He let the official authority behind him make the noise for him, and said with impeccable control: "I hear you were getting around quite a bit last night."
"I tried to," said the Saint amiably. "After all, you remember that survey I told you about. If the Blue Goose meant things to you, you should have tipped me off. You could have saved me a lot of dollars and a slight hangover."
"I didn't think it was any of your business," Kinglake said. "And I still want to know why it was."
"Just curiosity," said the Saint. "In spite of anything you may have read, it isn't every day that I pick up a lump of talking charcoal on the highway. So when it says things to me, I can't just forget them."
"And you didn't forget Ivanovitch, either."
"Of course not. She was mentioned too. I'm sure I told you."
"According to Yard, you came home last night with lipstick on you."
"Some people are born gossips. But I think he's just jealous."
Lieutenant Kinglake picked up a pencil from his desk and fondled it as if the idea of breaking it in half intrigued him. Perhaps as an act of symbolism. But he still didn't raise his voice.
"I'm told," he said, "that you asked a lot of questions about this Henry Stephens — only you knew that his name was Matson. And you were asking about him all over town under that name. Now you can explain that to me, or you can take your chance as a material witness."