“It is against the law to conceal information about a crime from the police,” he said furiously. “This alters everything. I shall refuse to release you!”
Inverest gazed at the Saint intently from under lowered brows.
“He has already been released,” he pointed out at length. “Furthermore, as regards anything that has transpired since then, I must inform you that Mr Templar has just been appointed a special attaché to the American Embassy, and therefore claims diplomatic immunity.” He stood up. “I shall communicate with you later, Inspector, if I decide that Mr Templar’s information should be disclosed. Come, Mr Templar.”
He gestured with his shiny top hat towards the door, and Simon went and opened it.
The Secretary of State stalked out without a backward glance, but Simon Templar could not resist turning to give the baffled Inspector a mocking bow before he followed.
Uniformed guards outside saluted them into a waiting black limousine with CD plates and the Stars and Stripes fluttering from a little mast on the hood. It was the finest exit the Saint had ever made from any police station, and he would treasure the remembrance for the rest of his life — however long that might be.
“The driver is an Italian,” Inverest said. “Better wait until we’re alone.”
Simon nodded, and said nothing more until the door had closed behind them in the office at the Embassy which had been placed at the Secretary’s disposal.
“Well, Mr Templar,” Inverest said, dropping his hat and gloves on the desk, “you’ve placed me in a most peculiar position. Unless you have something extraordinary up your sleeve, I might well deserve to be impeached. All that talk of yours about international complications, of course, was arrant nonsense.”
“You realized that, did you?”