16 The Saint Overboard

'That's all in the kitty. But if it's coming to me, it'll come anyhow, whether I go or not. And if it happens to-morrow . . .' The Saintly smile was gay and unclouded as he buttoned his coat —'I looks to you gents to do your stuff.'

Roger pulled himself off the bed.

'Okay, Horatius. Then for the time being we're off duty.'

'Yes. Except for general communications. I just wanted to give you the lie of the land. And you've got it. So you can go back to your own heroines, if they haven't found something better by this time; and don't forget your powder-puffs.'

He shifted nimbly through the door before the other two could prepare a suitable retaliation, and found his way back to the bar. His glass of beer was still on the counter; and the sleuth who had been watching it, who had been mopping his brow feverishly and running round in small agitated circles for some time past appeared to suffer a violent heart attack which called for a large dose of whisky to restore his shattered nerves.

Simon lowered his drink at leisure. It went down to join a deep and pervading glow that had come into being inside him, in curious contrast to an outward sensation of dry cold. That brief interview with Peter and Roger, the knowledge that they were there to find trouble with him as they had found it before, had given a solid foundation to a courage which had been sustained until then by sheer nervous energy. And yet, as the feeling of cold separateness in his limbs was there to testify, their presence had not altered the problem of Loretta, or made her safe; and a part of him remained utterly detached and immune from the intoxicating scent of battle as he set out to find her.

To find her ... if she was to be found. But he forced that fear ruthlessly out of his head. She would be found—he was becoming as imaginative as an overwrought boy. If Vogel had taken the risk of letting her sail on the Falkenberg at all, he must be interested; and if he was interested, there would be no point in murder until the interest had been satisfied. Vogel must be interested—the Saint had not watched that scene on the Falk­enberg's deck last night with his eyes shut. And Vogel's mathe­matically dehumanised brain would work like that. To play with the attractive toy, guarding himself against its revealed dangers, until all its amusing resources had been explored, before he broke it ... Surely, the Saint told himself with relentless insistence, Loretta would be found. The thing that troubled him most deeply was that he should be so afraid . . .

And he found her. As he walked by the harbour, looking over the paling blue of the water at the inscrutable curves of the Falkenberg as if his eyes were trying to pierce through her hull and superstructure to see what was left for him on board, he became aware of three figures walking towards him; and some­thing made him turn. He saw the tall gaunt aquilinity of Kurt Vogel, the gross bulk of Arnheim, and another shape which was like neither of them, which suddenly melted the ice that had been creeping through his veins and turned the warmth in him to fire.

'Good evening,' said Vogel.

3

Simon Templar nodded with matter-of-faet cheeriness. And he wanted to shout and dance.

'I was just going to look you up,' he said.

'And we were wondering where you were. We inquired on the Corsair, but your man told us you'd gone ashore. You had a good crossing?'

'Perfect.'

'We were thinking of dining on shore, for a change. By the way, I must introduce you.' Vogel turned to the others. 'This is my friend Mr Tombs—Miss Page ...'

Simon took her hand. For the first time in that encounter he dared to look her full in the face, and smile. But even that could only be for the brief conventional moment.

'. . . and Mr Arnheim.'

'How do you do?'

There was a dark swollen bruise under Arnheim's fleshy chin, and the Saint estimated its painfulness with invisible satisfaction as he shook hands.

'Of course—you helped us to try and catch our robber, didn't you, Mr Tombs?'

'I don't think I did very much to help you,' said the Saint deprecatingly.

'But you were very patient with our