Lorne nodded in comprehension. ‘You’ll tip your hand, and the guilty party, or parties, will close ranks and run interference.’ Tapping his pen absentmindedly on the desktop, he thought things over for several long moments. At last, he said thoughtfully, ‘Leave this with me for the time being. Circumventing this little game is going to require some creative manoeuvring, if you catch my drift.’
‘I don’t . . . at least, not fully.’
‘Word of advice,’ Lorne told his son, cryptically. ‘If you want to trap a man who’s a lot smarter than you, just tell him to his face that you’re smarter than he is, then arrest him when he proves it.’
‘That makes no sense,’ David rejoined. ‘If he’s smarter than you, he’ll see right through you.’
Lorne’s smile was not kind. ‘Exactly. By which time you’ll have him by the goolies. Just remember- sometimes it takes a thug to beat an intellectual at his own game.’
Superintendent Garth Williams unfolded his newspaper and pretended to read it once more as the man in the overcoat left the bank building, checked down the street both ways, then moved quickly toward his automobile. As he got in, Garth folded his paper, stuffed it in the glove box, started the engine, and pulled out to follow.