Simon rounded a cigarette with his forefingers and thumbs.
"You want to ask me questions. Do you mind if I ask a couple? For my own satisfaction. Being as I'm so curious."
Kinglake's chilled gimlet eyes took another exploratory twist into him.
"What are they?"
"What did Quantry get out of his autopsy?"
"No traces of poison or violence — nothing that came through the fire, anyway. The guy burned to death."
"What about the newspaper and the matches?"
"Just a piece of a local paper, which anybody could have bought or picked up. No fingerprints."
"And where did you get the idea that I was a salesman?"
"I didn't give out anything about you. If some reporter got that idea, he got it. I'm not paid to be your press agent." Kinglake was at the full extension of his precarious control. "Now you answer my question before we go any further."