The Saint vs Scotland Yard (The Holy Terror)

bait you. The more I bait you, the madder you get. And the madder you get, the more I have to bait you. We get so's nothing's too bad for us to do to each other.' The Saint smiled. 'Well, Claud, I'm taking a little holiday, and before I go I'm giving you a break.'

Teal shrugged mountainously, but for a moment he said nothing. And the Saint balanced his cigarette on his thumb­nail and flipped it far and wide.

'Let me do some thinking for you,' he said. 'I'm great on doing other people's thinking for them these days. . . . Over­night you thought over what I said to you last evening. This morning you verified that I hadn't been bluffing. And you knew there was only one thing for you to do. Your conscience wouldn't let you lie down under what I'd done. You'd got to take what was coming to you—arrest me, and face the music. You'd got to play square with yourself, even if it broke you. I know just how you felt. I admire you for it. But I'm not going to let you do it.'

'No?'

'Not in these trousers,' said the Saint. 'Why should you? You've got Perrigo, and I'm ready for a short rest. And here's your surprise packet. Get busy on what it tells you, and you may be a superintendent before the end of the season.'

Teal glanced at the book which the Saint had thrust into his hands, and turned it over thoughtfully.

Then he looked again at the Saint. His face was still as impassive as the face of a graven image, but a little of the chilled steel had gone out of his eyes. And, as he looked, he saw that the Saint was laughing again—the old, unchangeable, soundless, impudent Saintly laughter. And the blue imps in the Saint's eyes danced.

'I play the game by my own rules, Claud,' said the Saint. 'Don't you forget it. That profound philosophy covers the craziest things I do. It also makes me the only man in this bleary age who enjoys every minute of his life. And'—for the last time in that story, the Saintly forefinger drove gaily and debonairly to its mark—'if you take a leaf out of my book, Claud, one day, Claud, you will have fun and games for ever.' And then the Saint was gone.

He departed in the Saintly way, with a last Saintly smile and the clap of a hand on the detective's shoulder; and  Teal watched him go without a word.

Patricia was waiting for him farther along the deck. He fell into step beside her, and they went down the gangway and crossed the quay. At the corner of a warehouse Simon stopped. Quite quietly he looked at her, propping up the building with one hand.

And the girl knew what his silence meant. For him, the die was cast; and, being the man he was, he was ready to pay cash. His hand was in his pocket, and the smile hadn't wavered on his lips. But just for that moment he was taking his unflinching farewell of the fair fields of irresponsible adven­ture, understanding just what it would mean to him to pay the score, scanning the road ahead with the steady eyes that had never feared anything in this life. And he was ready to start the journey there and then.

And Patricia smiled. She had never loved him more than she did at that moment; but she smiled with nothing but the smile behind her eyes. And she answered before he had spoken.

'Boy,' she said, 'I couldn't be happier than I am now.'

He did not move. She went on, quickly:

'Don't say it, Simon! I don't want you to. Haven't we both got everything we want as it is? Isn't life splendid enough? Aren't we going to have more adventures, and—and—'

'Fun and games for ever?'

'Yes! Aren't we? Why spoil the magic? I won't listen to you. Even if we've missed out on this adventure—'

Suddenly he laughed. His hands went to his hips. She had been waiting for that laugh. She had put all she was into the task of winning it. And, with that laugh, the spell that had held his eyes so quiet and steady was broken. She saw the leap of the old mirth and glamour lighting them again. She was happy.

'Pat, is that really what you want?'

'It's everything I want.'

'To go on with the fighting and the fun? To go on racketing around the world, doing everything that's utterly and gloriously mad—swaggering, swashbuckling, singing—showing all these dreary old-dogs what can be done with life—not giving a damn for anyone—robbing the rich, helping the poor —plaguing the pompous—killing dragons, pulling policemen's legs——'

'I'm ready for it all!'

He caught her hands.