“You with anyone?”
“April Quest.”
“How did Ufferlitz seem?”
“Perfectly normal... Are there any clues?”
“We haven’t found any yet. The killer seems to have been good and careful. Even emptied the ashtrays.”
Simon drew at his cigarette again and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He found an ashtray on the small table at his right elbow and tapped his cigarette over it. The rest of the table was littered with a pile of back numbers of The Hollywood Reporter and Variety. Right on top of the pile was a Reporter of yesterday. So Byron Ufferlitz hadn’t had it with him to scribble that note on, and if he had written it in his office before leaving he wouldn’t have used the Reporter for paper. Of course he could have picked up another copy, but—
“The only thing is,” said Condor, “Ufferlitz knew the guy who killed him. The servants didn’t let anyone in, except Miss Warden, so Ufferlitz must have done it himself.”
“Suppose the guy let himself in?”
“Then he couldn’t have gone into the study until not more than an hour before he shot Ufferlitz. But he still smoked enough to have to empty three ashtrays. So Ufferlitz knew him well enough to keep talking to him.”
Simon nodded again. It was his own old deduction, but it indicated that Ed Condor was at least not totally blind and incompetent. The Saint wondered how much more he had on the ball. Certainly he was not a man to be careless with.