"Just so I get to Galveston before I'm too old to care," said the Saint agreeably.
But inwardly he took a new measure of the Lieutenant. King-lake might be a rough man in a hurry, but he didn't jump to conclusions. He would be tough to change once he had reached a conclusion, but he would have done plenty of work on that conclusion before he reached it.
So the Saint kept a tight rein on his more wicked impulses, and submitted patiently and politely to the tedious routine of making his statement while it was taken down in labored longhand by Detective Yard and Bill the deputy simultaneously. Then there were a few ordinary questions and answers on it to be added, and after a long dull time it was over.
"Okay, Bill," Kinglake said at last, getting up as if he was no less glad than the Saint to be through with the ordeal. "We'll keep in touch. Templar, I'll ride back to Galveston in your car, if you don't mind."
"Fine," said the Saint equably. "You can show me the way."
But he knew very well that there would be more to it than that; and his premonition was vindicated a few seconds after they got under way.
"Now," Kinglake said, slouching down in the seat beside him and biting off the end of a villainous-looking stogie, "we can have a private little chat on the way in."
"Good," said the Saint. "Tell me about your museums and local monuments."
"And I don't mean that," Kinglake said.
Simon put a cigarette in his mouth and pressed the lighter on the dashboard and surrendered to the continuation of Fate.