“Was he a friend of yours?” Kleinhaus asked.
I never saw him before in my life,” said the Saint.
The policeman thumbed over the pages of the passport, and pointed at one of them.
“What is this?”
Simon looked over his shoulder.
“It’s an immigrant’s visa to the United States... issued a week ago. Apparently it has not yet been used.”
“But you say you did not know him.”
“I forget how many thousands of immigrants enter the United States every year,” said the Saint, “but I assure you they are not all friends of mine.”
Again he felt a warning tug at his sleeve.
The rotund Mr Kleinhaus addressed the policeman again in his own dialect. He appeared to be arguing that the Saint was merely an innocent bystander who had tried to catch a couple of criminals, that he should not be treated like a suspect, that the policeman would do better to concentrate on the crime. The policeman seemed to be grudgingly impressed. He turned back to the Saint less aggressively.