he got any. He sat with his well-worn but carefully shined black shoes on Esteban’s polished maple desk and welcomed Simon with a mere flick of his keen gray eyes, and Patricia Holm with the rather sad faint smile of a man long past the age when the sight of such beauty would inspire any kind of activity.
“Can’t say I’m exactly pleased to see you again, Saint,” said Haskins. “How do, Miss Holm.” The amenities fulfilled, he turned to Esteban. “Well?”
Esteban shrugged.
“I tell you on the phone. You have seen the body?”
“Yep, I saw it. And I’m sure curious”-he looked at the Saint-“Mr Templar.”
“So am I, Sheriff,” Simon said easily, “but possibly not about the same thing.”
“You admit you came here lookin’ for the dead woman, son?”
“Now, daddy,” the Saint remonstrated. “You know I’d be looking for a live woman.”
“Hum,” Newt Haskins said. “Reckon so. But the law’s found plenty o’ dead people around right after you been in the neighborhood. So when I see you here right next to a death that’s just happened, I kinda naturally start wonderin’ how much you know about it.”
“I hope you’re not suggesting that I murdered her?”
“You done the suggestin’, son. That she was murdered, that is. Everything else points to the lady’s takin’ the hard way out of a jam.”
“You don’t really believe that, do you?”
“Will you excuse me?” Esteban said. “My guests . . .”
Sheriff Newt Haskins waved a negligent hand.
“Go ahead, Esteban. Call you if I want ya.” To the Saint, after Esteban had gone, he said: “He ain’t much help.”
“Are you sure he couldn’t be if he wanted to?”
“Wa’al-” Newt Haskins shrugged his thin shoulders non-committally. “Let’s get back to your last question. Nope, I don’t think Mrs Verity shot herself. Seein’s how good-lookin’ dames like her hate to disfigure themselves. It’s generally gas, or sleepin’ tablets. Still, you can’t say it’s never happened.”
Pat said: “Think of that little evening bag. Lida wouldn’t have carried a gun in that.”
Haskins pulled his long upper lip.
“It ain’t exactly probable, ma’am,” he agreed. “But on the other hand, it ain’t impossible, either.”
“Permit me to call your attention,” Simon said, “to one thing that is impossible.”
“The white thread caught in the trigger guard?” Haskins anticipated blandly. “Yup, I saw that, son.”
“You’ve got good eyes for your age, daddy. It’s a white cotton thread. Lida Verity was wearing a green silk dress. She didn’t have anything white on her that I noticed. On the other hand, if someone had wiped the gun with a handkerchief to get rid of fingerprints-“
Haskins nodded, his eyes on Patricia.
“You’re wearin’ a white jacket thing, Miss Holm.”
“This bolero? You can’t suggest that I-“
“Don’t get excited darling,” said the Saint. “The sheriff is just stirring things up, to see what comes to the top.”
Haskins held the creases in his leathery face unchanged
“Any reason, son, why you and Miss Holm shouldn’t lay your cards on the table?”
“We always like to know who’s staying in the game, daddy. Somebody around this place has a couple of bullets, back to back.”
The lanky officer sighed. He picked up a glass paperweight, turned it in bony fingers, gazed into it pensively.
“I guess I’ll have to put it to you straight, then.”
“A novelty,” the Saint said, “from the law. You’re going to say that Mrs Verity was loaded down with moola.”
“An” might have been shaken down for some of it. Your crystal ball’s workin’ almost as good as mine, son… .”
The Saint looked out into space, poising puppets with a brown hand.
“If you’ll just concentrate … concentrate … I may be able to do more- I have it!” He might have expected to get his palm crossed with a silver dollar. “My record leads you to suspect me of a slight
“Can’t say I’m exactly pleased to see you again, Saint,” said Haskins. “How do, Miss Holm.” The amenities fulfilled, he turned to Esteban. “Well?”
Esteban shrugged.
“I tell you on the phone. You have seen the body?”
“Yep, I saw it. And I’m sure curious”-he looked at the Saint-“Mr Templar.”
“So am I, Sheriff,” Simon said easily, “but possibly not about the same thing.”
“You admit you came here lookin’ for the dead woman, son?”
“Now, daddy,” the Saint remonstrated. “You know I’d be looking for a live woman.”
“Hum,” Newt Haskins said. “Reckon so. But the law’s found plenty o’ dead people around right after you been in the neighborhood. So when I see you here right next to a death that’s just happened, I kinda naturally start wonderin’ how much you know about it.”
“I hope you’re not suggesting that I murdered her?”
“You done the suggestin’, son. That she was murdered, that is. Everything else points to the lady’s takin’ the hard way out of a jam.”
“You don’t really believe that, do you?”
“Will you excuse me?” Esteban said. “My guests . . .”
Sheriff Newt Haskins waved a negligent hand.
“Go ahead, Esteban. Call you if I want ya.” To the Saint, after Esteban had gone, he said: “He ain’t much help.”
“Are you sure he couldn’t be if he wanted to?”
“Wa’al-” Newt Haskins shrugged his thin shoulders non-committally. “Let’s get back to your last question. Nope, I don’t think Mrs Verity shot herself. Seein’s how good-lookin’ dames like her hate to disfigure themselves. It’s generally gas, or sleepin’ tablets. Still, you can’t say it’s never happened.”
Pat said: “Think of that little evening bag. Lida wouldn’t have carried a gun in that.”
Haskins pulled his long upper lip.
“It ain’t exactly probable, ma’am,” he agreed. “But on the other hand, it ain’t impossible, either.”
“Permit me to call your attention,” Simon said, “to one thing that is impossible.”
“The white thread caught in the trigger guard?” Haskins anticipated blandly. “Yup, I saw that, son.”
“You’ve got good eyes for your age, daddy. It’s a white cotton thread. Lida Verity was wearing a green silk dress. She didn’t have anything white on her that I noticed. On the other hand, if someone had wiped the gun with a handkerchief to get rid of fingerprints-“
Haskins nodded, his eyes on Patricia.
“You’re wearin’ a white jacket thing, Miss Holm.”
“This bolero? You can’t suggest that I-“
“Don’t get excited darling,” said the Saint. “The sheriff is just stirring things up, to see what comes to the top.”
Haskins held the creases in his leathery face unchanged
“Any reason, son, why you and Miss Holm shouldn’t lay your cards on the table?”
“We always like to know who’s staying in the game, daddy. Somebody around this place has a couple of bullets, back to back.”
The lanky officer sighed. He picked up a glass paperweight, turned it in bony fingers, gazed into it pensively.
“I guess I’ll have to put it to you straight, then.”
“A novelty,” the Saint said, “from the law. You’re going to say that Mrs Verity was loaded down with moola.”
“An” might have been shaken down for some of it. Your crystal ball’s workin’ almost as good as mine, son… .”
The Saint looked out into space, poising puppets with a brown hand.
“If you’ll just concentrate … concentrate … I may be able to do more- I have it!” He might have expected to get his palm crossed with a silver dollar. “My record leads you to suspect me of a slight
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