“Where did you get that?” whispered Voyson.
His eyes were frozen on the booklet of colored papers which the Saint was skimming through. Simon glanced up and back to them again.
“Out of your pocket,” he answered calmly. “Just put me down as inquisitive.”
He turned the leaflets interestedly, examining them one by one until he came to the end. Then he replaced them in their neat folder, snapped the elastic, and stowed it away in his own pocket.
“Destination Batavia, I see,” he remarked genially. “Well, I’m sure you’ll be able to straighten everything out when you get back to Maxton. Putting duty before everything else and going home by the shortest route, too. Indonesia is on the direct line to Ohio from here — via Australia. Are you taking in Australia? You oughtn’t to miss the wallabies... You certainly are going to have a nice long voyage to recover from the strain of trying to save your shareholders’ money. And by the way, there are quite a lot of extradition difficulties from Indonesia to the United States when a guy is wanted for your particular kind of nastiness, aren’t there?”
Voyson rubbed his chin with a shaking hand. His gaze was fixed on the Saint with the quivering intensity of a guinea-pig hypnotized by a snake.
“Picked my pocket, eh?” he got out harshly. “I’ll see your editor hears about that. I’ll have you arrested!”
He reached up for the communication cord. Simon tilted his head back and half closed his eyes.
“What a story!” he breathed ecstatically. “Of course it’ll delay you a bit, having to stay on in Germany to make the charge and see it all through. But if you think it’s worth it, I do. It’d be front page stuff!”
Voyson sank down again.