“I heard Ufferlitz telling his secretary about working there last night. He said ‘The door’ll be open as usual.’ She said ‘Don’t you ever lock your door?’ and he said ‘I haven’t locked my house up for years. I always lose keys, and what the hell, if anybody’s going to get in they’ll get in anyway and leave me a busted window on top of it.’ I don’t suppose you’ll believe that, but you can check on it.”
Simon held his eyes and moved to another seat by the telephone. He picked up the directory, and found Peggy Warden’s number. He put the telephone on his knee and dialled it.
Lazaroff went on looking at him steadily.
“Hullo,” she said.
“This is Lieutenant Condor,” said the Saint, and his voice was a perfect imitation of the detective’s soured and dismal accent. “There’s one thing I forgot to check with you. When you left Mr Ufferlitz’s house last night, did you leave the door unlocked?”
“Why, yes. It was unlocked when I got there. He never locked it.”
“Never?”
“No. He said he always lost his keys, and if a burglar really wanted to get in he’d just break a window or something.”
“When did he tell you that?”
“It was only yesterday, as a matter of fact. But the door was unlocked the last time I went there, to bring him some letters.”