Call for the Saint (26 page)

“I hear you’re doing fine, Champ,” Fernack said. “How soon is Grady going to match you with the Saint?”

“From what I heard on the radio,” Nelson answered, “maybe it’s a good thing I’m retiring.”

Connie squeezed his hand.

“If you’d like to tell me more about this,” Fernack said, with as close to a tone of respect as he had ever used in speaking to the Saint, “I’d be willing to listen. We picked up Spangler last night, by the way-he was just packing for a trip.”

“Congratulations, John Henry,” Simon grinned. “Never let it be said that the Police Department lets lawns grow on its feet.”

Fernack grimaced.

“What I want to know,” he said, “is how you figured Whitey was working with Spangler.”

“Well-” the Saint began thoughtfully, “it was the way Whitey kept plugging his hatred for Spangler that first made me suspicious. Then later, when we were at Spangler’s place and found Whitey apparently wounded by Karl’s bullet, I noticed that the blood on his scalp had already begun to mat.

He couldn’t have been shot by the bullet we’d just heard fired, which he claimed. It takes a little longer than that for blood to clot. I realized then and there that he’d actually been grazed by the bullet Hoppy sent through the rear window of the car he and Karl and Slim had used when they shot up the pawnshop. Probably, when they realized I was in the house, Spangler had Karl fire into the wall to make it appear that he was the one who’d shot Whitey-thus concealing the fact that Whitey had been one of the gunmen, and prolonging his usefulness as Steve’s manager.”

“If he was Spangler’s inside man,” pondered Fernack, “Whitey must’ve seconded all of the Angel’s opponents. We’ll check on that.”

“I’ve already done that. Quite a while ago. And Whitey did Second the Angel’s opponents. Every one of them. That’s how the barrel always rolled them out inside of two rounds… . I felt pretty sure that Whitey must’ve been doping the Angel’s opponents, of course, if he was tied up with Spangler as I suspected. It would be easy for him to fix up his fighters’ water with a few drops of something, and Spangler would know what to prescribe that wouldn’t show:up in case of accidents.”

“Okay,” Fernack agreed, “but if it was only knockout drops, what killed Torpedo Smith?”

“Why, you saw it yourself. The Angel hit him when Smith was already half asleep-and believe me, Brother Bilinski can really hit when he has lots of time. I know!”

“Darling,” Patricia said, “you won’t be permanently injured, will you?”

“I hope not,” said the Saint.

THE END

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