“I can’t say. I just work for a living. It’ll all have to go to the DA. Probably the Big Shots’ll go to work on him to push it away without any scandal. Another Hollywood mystery dies a natural death. That’s my guess. I’m only a cop.”
“But you’re satisfied?”
“I’m going to have to be. I’ll do some more checking up, but if you’re as good as you sound it won’t make any difference.” His mouth turned down one-sidedly. “If you’re not worried any more, you don’t need to be.”
The Saint sat down in the nearest chair and prepared himself a cigarette with unwontedly deliberate fingers.
“I think,” he remarked judicially, “that I could use a drink.”
“I’ve got some Scotch,” said the girl.
“With ice,” said the Saint, “and plain water.”
“What about you, Lieutenant?”
Condor shook his head.
“Thanks, miss. I’ve got to worry about my report. I won’t take any more of your time.” He looked at the Saint. “You’ve got your car, so I’ll be on my way.”