'Nothing,' said the Saint. 'I'll send a cable tonight to a friend of mine in London to fly out and meet you at Lisbon with a couple of brand-new passports ready to fill up in any names you like. You get off the boat at Lisbon, when everybody else gets off for an excursion, and you just forget to get on again. Then you travel overland to the Riviera, or wherever you want to settle down, and so long as you behave yourselves no one will ever bother you. The hunt for Joris has probably got tired of itself by this time, anyhow. And any bank will collect your lottery prize for you. It hasn't any name on it, and there's nobody left to make a fuss. By the way, I nearly forgot to give you the ticket.'
He fished it out from among the ballast of jewels in one of his pockets. It had a slight tear in one corner and a smudged stain on the back of it, for it had been in Reuben Graner's breast pocket when Mr Uniatz used his Betsy; and the girl's hand shook a little as she took it.
'Some of this is yours,' she said.
He shook his head.
'I got my share out of the safe.'
'But I promised you --'
'I know. But I'll be honest with you. At the beginning of things, I wasn't at all sure that I wasn't looking for the ticket just for myself. So that makes us all square.'
A steward poked his nose between them.
'Hixcuse me, sir,' he said. 'Har you going with us?'
'I wish I were,' said the Saint.
'You'd better 'urry up, then, sir. They're going to take horf the gangway.'
'Go and sit on a nail, will you?' said the Saint patiently.
The vague bustle on the deck was rising in a form-less crescendo.
'You could stay,' said Christine.
'I can't, darling.'
She still clung to him.
'I promised you so much.'
His smile was the same, but the habitual mockery had softened in his eyes.
'It's my fault if I can't stay to claim it.'
'But I want you to! My dear, don't you see? I've waited-waited all my life. . . . You took me out of that. It was like a miracle. You can-be what you are. . . . I'm no better. There can never be anyone else.'
'You're young,' said the Saint gently. 'There will be.'
'Larst charnce for the shore!' bellowed a brass-lunged steward.
'Never,' she whispered.
His hands held her by the shoulders, as gentle as his voice. He smiled into her eyes.
'This is my life,' he said quietly. 'For me it's the best there is; but.you've had too much of it already You will find better things. One day you'll meet someone else, and you'll be glad that I didn't let you keep your promise. You must let a buccaneer have one big moment.'
He drew her up to him and kissed her and she closed her eyes and pressed herself against him Presently he tore his lips away.
'Good-bye Christine.'
He unlocked her arms and turned quickly away. She saw him shouldering through the crowd, vaulting the handrail, and running down the half-raised gangway to jump the last six feet to the dock. She saw him walking with his long easy stride across to the shining Hirondel where Hoppy Uniatz sat waiting for him, where he stopped and turned to wave to her, tall and smiling and debonair,, one closed hand resting on his hip with all the gay lazy swagger that was the Saint, his other hand raised in farewell. So she would always remember him. And so, thought the Saint, he would always remember her. He stood there for a long time, watching the ship creep away from the mole. ...
Mr Uniatz took the cigar out of his mouth.
'Dese dames are all de same, boss,' he said sympathetically.
'So are dese guys,' said the Saint.
AHasta la vista !
