“A few things.”
“Then you must have your own ideas.”
“Not very good ones,” said the Saint.
She shrugged.
“He was just his own kind of Hollywood producer.”
“He went further than most of them, though, didn’t he?” said the Saint. “I mean, he was a rather special kind. That is, if there’s anything in the rumors.”
“There’s something in most rumors — even in Hollywood.”
“I’ve been wondering,” Simon said, carving himself another wedge of sirloin, “what Orlando Flane had on his mind yesterday. You know — during that happy homey interlude when Byron called him a drunken bum and bounced him off the carpet into my arms. Flane said he could remember as far back as Byron could. Was he referring to some other rumor, or were they just boys together?”
“It could have been both,” she said cautiously.
He waited.