"Hold him here," he said, and went into the room.
He was gone only a couple of minutes, and when he came back he looked several years older. He spoke to one of his satellites.
"Have you searched him?"
"Yes sir. No weapons."
"Go out and phone for a homicide detail — better not use any of the phones in here. Al, you go upstairs and look over the other rooms, but don't touch anything."
The two men left, and Simon straightened his clothes to restore his natural elegance from the disorder which the rough search of his person had produced. He could never have looked more at case and debonair, as if it had never occurred to him that the most diaphanous cloud of suspicion could ever cast a shadow on his unspotted probity.
"Quite a neat little job, isn't it?" he remarked affably.
Fernack stared up at him, and his gaze was curiously sad.
"If I hadn't seen it myself, I wouldn't have believed it," he said. "Simon, what in God's name did you do it for?"
The Saint's brows rose in balanced arcs of shocked incredulity.