"He must have been mistaken. To err is human—"
Teal moved his gum again and almost swallowed it.
"You've been harbouring a suspected person—"
"But what on earth," asked the Saint puzzledly, "is the poor boy suspected of? Buying a sweepstake ticket or something dreadful like that? I thought you'd got a bloke called Perez who was supposed to have murdered Ingleston."
"Graham was suspected at the time, and you'd no business to be harbouring him. And now he's still believed to be in possession of seven thousand pounds worth of American bearer bonds—"
"Bonds?"
"Yes, bonds. Forged bonds. And there's also forty thousand pounds in cash that you stole from Quintana's house tonight!"
"My dear Claud!" The Saint was earnestly sympathetic. "If you've been thinking things like that I don't wonder that you're upset. Seven thousand pounds worth of forged bonds and forty thousand quid in cash — that would be something to make a song about. But you're all wrong this time. We haven't got any bonds, and we haven't got anything like forty thousand pounds."
"No?" Teal's voice was savage. "Well—"
"Of course you can," said the Saint clairvoyantly. "Go ahead and search us. Search the place. I won't even ask you to show a warrant. If it'll set your mind at rest…"