Prelude For War

you want me to believe that they went to all this trouble simply to get a receipt for Luker's hat?'

She frowned at her knees, and then she shrugged.

'I suppose there's no reason why you shouldn't know, since you've guessed already,' she said. 'As a matter of fact, I have got some papers. I thought Algy might like to know, so I just mentioned it to him casually on the tele­phone tonight.'

'Meaning what I was talking to you about at the Berke­ley.'

'What was that?'

'Blackmail.'

'I don't understand.'

'Don't make me tired. You were trying to sell him those papers.'

'After all,' she said, 'a girl has to live.'

'How long do you think you'd have lived tonight if it hadn't been for me?'

She hesitated.

'How was I to know Algy would do anything like this ?' she said sulkily. 'I told him I'd put the papers in a cloak­room and I wasn't sure where they were. He rang me up later on, just before the monkey-man got here, and offered me ten thousand pounds if I'd bring them round to him right away, but I thought they might be worth more than that, so I pretended I still couldn't remember what I'd done with them. Of course I know where they are really.'

The Saint's lips tightened.

'You poor little fly-brained moron,' he exploded uncon­trollably. 'What makes you think you can cut in on a game like this ? Haven't you had your lesson yet ? You know what happened to Kennet and Windlay. You know what hap­pened to you tonight. You heard what Bravache said. If I hadn't had everything organized, you were booked to go down the drain with me—plus any specialized unpleasant­nesses that your boy friend Dumaire could think of. Is that your idea of a good time?'

She shuddered almost imperceptibly.

'I know, that wasn't very nice. I never was one of those heroines who don't think life is worth living unless bullets are whizzing past their ears and ships sinking under them and houses crashing in ruins about their heads and all that sort of thing. Personally I'm all for a life of selfish self-indulgence, and I don't care who knows it. If I could get a decent offer for those papers, I'd take it like a shot and skip off to Bermuda or somewhere and enjoy it. The trouble is, I don't know what they're worth. What do you think?'

She looked at him with limpid brown eyes big with art­lessness.

'I'll give you a shilling for them,' he said.

'Oh, I wasn't thinking of selling them to you,' she said innocently. 'What I was thinking was that if I went to a fairly decent pub tonight—the Carlton, for instance, where I should be perfectly safe—and then I rang up Algy and told him he could have the papers for fifteen thousand pounds, he'd most likely do something about it. I mean, after what's happened tonight, he ought to consider himself damned lucky to get them for fifteen thousand. Don't you think so?'

'Very lucky,' said the Saint, with fine-drawn patience. 'Where are these papers at the moment?'

She smiled.

'They're in a cloakroom all right. I've got the ticket somewhere, only I forget exactly where. But I expect I'll remember all right when I have to.'

'I expect you will,' he said coldly. 'Even if somebody like Dumaire has to help you.'