“But why did he kill Ufferlitz?”
“Because Ufferlitz was blackmailing him. Flane wasn’t always a glamor boy for cameras. There was a time in New Orleans when he was charming feminine hearts for a much less romantic racket. He was in a bad spot once, and there was a girl who was a witness. She died — very conveniently. But Ufferlitz had the goods on him.”
“How do you know that?”
“You forget,” said the Saint gently. “Crime is my business. And I’ve got a rather phenomenal memory. Only sometimes it’s a little bit slow. But you don’t have to take my word for it. You can confirm it with New Orleans.”
They were rolling eastwards on the boulevard again.
“Why didn’t you tell me that this morning?”
“It just hadn’t come into my head then. I got it after I left you this afternoon. Going off on a wrong tack after Groom — that business about the girl... girls... dirty work with girls — and suddenly the gates were open and it all poured in. I was in the Front Office then, and by God, Flane was there. Well, I’m just not a good citizen. I never could see why policemen should have all the fun. I just have to stick my own nose in. So I did. I told Flane I was wise to him. I told him the whole story, and invented what I wasn’t sure of. But I made it good. Just to see if I could make him break.”
“And then—”
“Then he broke. I don’t have to try and convince you about that. Here’s my first witness.”
He braked the car to a stop outside the neon façade of the Front Office, and the prowl car slid tightly in behind. Simon opened his door and got out with careful leisureliness, and the detective put his gun away and got out after him.