'Sister,' he said, 'have you stopped to consider what would happen if I screamed?'
'What?'
'You see, it isn't as if this was your boat. If I'd swum out and invaded you at this hour, and you'd been wearing pyjamas instead of me, and more or less the same argument had taken place —well, I guess you could have screamed most effectively. But there's a difference. This tub is mine, and you're trespassing. Presumably you couldn't put up a story that I kidnapped you, because then people would ask why you hadn't screamed before. Besides, you're wearing a wet bathing costume, which would want a whole lot more explaining. No—the only thing I can see to it is that you invited yourself. And the time is now moving on to half-past three in the morning. Taking it by and large, I can't help feeling that you'd be answering a lot of embarrassing questions about why you took such a long time to get frightened. Besides which, this is a French port, with French authorities, and Frenchmen have such a wonderful grip on the facts of life. I am a very retiring sort of bloke,' said the Saint shyly, 'and I don't mind telling you that my modesty has been outraged. If you make another attempt to assault me——'
The grey eyes cut him with ice-cold lights.
'I didn't think you were that sort of man.'
'Oh, but I am. Now why don't you look at the scenery, darling? We could have quite a chat before you go home. I want to know what this gay game is that starts shooting in the night and sends you swimming through the fog. I want to know what makes you and Hooknose string along with the same crazy story, and what sort of a bet it is that makes you go bathing with a gun on your belt!'
The last fragment of his speech was not quite accurate. Even as he uttered it, her hand flashed to the waterproof pouch; and he looked down the muzzle of a tiny automatic that was still large enough to be an argument at point-blank range.
'You're quite right about the gun,' she said, with a new glacial evenness in her voice. 'And, as you say, Frenchmen have such a wonderful grip on the facts of life—haven't they? Their juries are pretty easy on a woman who shoots her lover. . . . Don't you think you'd better change your mind?'
Simon considered this. She saw the chiselling of his handsome reckless face, the bantering lines of devil-may-care mouth and eyebrow, settle for a moment into quiet calculation, and then go back to the same irresponsible amusement.
'Anyway,' he remarked, 'she does give the fellow his fun first. Stay the night and shoot me after breakfast, and I won't complain.'
The magnificent unfaltering audacity of him left her for a moment without words. For the first time her eyes wavered, and he read in them something that might have been an unwilling regret.
'For the last time——'
'Will I let you go.'
'Yes.'
'No.'
'I'm sorry.'
'So am I,' said the Saint gently. 'From the brief gander I had at Hooknose just a little while back, he looked like a man's job to me. I know you've got what it takes, but these games can get pretty tough. Tough things are my job, and I hate being jockeyed out of a good fight.'
'I'm going now,' she said. 'I mean it. Don't think I'm afraid to shoot, because I'm ready for accidents. I'll count five while you get out of the way.'
The Saint looked at her for a second, and shook his head.
'Oh, well,' he said philosophically. 'If you feel that way about it . . .'
He stood up unhurriedly. And as he stood up, one hand slid up the bulkhead with him and touched the light switch.
For the first instant the darkness in the cabin was absolute. In the sudden contrasting blackness that drenched down across her vision she lost even a silhouette of him in the opening above the companion. And then his fingers closed and tightened on her wrist like a steel tourniquet. She struggled and tripped against the couch, falling on the soft cushions; but he went down with her, and her hand went numb so that she had no power even to pull the trigger while he took the automatic away. She heard his quiet chuckle.
