16 The Saint Overboard

back. After which the sunshine would have come back into Vogel's ugly life, Simon reflected malevolently. And then ...

Vogel would know that the Saint didn't know he knew. And the Saint wouldn't know whether Vogel knew, or whether Vogel was banking on the Saint knowing that Vogel didn't know he knew he knew. And Vogel would still have to wonder whether the Saint knew he knew he knew he didn't know. Or not. It was all somewhat involved. But the outstanding conclusion seemed to be that the Saint could still go to St Peter Port with the assur­ance that Vogel wouldn't know definitely whether the Saint knew he knew, and Vogel could issue walk-into-my-parlour in­vitations with the certainty that the Saint couldn't refuse them without admitting that he knew Vogel knew he knew Vogel knew. Or vice versa. Simon felt his head beginning to ache, and decided to give it a rest.

'We'd better sleep on it,' he said.

He left Orace slapping down the mainsail into a neat roll with a condensed viciousness which suggested that Orace's thoughts were concerned with the way he would have liked to manhandle Murdoch if that unfortunate warrior had been available for manhandling, and went below. As he got into his pyjamas he realised that there was at least one certainty about Murdoch's future movements, which was that he would try to reach Loretta Page either that night or early in the morning with his story. He would be able to do it, too. There might be many places on the continent of Europe where anyone clothed only in a pair of trousers couldn't hope to get far without being arrested, but Dinard in the summer was not one of them; and presumably the man had parked his luggage somewhere before he set out on his pig-headed expedition. The Saint only hoped that their encounter that afternoon had taught Murdoch the necessity of making his approach with a discreet eye for possible watchers, but he was inclined to doubt it.

He was awake at eight, a few moments before Grace brought in his orange juice; and by half-past nine he was dressed and breakfasted.

'Have everything ready to sail as soon as I get back,' he called into the galley, where Orace was washing up.

He went out on deck, and as he stepped up into the brighten­ing sunlight, he glanced automatically up-river to where the Falkenberg lay at anchor. Something about the ship caught his eye; and after leisurely picking up a towel, as if that was all he had come out for, he went back to the saloon and searched for his field-glasses.

His eyesight had served Mm well. There was a man sitting in the shade aft of the deckhouse with a pair of binoculars on his knee, and even while the Saint studied him he raised the glasses and seemed to be peering straight through the porthole from which the Saint was looking out.

Simon drew back, with the chips of sapphire hardening in his blue eyes. His first thought was that he was now out of the doubtful class into the privileged circle of known menaces; but then he realised that this intense interest in his morning activi­ties need only be a part of Vogel's already proven thoroughness. But he also realised that if he set off hurriedly for the shore, the suspicion which already centred on him would rise to boiling point; and if somebody set off quickly to cover him at the Hotel de la Mer—that would be that.

The Saint lighted a cigarette and moved restlessly round the cabin. Something had to be done. Somehow he had to reach Lo­retta, tell her—what? That she was suspected? She knew that. That Murdoch was suspected ? She might guess it. That she must not take that voyage with Vogel? She would go anyway. Simon's fist struck impatiently into the palm of his hand. It didn't mat­ter. He had to reach her—even if the entire crew of the Falk­enberg was lined up on the deck with binoculars trained on the Corsair, arid even if the Hotel de la Mer was surrounded by a cordon of their watchers.

With a sudden decision he opened the door of the galley again.

'Never mind the washing up, Orace,' he said. 'We're sailing now.'

Orace came out without comment, wiping his hands on the legs of his trousers. While Simon started the auxiliary, he swung out the davits and brought the dinghy up under the falls. While the engine was warming up, the Saint helped him to haul up the dinghy, and then sent him forward at once to get up the anchor.

It was a quarter to ten when the nose of the Corsair turned down the estuary and began to push up the ripples towards the sea.

'Let it hang,' said the Saint, when Orace was still working at the anchor. 'We'll want it again in a minute.'

Orace looked at him for a moment, and then straightened up and came aft, lowering himself into the cockpit.

'Get ready to drop the dinghy again, and swing her out as soon as we're round the point,' said the Saint.