Prelude For War

with just Hoppy and Orace to help him, and he figured that if Sangore really wanted him to go to the police there must be something in it. So he took his chance. Fortunately it wasn't too hard to make the prefecture sit up, partly because a few rumours of a coup d'etat had been leaking out and bothering them, and partly because Senappe doesn't like the Sons of France at all and he'd just been praying for a break like that. The only other thing Sangore did was to make Peter swear that he'd report the message as having come from me and leave Sangore himself right out of it. As far as I can make out, the old boy must have shot himself as soon as he rang off. I suppose he knew that he was in for it after that, anyway, and he preferred to go out without any mud on him. That's why none of us ever said anything. But I think you ought to know.' He touched the lapel of his coat. 'I suppose, in a sort of way, he's the one who really ought to have worn this.'

She looked at the narrow red ribbon in his buttonhole, and could not say anything just then.

The Saint gazed at the pale straw-tinted wine in his glass, and lived again through unforgettable hours, not all of them only his own. And he felt a restlessness for which there was no accounting. It was hard to believe that that chapter had been finally closed. So much had been done; but for how long would there be peace? . . .

'Anyway,' he said abruptly, 'here's luck.'

'I saw in the paper that Colonel Marteau and a lot of others are going to be tried next week,' she said at last. 'You don't think they'll get off, do you?'

He shook his head.

'They haven't a hope. The French are very practical in these matters. Luckily I didn't quite kill that bloke who was going to do the assassination, and they got a statement out of him before he slid off. . . . It's a pity they couldn't get anything definite on Fairweather, though. I hate to think of him being the only one to get away with it, even if he was the least important of the lot.'

'I think you're very vindictive,' she said. 'There's no harm in Algy, really. I've still got quite a soft spot for him.'

'Maybe I'll try to develop some sort of spot for him myself,' said the Saint meditatively. 'Let's not bother about him now. Tell me more about your marriage.'

She frowned.

'What do you want to know about it? You don't object or anything, do you?'

'Not at the moment. I'm only waiting to see my solicitor and find out what chance I'll have of suing you for breach of promise. I've still got the evidence, you know; and I think it must have been Reginald who told the newspapers —anyway, they all printed it, and I shall have a lot of questions to answer if you jilt me.'

She looked at him rather sadly.

'I mean, you aren't really entitled to object, are you? It isn't as if you wanted to marry me yourself, or anything like that.'

'Of course I want to marry you myself. But since your heart belongs to another I shall be a strong silent man and keep a stiff upper lip and——'

'I wouldn't marry you, anyway,' she said. 'I admit you did rather steal my girlish heart away at one time, but after that night when everything happened I decided I just couldn't stand the pace. After all, spending one's whole time being lugged about and threatened with floggings and firing squads and being generally manhandled isn't much of a life for a girl, is it? All the same, I hope you'll come and see me after I'm married, whenever you aren't doing any­thing in particular. I mean, there must be some evenings every now and again when you haven't got a gang of des­peradoes after you; and Don will be away quite a good bit, you know.'

'I think you ought to make him very happy,' Simon remarked, a little sardonically.

She gazed at him, wide eyed and innocent.

'Why, naturally I shall. After all, nobody wants an unhappy man moping about the place. I think I'll have him made