16 The Saint Overboard

honour. Once she starts any Mata Hari business, that boat is sunk.'

'Well?'

Simon flicked ash on to the carpet.

'The only tune is the one I'm playing. Complete and childlike innocence. With a pan like yours, Steve, you'll have a job to get your mouth round the flute, but you've got to try it. Because any sucker play you make is going to hit Loretta. The first thing is to clean yourself up. If you've got a star or anything like that of Ingerbeck's, flush it down the lavatory. If you've got anything in writing that could link you up, memorise it and burn it. Strip yourself of every mortal thing that might tie you on to this party. That goes for you too, Loretta, because sooner or later the ungodly are going to try and get a line on you from your lug­gage, if they haven't placed you before that. And then, Steve, you blow.'

'What?'

'Fade. Waft. Pass out into the night. Loretta can go down­stairs with you, and you can take a fond farewell in the foyer, with a few well-chosen lines of dialogue from which any listeners can gather that you're an old friend of her father's taking a holi­day in Guernsey, and hearing she was in Dinard you hopped an excursion and came over for the day. And then you beetle down to the pier, catch the next ferry to St Malo, and shoot on to the return steamer to St Peter Port like a cork out of a bottle. Vo­gel will be there to-morrow.'

'How do you know that?' asked Loretta quickly.

'He told me. We got into conversation before lunch.' Simon's gaze lifted to hers with azure lights of scapegrace solemnity play­ing in it. 'He was trying to draw me out, and I was just devilling him, but neither of us got very far. I think he was telling me the truth, though. If I chase him to St Peter Port, he'll be able to put my innocence through some more tests. So when you're say­ing goodbye to Steve, he might ask you if you're likely to take a trip to Guernsey, and you can say you don't think you'll be able to—that may make them think that you haven't heard anything from me.'

Murdoch took out a cigar and bit the end from it with a bull­dog clamp of his jaws. His eyes were dark again with distrust.

'It's a stall, Loretta,' he said sourly. 'How d'ya know Vogel isn't capable of having an undercover man, the same as us. All he wants to do is get me out of the way, so he can take you alone.'

'You flatter yourself, brother,' said the Saint coldly 'If I wanted to take her, you wouldn't stop me. Nor would you stop Vogel.'

'No?'

'No.'

'Well, I'm not running.'

Loretta glanced from one man to the other. The animosity between them was creeping up again, hardening the square obstinacy of Murdoch's jaw, glittering like chips of elusive steel in the Saint's eyes. They were like two jungle animals, each superb in his own way and conscious of his strength, but of two different species whose feud dated back too far into the grey dawns of history for any quick forgetting.

'Yes, you are, Steve,' said the girl.

'When I start taking orders from that——'

'You aren't.' Her voice was quiet and soothing, but there was a thread of calm decision under the silky texture. 'You're taking orders from me. The Saint's right. We'd better break off again, and hope we can alibi this meeting.'

Murdoch was staring at her half incredulously.

'Orders?' he repeated.

'That's right, Steve. At present I'm running this end of it. Until Martin Ingerbeck takes me off the assignment, you do what I tell you.'

'I think you're crazy.'

She didn't answer. She took a cigarette from a bos on the table and walked to the window, standing there with her arms lifted and her hands on either side of the frame. The silver dragon lifted on her waist.

Murdoch's lips flattened the butt of his cigar. His hands clutched the arms of his chair, and he started to get up