“Why you sent me that note and phoned the police about a prowler, pretending that you were Ufferlitz, so that I’d be caught in the house with his body and very probably sent to jail for a week or two for killing him.”
This silence was even deeper than the last one. It grew up until Simon was conscious of making an effort to hold the implacable stillness of his face and force them to make the first movement.
At last Lazaroff made it.
He stretched up a little, as though he were lifting a weight with his hands.
“Better tell him, Bob,” he said.
Kendricks stirred, and the Saint looked at him.
“I guess so,” he said. “We did send you that note.”
“Why?”
“For a laugh.” Kendricks was like a schoolboy on the carpet. “One of those crazy things we’re always doing. You could have made the front pages all day, too. Banners when you were arrested, and a double column when they found out it was all a mistake.”
“And how were they going to find that out?”