And Bloem knew it. He did not show it with a muscle of his face, but his eyes glowed venomously. And the Saint, smiling a little, gazed back with a little blue devil of unholy glee dancing about just behind his lazily lowered lids. For the Saint was thinking of the whack behind the ear which Bloem had suffered for the good of the cause, and that thought made his ribs ache with noiseless laughter ….

"I am deeply humiliated," said Bloem in a strangled voice. "As a matter of fact, the man was masked. I let him leave the room, and then followed. When I came out of the garden, I saw Mr. Templar walking away, and immediately concluded that it was he. The real man must have gone off in another direction. I apologize."

"I accept your apology, Mr. Bloem," said the Saint stiffly. "Don't let it occur again."

His dignity was terrific, and for that shrewd cut he was rewarded with a look from Bloem which ought by rights to have made him vanish in a puff of smoke, leaving a small greasy stain on the carpet, but the Saint's armour was impregnable.

"I'm very sorry. Doctor," said Bloem unevenly. "Try to forgive me, Miss Holm. I'd better go."

The Saint stepped up with the automatic.

"You might need this, with a hold-up man in the neighbourhood," he murmured mockingly. "If you meet him again, I trust you will not spare the lead."

Bloem gazed back malignantly.

"You need have no fear of that, Mr. Templar," he replied.

He was just going out when Mr. Hopkins awoke to the realization that he had been cheated of the glory of arresting an armed desperado, and that this coolly smiling man who was getting off scot-free had flung him across the room, bruised and shaken him severely, and nearly broken his arm.

" 'Ere," said the constable, whose idiom was much the same as that of Orace, "wassal this? Whatever you say, that don't dispose of the charge of assaultin' the police."

"When an innocent man is treated like a criminal," said Simon virtuously, "he may be pardoned for losing his temper. I'm sure Mr. Bloem will agree with me? ... In fact," added the Saint, taking Mr. Hopkins coaxingly by the arm, "I'm sure that if you mentioned the matter to Mr. Bloem, he'd stand you a glass of milk and put a penny in your money box. Wouldn't you, Mr. Bloem?"

"Naturally," said Bloem, without enthusiasm, “naturally I must accept the responsibility for that.”

"Spoken like a gent," approved the Saint. "Now toddle along and talk big business under the stars, like good children."

And he urged Bloem and the constable toward the door. They went obediently, for different reasons. It was a victory that the Saint could not help rubbing in.

He slammed the front door on the pair, and returned hilariously,

"Honour is vindicated, mes enfants,"he said happily. "What about splitting another lemonade onit, Carn?"

The detective looked at the Saint and nodded slowly.

"I think we might," he assented. "Such luck ought to be celebrated. I suppose it would be indiscreet to ask how Grace came to arrive so fortunately?"

"But why indiscreet?" cried the Saint. "All's fair and above board. Orace, tell the gentleman how you happened to blow in on your cue."

Orace cleared his throat.

"Being accustomed to take a constitooshnal," he began, in the stilted language which he would have employed before his orderly officer, "I'm in the 'abit of walking this wy of a nevenin'; and the winder bein' open an' me 'avin' good eyesight — "

"Of course I believe you," said Carn. "You deserve to be believed. There's some whisky in the kitchen, Orace."

Orace saluted and marched out, and the Saint doubled up with silent mirth.

"Orace is unique," he said.

"Orace is all that, and then some," Carn returned ruefully.

Soon afterward Simon and Patricia left. They walked the short distance to the Manor without speaking, for the Saint was enjoying the novel experience of finding his flow of small talk entirely dried up. He had thought of nothing to say until the girl was opening the door, and then he could only make a postponement.

"May I see you to-morrow morning?" he asked.

"Of course."

"I'll come right after breakfast."

Suddenly she remembered Agatha Girton.

"I think — would you mind if I came over to you instead?"

"I'd love you to. And if I haven't bored you to tears by then, you can stay for lunch. Tell me what time you'll be leaving, and I'll send Orace over to fetch you."

She was surprised.

"Is that necessary?"

"Very necessary," replied the Saint gravely. "Tigers have nasty suspicious minds, just like me, and by this time one Tiger is wondering just how dangerous you are, Pat. Yes, I know it's screamingly funny, but let me send Orace — for my own peace of mind."

"Well — About half-past ten, if you like." '

"I do. And Orace will adore it. One other thing. Will you do me a great favour?"

She had found the switch in the hall, and she turned on the light to see his face better, but he was not joking.

"Lock your door, and put the key under the pillow. Don't open to anybody — not even your aunt. I don't really think anything'll happen so soon, but Tigers can hustle. Will you?"

She nodded.

"You're very alarming," she said.

"I'm full of ideas to-night," he said. "I've had a taste of the Tiger's speed, and nobody ever stung the Saint in the same way twice. Don't believe any messages except they're brought by Orace. Don't trust anybody but me, Orace, or old Carn at a pinch. I know it's a tall order, but there are one or two rough days — not to mention rough nights — in store for the old brigade. You've been perfectly marvellous so far. Can you keep it up?"

"I'll try," she said.

He took her hand.

"God bless you, Pat, old pal."

"Saint — "

He was going when she stopped him. It was odd to hear that nickname fall from her lips — the name wherewith the Saint had been christened in strange and ugly places, by hard and godless men. He had grown so used to it that he had come to accept it without question, but now the sound of it brought a flood of memories. Once again he stood in the Bosun's smoky bar at the back of Mexico City, looking from the huddled corpse of Senhor Miguel Grasiento to the girl called Cherry, and heard the ruralespounding on the door. He had got her away, on an English tramp bound for Liverpool. " 'Saint,' " she had said — "that was a true word spoken in jest." And he had never heard that name uttered in the same tone since until that moment….

"Saint, did you really go to Bloem's?"

"I did not," he answered. "That was a frame-up, But Mynheer Bloem is certainly one of the Tiger Cubs. Watch him! I'll tell you the whole yarn to-morrow. Bye-bye, kid,"

The Saint found Orace in the lane, curled up under the hedge, philosophically smoking his pipe.

"We'll work inland round the village," said Simon. "I'm hoping the Tiger's had enough for one night, but you never know. Nobody's got any proof that Bloem was lying about that hold-up merchant, except me, and a fairy tale like that cuts both ways. If our bodies were found in a field in the morning, the whole thing'd fit in beautifully."

Nevertheless, they were not molested on the way back — a fact which might well have been due to the Saint's foresight. It took an hour of the Saint's killing pace to do the journey which would have lasted only fifteen minutes by the obvious route, and even then Simon was not satisfied.

When the outline of the Pill Box loomed dimly up against the dark sky, he stopped

"Booby traps have caught mugs before now," he murmured. "Just park yourself in the nettles here, Orace, while I snoop round."

The Saint could have given most shikars points when it came to moving across country without being noticed. Orace simply saw a tall shape melt soundlessly away into the gloom, and thereafter could trace nothing until the tall shape materialized again beside him.