is because I love you?'
For a space he stared. Then —
'Burn it,' said the Saint shakily, 'why couldn't you say so before
But after that there was only one thing to do. For a man so unversed in the ways of women he did it exceedingly well.
Chapter X
THE OLD HOUSE
It was Orace, that stern disciplinarian, who ruthlessly interrupted the seance in order to lay the table for lunch. That was half an hour later, though Simon and Pat would both have sworn that the interlude had lasted no more than a short half-minute. The Saint moved away to an embrasure and gazed out at the rippling blue sea, self- conscious for the first time in his life. The girl began to tidy her hair. But Orace, after one disapproving glance round, brazenly continued with his task, as though no amount of objections to his intrusion could stop him enforcing punctuality.
'Lunch narf a minnit,' warned Orace, and returned to the kitchen.
The Saint continued to admire the horizon with mixed feelings. He was sufficiently hardener in his lawless career to appreciate the practical disadvantages of Romance with a big R horning in at that stage of the proceedings. Why in the name of Noah couldn't the love and kisses have waited their turn and popped up at the conventional time, when the ungodly had been duly routed and the scene was all set for a fade-out on the inevitable embrace? But they hadn't, and there it was. The Saint was ready to sing and curse simultaneously. That the too marvellous Patricia should be in love with him was all but too good to be true — but the fact that she was, and that he knew it, quadrupled his responsibility and his anxieties.
It was not until Orace had served lunch arid departed again that they could speak naturally, and by then a difficult obstacle of shyness had grown up between them to impose a fresh restraint.
'So you see,' remarked Patricia at last, 'you can't leave me out of it now.'
'If you cared anything about my feelings,' returned the Saint, somewhat brusquely, 'you'd respect them — and give way.'
She shook her head.
'In anything else in the world,' she said, 'but not in this.'
So that was that. Simon had used up all his arguments, and further effort to combat her resolution would only be tedious. She won. Short of an appeal to brute strength, he hadn't a thing left to do except grin and bear it and do his best to make the going as safe as ingenuity could. And like many strong men the Saint shrank from applying cave-man measures.
At that moment he would even have considered throwing up the sponge, tipping the wink to Carn, and sliding out of the picture. What stopped him from taking that desperate way out was a shrewd understanding of the girl's character. Somehow, out of a normal education and a simple life in a forgotten country village, she had acquired the standards of a qualified adventuress — in the clean sense. And she had a ramrod will to back her up. She felt that it was only the game to stand by her man in any and every kind of trouble, and she meant to play the game according to her lights. She would only despise him if he refused to carry on on her account: she was determined to prove to him by deeds as well as words that she wasn't a clinging vine who was going to cramp his style either before or after the wedding bells. And it was quite hopeless for the Saint to try and point out to her that she would only hamper him — as hopeless as it would have been ungracious, bearing in mind the uniqueness of a girl of her caliber.
But for one thing Simon could and did thank his stars: he had successfully put her off the track of the first string on his bow — the disused inn behind the village. He would be able to tackle the proposition from that angle without her knowledge before t nightfall, and if the Fates played into his hands he might manage to get a stranglehold on the Tiger before it was her turn to bat.
'If the mountain won't budge, Mahomet'll have to leave it where it is,' said the Saint disarmingly. 'But there are one or two knots that ought to be untied in the course of the afternoon, and that's where you can help. One — it might be a sound plot to see if we can't get this Aunt Aggie palaver cleared up a bit.'
'She wouldn't tell me anything last night.'
'You were hardly on form then, with me loose in the menagerie. This afternoon you can go back full of beans, with a parting hug from me to pep you up, and lam into Auntie two-fisted. If you can only carry it, you've got her cold. After all, she admits having tapped your treasure chest to save herself. It isn't too stiff a return to ask her to get a bit off her own chest for your satisfaction. I know she's a hefty handful, but she isn't half the size of some of the things you'll have to wire into during the next twenty-four hours, and it'll limber you up. If she tries to bully you, remember that there isn't a bully swaggering the earth that can't be bullied himself by someone with the guts to take on the job. And if she finds she can't treat you highhanded, and bursts into tears — don't let 'em dissolve you. I can't take her on myself, so I've got to rely on you.'
She nodded.
'If you say so. Saint, I shan't funk it.'
'Good Scout'' he approved. 'The other item is old Lapping. He's been lying doggo since the beginning of the piece, but there are so darn few possible winning numbers in this lottery that I think we ought to get a line on Lapping. On the face of it, he's right out of the running — but then, so's everyone else in Baycombe. And I'm just wondering about a lad called Harry the Duke.'
''Harry the Duke'?' she repeated, mystified. 'Whoever's he?'
'A swell mobsman that Lapping sent dowa for seven years when he was a judge. It was a nasty piece of work — I'll spare you the details — but Harry escaped six years ago, and he never was a forgiving man, from all accounts. In fact, knowing what's said about Harry at the Yard, I'm surprised he hasn't taken it out of Lapping before now. There's a story that Harry followed the first magistrate who convicted him halfway round the world — and got him. Since when there was no other, Harry being miles and miles above the common run of crooks in brains, until Lapping. It's a long shot, I know, but bad men run pretty much to pattern, and the Tiger's acknowledged to be an Englishman. And the hunch got me recently — suppose Harry the Duke is the Tiger?'
'Wouldn't he have been recognized?'
'Harry's face is pure plasticene, and he's forgotten more about make-up than most actors ever learn. And Harry's one of the few men I'd credit with brains enough to wear the Tiger's hat... .It's all speculation, and long odds against it on probability, but it's worth a flutter. You see, if the Tiger did happen to be Harry the Duke — and the Tiger 'started operations not so long after Harry broke jail — it accounts for Lapping's continued health. The Tiger'll just be waiting till he's ready to skedaddle with the Swag, since Lapping's right where he can lay his hands on him any time, and then he'll pay off the old score and sail away.'
She was still puzzled.
'But what do you want me to do?' she asked.
'If you've got time and energy left after pasting Auntie, go over and be sweet and winsome to Sir Mike,' replied Simon. 'You know him quite well — lay it on with a spade. Ask him to advise you about me. That's sound! If he happened to be in with the Tiger, it might put you on safer ground if you can kid them you're not in my confidence after all. If he's harmless, it can't hurt us. Talk to him as the old friend and honorary uncle. Tell him about
'I'll do it,' she said, and he leaned across, the table and touched her hand.
'You're a partner in a million, old Pat.'
After lunch Orace served coffee outside, and they sat and smoked while they, discussed the final arrangements.
'I'll send Orace over to fetch you after dinner,' he said. 'I think it'd be better if I didn't appear. Put a bathing costume on under your frock; and when the time comes I'll give you a belt and the neatest waterproof holster, that'll just carry your fit in guns. But I'll give you the shooter now.'
