“He gets ugly sometimes, when he’s been drinking.”
“So do a lot of guys. Where did he go?”
“Out. He scrammed outa here like a bat outa hell. Maybe he was scared what you’d do to him when you got up.”
“Maybe,” said the Saint, appreciating the sympathy. “How long a start has he got?”
“Long enough. Now look, take it easy. Better have a drink and cool off. On the house.”
“Anyway that’s an idea,” said the Saint.
He had a drink, which might or might not have helped the pain in his head to subside a little, and then went back across the boulevard and interviewed the studio gatekeeper.
“Lieutenant Condor? No, sir. He left right after you did. He didn’t say where he was going.”
Simon picked up the desk phone and dialled Peggy Warden.
“So you’re still there,” he said. “Didn’t they fire you too?”