"Telephones are deceptive things," said the Saint sadly. "If someone was pretending to be me naturally they'd imitate my voice—"
"I've got more than that. I've got statements from Quintana and Urivetzky and Perez that you were there all the time."
Simon shrugged deprecatingly.
"After all," he said, "their reputations don't seem to be too good, and I suppose people like that will say anything if they think it'll take trouble away from themselves."
"Would they telephone me and ask me to come over and arrest them?" hooted Teal.
"I don't say they did, although people do lots of queer things. But somebody did it. Why, I don't know. But that's not my job. I'm not a detective, and this isn't my case. it'll be quite a little problem for you, Claud, and I'll be glad to let you know if I think of any theories. But did you see me there?"
"I heard your voice inside the room and so did three other officers—"
"But that must have been my impersonator, Claud — the bloke who did all the tough stuff, cracking jaws and bopping people on the nose and so forth. I'm sure your officers think they were right, the same as you do — but what about your other officers?"
"What other officers?"
"I mean," said the Saint deliberately, "all those great flat-footed morons who've been plastering the scenery around this building ever since I saw you this morning. You've had them watching me like a flea under a microscope, and I suppose they're as sane as anyone else at Scotland Yard. And unless every one of them is a perjurer, I'll bet you can't bring on one of them who won't swear that I haven't put my nose outside all evening. Now suppose you laugh that off!"