The Saint’s smile was charming.
“Maybe,” he said. “But you can’t find a murderer without insulting somebody. You hated Ufferlitz, didn’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You hated his guts,” said the Saint.
The director combed his fingers through his dank forelock and turned to Condor with a baffled gesture.
“I don’t know what he’s trying to make out, but he must want to put me in a bad light. He’s making a mountain out of a molehill.”
“What was there between you and Ufferlitz?” Condor asked casually.
“If you don’t want to do it,” said the Saint relentlessly, “I don’t mind telling him for you.”
After which he held his breath.
Groom said, “It just shows what silly gossip will do. Ufferlitz and I had a bit of a fight once at the Trocadero. I got into conversation with a girl at the bar, and apparently he had a date to meet her there. He’d been drinking. He got mad and made a scene.”