16 The Saint Overboard

member of my crew who could have been relied upon to open the strong-room. I'm hoping that that is where your inter­ference will prove to have its compensations. I said that the man you killed was one of the best safe-breakers in Europe. But I have heard that the Saint is one of the greatest experts in the world.'

So that was it ... Simon dropped his cigarette-end into his empty glass, and took out his case to replace it. A miniature power plant was starting up under his belt and sending a new and different tingle along his arteries.

It was his turn to follow Vogel's thoughts, and the back trail was blazed and signposted liberally enough.

'You want me to go down and give a demonstration?' he said lightly, and Vogel nodded.

'That is what I intend you to do.'

'In the bathystol?'

'That won't be necessary. The Chalfont Castle is lying in twenty fathoms, and an ordinary diving suit will be quite sufficient.'

'Are you offering me a partnership?'

'I'm offering you a chance to help your partner.'

Something inside the Saint turned cold. Perhaps it was not until he heard that last quiet flat sentence that he had realised how completely Vogel had mastered the situation. Every twist and turn of strategy fitted together with the geometrical exacti­tude of a jigsaw puzzle. Vogel hadn't missed one finesse. He had dominated every move of the opposition with the arrogant ease of a Capablanca playing chess with a kindergarten school.

Simon Templar had never known the meaning of surrender; but at that moment, in the full appreciation of the supreme gen­eralship against which he had pitted himself, the final understanding of how efficiently the dice had been cogged, he was as near to admitting the hopelessness of his challenge as he would ever be. All he had left was the indomitable spirit that would keep him smiling and fighting until death proved to his satisfac­tion that he couldn't win all the time. It hadn't been proved yet . . . He looked fearlessly into the alabaster face of the man in front of him, and told himself that it had still got to be proved.

'And what happens if I refuse?' he asked quietly.

Vogel shrugged.

'I don't need to make any melodramatic threats. You are intelligent enough to be able to make them for yourself. I prefer to assume that you will agree. If you do what I tell you, Loretta will be put ashore as soon as it is convenient—alive.'

'Is that all?'

'I don't need to offer any more.'

The answer was calm, uncompromising; blood-chilling in its ruthless economy of detail. It left volumes unsaid, and expressed every necessary word of them.

Simon looked at him for a long time.

'You've got all these situations down to their lowest common denominator, haven't you?' he said, very slowly. 'And what inducement have I got to take your word for anything?'

'None whatever,' replied Vogel carelessly. 'But you will take it, because if you refuse you will certainly be dead within the next half-hour, and while you are alive you can always hope and scheme and believe in miracles. It will be interesting to watch a few more of your childish manoeuvres.' He studied his watch, and glanced out of the forward windows. 'You have about fifteen minutes to make your choice.'

VII.     HOW SIMON AND LORETTA TALKED TOGETHER,

            AND LORETTA CHOSE LIFE

'ONCE upon a time,' said the Saint, 'there was a lugubrious yak named Elphinphlopham, who grazed on the plateaus of Tibet and meditated over the various philosophies and religions of the world. After many years of study and investigation he eventually decided that the only salvation for his soul lay in the Buddhist faith, and he was duly received into the Eightfold Path by the Grand Lama, who was fortunately residing in the district. It was then revealed to Elphinphlopham that the approved method of attaining Nirvana was to spend many hours a day sitting in a most uncomfortable position, especially for yaks, whilst