"Half-time!" begged the Saint dazedly. "We're getting all tied up. Let's call it quits."

Carn nodded.

"Saint," he said, "it wasn't fair. I'm taking this game seriously, and that's quite bad enough without tangling it any more."

"That'll be all right," said the Saint heartily. "And now what about that Baby Polly we were going to split?"

Carn busied himself with decanter and glasses, and the Saint offered up a short prayer of thanksgiving. That was a nasty corner taken on two wheels in the devil of a skid, but they were round it somehow with the old bus still right side up, and the road looked pretty clear — at least as far ^as the next bend.

Simon caught the girl's eye while Carn's back was turned. She smiled and shrugged her shoulders helplessly. The Saint grinned back and spread out his hands. Then, quite shamelessly, he blew her a "kiss.

Carn brought the drinks, and the Saint raised his glass.

"Bung-no troops," he said. "Here's to a good race, Carn."

The detective looked back.

''''Reasonablygood hunting, Saint," he replied grimly, and Simon grinned and drank.

"All things considered, worthy chirurgeon, I think — ''

The Saint broke off at the sound ofathunderous knocking on the front door. Then a bell pealed long and insistently at the back of the house, and the knocking was resumed. Simon set down his glass carefully.

"You're popular to-night, son," he murmured. "Someone in a tearing hurry, too. Birth or death — what's the betting?"

"Hanged if I know," said Carn, and went out. The Saint crossed the room swiftly and opened the casement windows wide, as an elementary precaution. Apparently the evening's party was not yet over. He had not the vaguest idea what the next move was going to be, but the air tingled with an electric foreboding that something was about to happen. The girl looked at him inquiringly. He dared not speak, but he signed to her to keep her end up and go on trusting him.

Outside, a voice which the Saint did not know was asking if Mr. Templar was there, and Carn answered. There was a tramp of heavy feet, and somebody arrived in the doorway. Simon was leaning on the mantelpiece, looking the-other way, a study in disinterested innocence.

"Ho," said the voice. "There'e is."

The Saint looked up.

A man in uniform had entered, and the symptoms pointed to his being the village constable. Simon had not even realized that such an official existed in Baycombe, but that was undoubtedly what the gentleman with the pink face and the ill-fitting uniform was. The constable had clearly been dragged out of bed and rushed into his uniform — he was dishevelled, and his tunic was buttoned lopsidedly.

All these details the Saint observed in a slow surprised once-over. Then the policeman advanced importantly and clapped a hand on Simon's shoulder.

"I amConstable George 'Opkins," he said, "and if the Doctor will hixcuse me I shall arrest you on a charge of burglary annassault."

"Smoke!" said the Saint to himself.

That was a move! Simon seemed astonished and rather annoyed, as if he were wondering how the mistake had been made and was quite satisfied that it would be cleared up in a moment, but beneath his outward poise his mind was working at breakneck speed. The counter-attack and the rapidity with which it had been launched were worthy of the Tiger, but it was fighting over very thin ice.

"My good man, you're dippy!" said the Saint languidly. "Who makes this charge, anyway?"

"I do."

It was Bloem. Bloem with his leathery face perfectly composed, and just the ghost of a light of triumph in his slitted eyes betraying him. Bloem, walking past Carn into the room with just the right shade of deference and just the right suggestion of regret for having to make a scen6 — but quite firmly the law-abiding citizen determined to do his duty and bring the criminal to justice.

"A thousand pardons, Doctor." Bloem bowed to Carn, and then turned and bowed to the girl. "I am deeply sorry, Miss Holm, that I should be compelled to do this in your presence. Perhaps you would like to retire for a minute...."

Patricia tossed her head.

"Thanks — I'll stay," she said. "I'm sure there's a mistake, and perhaps I can help. I've been with Mr. Templar most of the evening."

Bloem's eyes rested long and significantly on the girl's torn frock arid Scratched arms, but she met his gaze boldly, and at last he turned away with a lift of shoulder and eyebrow.

"I'll explain," he said. "I was reading in my study, shortly after eleven this evening, when this man walked in. He threatened me with a revolver, making some remark which I did not understand. I am not a young man, but I have led a hard life, and I? did not hesitate to grapple with him. He is very strong, however, and he managed to hit me with the butt of the revolver. I remember nothing more until the time when I came to and found him rifling my desk. Since he was armed, and had already beaten me once in a hand-to-hand tussle, I pretended to be still unconscious. He searched the room minutely, but apparently failed to find whatever it was he was looking for. When he left I followed him, and traced him here. Then I went and fetched Hopkins. That is the complete story."

"Anjew better come along quietly," advised the policeman, tightening his grip on the Saint's shoulder and holding his truncheon at the ready.

"Fine," said the Saint softly. "I should like to be searched now, so that your statement about the revolver can be verified."

Bloem smiled.

"You left it behind," he said. "Here it is."

Carn took the weapon from Bloem's hand and examined it.

"Belgian make," he said. "Is this yours, Mr. Templar?"

"It is not," answered Simon promptly. "I object to firearms on principle. They make such a noise."

"Come along," urged the constable, jerking the Saint forward.

Simon was not easily peeved, but one thing that made him see red was anybody trying to haze him. For a second he forgot his Saintly pose. He caught the policeman's wrist with both hands and twisted like an eel. There was a flurry of arms and legs, a yell, and George Hopkins landed with a crash on the other side of the room, with most of the breath knocked out of him.

The Saint straightened his tie, and looked bang into the muzzle of an automatic in Bloem's hand, but that he ignored.

"Anyone who wants a quiet life is advised to keep his filthy hands off me," murmured the Saint. "Don't do it again, son."

The constable was getting shakily to his feet.

"That's assaulting the police," he stormed.

"Oh, don't be childish," drawled the Saint, cool again. "When we want your little chatter we'll ask for it. Just now, Bloem, we'll argue this out by ourselves. We can soon smash this cock-and-bull yarn of yours. One: were you alone in the house?"

"I was."

"Where was Algy?"

"He'd gone over to see Miss Holm,"

That knocked the bottom out of a neat little alibi that the Saint had thought of trying to put over, but he did not show his disappointment.

"Two: didn't anyone follow me here with you?"

"I refuse to be cross-examined. I've told you I was alone — ''

"You're talking," said the Saint coldly. "Don't. Be a good boy and just answer when you're spoken to. And the point is, if you've been quite alone all this time, as you say you have, what's your word against mine? Suppose I say I called in for a chat, and you stuck me up with that gun and tried to pinch my watch? Why shouldn't you be run in yourself?"

"Let 'im tell that to the judge," growled the constable.

"I think," said Bloem acidly, "that my reputation will survive your wild accusations."

The Saint was not impressed.

"We had a stand-up fight, did we?" he went on. "I grant you I look as if I'd been in some rough stuff. Now suppose you take off that mac and let's see how you came out of it."