7
The congregation had dispersed as easily as a puff of smoke. Simon glanced up and down an empty corridor, and went rapidly on to the stairs which led him out into the stucco-reflected glare of Avenue A. He just caught a glimpse of what looked like the thin stooped back of Jack Groom vanishing into the doorway of the entrance lobby, and lengthened his stride in pursuit.
It was Groom, but April Quest had already disappeared when Simon saw him. Instead of her, Lieutenant Condor was talking to him. The detective moved slothfully out in an effective blocking movement that would have made it impossible for the Saint to pass by with a nod.
“Well, Mr Templar, what did you think of the will?”
“Interesting and original,” drawled the Saint. “It should be quite a party. I suppose you knew about it already.”
“Yeah — I had a preview.”
“It’s too bad there weren’t a lot of heirs and legatees, isn’t it?” Simon remarked. “It would have made everything so nice and complicated.”
Condor nodded, with his toothpick wagging from his incisors.
“I guess the freed slaves will be all moved out from here tomorrow. You weren’t thinking of leaving town, were you?”
“No, I think I’ll stick around for a bit.”