16 The Saint Overboard

She nodded.

'You see, we came to a brick wall. The men could get so far, but they couldn't go on. They couldn't get inside the racket. Two of those who didn't come back—tried. We couldn't take a chance on anything drastic, because we've no official standing, and we hadn't any facts. Only a good guess. Well, there was one other way. Somewhere at the top of the racket there must be a head man, and the odds are that he's human.'

He took in the grace of her as she lounged there in the over­sized bathrobe, understanding the rest.

'You came out to be human with him.'

The turn of her head was sorcery, the sculpture of her neck merging into the first hinted curve between the lapels of the bathrobe was a pattern of magic that made murder and sudden death egregious intrusions.

'I didn't succeed—so far. I've tried. I've even had dinner with him, and danced at the Casino. But I haven't had an invitation to go on board his boat. To-night I got the devil in me, or something. I tried to go on board without an invitation.'

'Didn't you guess there'd be a watch on deck?'

'I suppose so. But I thought he'd probably be sleepy, and I could move very quietly.' She grimaced. 'He got me, but he let me go when I fired a shot beside his ear—I didn't hurt him—and I dived overboard.'

'And thereby hangs a tale,' said the Saint.

4

He stood up and flicked his cigarette-end through a porthole, helping himself to another. The lines of his face were lifted in high relief as he drew at a match.

'You didn't tell me all this to pass the time, did you?' he smiled.

'I told you because you're—you.' She was looking at him directly, without a trace of affected hesitation. 'I've no author­ity. But I've seen you, and I know who you are. Maybe I thought you might be interested.'

She straightened the bathrobe quickly, looking round for an ashtray.

'Maybe I might,' he said gently. 'Where are you staying?'

'The Hotel de la Mer.'

'I wish you could stay here. But to-night—I'm afraid there must be a thin chance that your boy friend wasn't quite satisfied with my lines when we exchanged words, and you can't risk it. Another time——'

Her eyes opened wider, and he stretched out his hand with a breath of laughter.

'I'm going to row you home now,' he said. 'Or do we have another argument?'

'I wouldn't argue,' she began silkily; and then, with the cor­ners of her mouth tugging against her will, she took his hand. 'But thanks for the drink—and everything.'

'There are only two things you haven't told me,' he said. 'One is the name of this boat you wanted to look at.'

She searched his face for a moment before she answered:

'The Falkenberg'

'And the other is the name of the boy friend—the bloke who passed in the night.'

'Kurt Vogel.'

'How very appropriate,' said the Saint thoughtfully. 'I think' I shall call him Birdie when we get acquainted. But that can wait. ... I want to finish my beauty sleep, and I suppose you haven't even started yours. But I've got a hunch that if you're on the beach before lunch we may talk some more. I'm glad you dropped in.'

The fog was thinning to a pearl-grey vagueness lightening with the dawn when he rowed her back; and when he woke up there were ovals of yellow sunlight stencilled along the bulkhead from the opposite