"She ast ya," Sam said patiently. "So you don't care. We keep flitting around behind this meter till ya make up ya mind? Name some place, any place!"
Joe blinked, and you could almost hear unused mental machinery begin to rattle and clank. The machinery ground to a stop. His face once more was like a harvest moon.
"Cookie's!" he cried, and was quiet.
The Saint suppressed a groan. He didn't like Cookie's — Canteen or Cellar. He'd never visited the Canteen, but his mind was made up.
On the other hand—
He considered the other hand. James Prather had seen him and Avalon leave with Sam and Joe. That fact would be reported, if the Saint's ideas on the situation were correct. Those receiving the report would in some way be tied up with Cookie's. Therefore, if they all turned up there in the late afternoon, before the crowd began to thicken, some overt action might be taken. Anything, he thought, to get this thing out in the open. Another point to be considered was Avalon. In the event of a fracas of any sort at Cookie's, she'd be more likely to declare her allegiance there than elsewhere.
"Splendid," the Saint said, and Avalon's half-formed answer died in her throat.
She might have been about to say all the obvious things: the place would be dull at this time of day, she didn't like it, it was a clip joint, haven of highgraders. But when the Saint spoke, she shot him a puzzled glance and was still.
Simon gave instructions to the driver, and they took off on a new tack.
"Why," Simon asked conversationally, "Cookie's?"