. Simon opened it, and stepped out into a paved patio, closing the door silently again behind him. A wooden gate in the wall to his left let him out on to a lawn with a swimming pool in the center. The wall around this lawn was six feet high, with no gates. Even more like a prowling cat, Simon swung himself to the top of the wall without an effort and dropped like a feather on to the lawn of the house next door. This was the corner house. He turned to the right, where the grounds were bordered by a high thick hedge. A well-aged and artistically planted elm extended a massive branch at just the right height and angle for him to catch with his hands and jackknife his long legs over the hedge. This time he landed on concrete, in the black shadow of the big tree, and found that he was at the side of the house around the corner, in the drive leading to the garages at the back.
As he came to the corner of the building he walked into a babble of cheerful voices that ended with a chorus of good-nights. A door closed, and he saw two couples straggling away in search of their cars. Without hesitation he set off in a brisk curve that carried him first towards them and then away from them, as though he had left the party at the same time and branched off towards his own car.
A flashlight sweeping over from some yards away touched on him as he reached the pavement.
Simon squinted at it, and turned away to call a loud “Goodnight” after the other departing guests. Then without a pause he opened the door of his car and ducked in. An automatic answering “Goodnight!” echoed back to him as he did it. And with that pleasant exchange of courtesies he drove away.
As he turned on to Sunset he had an abrupt distinct recollection of a previous goodnight, and a car that had driven slowly by while he was outside April Quest’s. That could have been a coincidence, and the recent timely arrival of the police could have been another, but when they were put together it began to look as if somebody was quite anxious to make sure that Hollywood wouldn’t be dull for him.
5
Simon walked into Mr Ufferlitz’s outer office at eleven o’clock in the morning and said, “Hullo, Peggy.”
“Hullo.” Peggy Warden’s smile was a little vague, and her voice didn’t sound quite certain. “How are you today?”