“Never mind,” said the Saint. “You can just change it around some more and sell it to Columbia for a new Blondie.”
Lazaroff went through the mechanical gesture of smoothing his unsmoothable hair.
“Seriously, I suppose a guy like you takes a murder like this in his stride. But I’d still like to know how you got away with it.”
“With what?” Simon asked a little incredulously.
“With just being anywhere around when it happened. I should think the cops would grab a guy like you without even asking questions, and start beating you up to see what they got.”
“There was a certain suspiciousness at first,” Simon admitted. “But I was able to talk myself out of it. For the time being, anyway. You see, as a matter of fact I wasn’t around.”
“Well, you’d just come into the studio and signed up with Byron.”
“But God!” said Kendricks, “if you’d been at Byron’s house when it happened, or if you’d found the body—”
The Saint smiled.
“It would have been distinctly awkward,” he said candidly.