16 The Saint Overboard

The Saint gazed at him thoughtfully for a moment and did not answer directly. Presently he said: 'The argument's fairly simple, isn't it? Boodle of that kind isn't exactly ready money. You can't take a sack of uncut diamonds or half a ton of bar gold into the nearest pawnshop and ask 'em how much they'll give you on it. It takes time and organisation to get rid of it. And it isn't so easy to cart around with you while your organisation's functioning—particularly the gold. You have to park it some­where. And for similar reasons you can't use the ordinary safe deposit or keep it in a sock.'

Roger nodded.

'Meaning if we could find this parking-place——'

The Saint spread out his hands.

'Find it, or find out where it is. Join Vogel's crew and get the key. Follow him when he goes there to fetch some of the boodle out, or put some more in. Or something . . .' He smiled, and reached for his glass. 'Anyway, you get the general idea.'

They had got the general idea; and for a minute or two they digested it in efficient silence. The magnitude of the situation which had been unfolded to them provoked none of the conventional explosions of incredulity or excitement: it was only on the same plane with what they had come to expect from the shame­less leader who sat there studying them with the old mocking light of irresistible daredevilry on his dark reckless face. And it is doubtful whether the morality of their attitude ever troubled them at all.

'That seems quite clear,' Peter said at last. 'Except for the beautiful heroine.'

'She's only trying to get at Vogel from his soft side—if he has one. That's why she had to make that trip to-day. I ... wasn't in time to stop it. Don't know whether I could have stopped it anyway, but I might have tried. If she hasn't arrived here safely . . .' He left the thought in the air; but for an instant they saw a cold flame of steel in his eyes. And then there was only the glimmer of the scapegrace smile still on his lips. 'But that's my own party,' he said.

'It looks like it,' Peter said gloomily. 'I might have known we couldn't afford to give you a start like this. If you're staking a claim on the heroine, I think I shall go home.'

'Is it a claim?' asked Roger seriously.

Simon drew the last smoke of his cigarette deep into his lungs, and shed the butt into an ashtray.

'I don't know,' he said.

He stood up abruptly and prowled over to the window, almost unconsciously triangulating its exact position in the exterior geog­raphy of the hotel, in case he should ever wish to find it with­out using the ordinary entrances. Automatically his mind put aside Roger's question, and went working on along the sternly practical lines for which he had convened the meeting.

'Now—communications. We can't have a lot of these reun­ions. I had to ditch a shadow to make this one; and yesterday I did the same in Dinard. I think I was pretty smooth both times, but if I do it much more it'll stop looking so accidental. There's just a thin chance that Birdie is still wondering how smooth I am, and it's just possible I may be able to keep him guessing for another twenty-four hours; which might make a lot of difference. So we'll go back to splendid isolation for a while. Orace and I will get in touch with you here—one or the other of you must look in every hour, in case there's a message. If we can't send a message, we'll put a bucket on the deck of the Corsair, which means you look out for signals. Remember the old card code? We'll put the cards in one of the portholes. Those are general orders.'

'Anything more particular?'

'Only for myself, at present. To-morrow they're going out to try Yule's new bathystol—and I've got an invitation.'

Peter sat up with a jerk.

'You're not going?'

'Of course I am. Any normal and innocent bloke would jump at the chance, and until there's any evidence to the contrary I've got to work on the assumption that I'm still supposed to be a normal and innocent bloke. I've got to go. Besides, I might find out something.'

'All about the After Life, for instance,' said Peter.

The Saint shrugged.