“I know. And he was going to start a new business there?”
“Yes.”
“Well,” said the Saint, “the police think it was just an ordinary robbery, don’t they?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t you?”
She twisted her fingers nervously together.
“I don’t know what to think.”
The Saint stared at a plume of smoke drifting towards the ceiling. He tried half-heartedly not to recognize that his blood was suddenly running faster, in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with the young woman’s appealing beauty. But it was no use. He knew, only too well, the symptoms of the almost psychic reflex that told him that he was in it again — up to the ears...
“I’m thinking,” he said slowly, “these muggers didn’t just pick your husband by accident. They knew what they were after. They didn’t even try to look in his pockets. They just grabbed his briefcase and ran. Therefore, they knew what was in it. What was that?”
“Some business papers, perhaps?”