He disappeared into the Pill Box and came back in a moment with field glasses. Then he focussed on the horizon and began to sweep it carefully from west to east. He had covered three quarters of the arc when he stopped and stared for a full minute, suddenly rigid.

"And there she blows," he muttered.

He handed her the binoculars and pointed northeast.

"See what you make of it."

"It looks like a couple of masts sticking up."

"Motor ship — no funnels," he explained. "The Bristol shipping passes here, but we're back in a sort of big bay, and I don't think they'd stand in as near as that. But we'll just make sure."

He took the glasses from her again and went into the Pill Box, and she followed. He fossicked about in the kitchen till he found a piece of board, the remains of a packing case, and this he settled in one of the embrasures, truing it up level with little wedges of newspaper. Then he put the field glasses on it and took a sight on one of the masts by means of a couple of pins stuck in the board.

"We'll give her five minutes."

She grasped his meaning at once.

"You think they're waiting to come in after dark?"

"No less. Comrade Bloem hasn't done all he'd like to with T. T. Deeps, but he'll have some weeks' grace while the stuffs getting to the mine. And he daren't let it lie around here any longer, in case my luck holds and I don't get bumped off according to schedule. I've rattled the Tiger!"

He was keeping an eye on his watch, and the minutes ticked away very slowly.

"Is Dr. Carn a detective?" she asked.

"That's hit it in one," affirmed the Saint. "But don't let on you know. It wouldn't be sporting not to give the boy a fair run."

"Then aren't you a detective?" she stammered in bewilderment. "I thought you were friendly rivals — — that was the only explanation I could work out last night."

The Saint smiled grimly.

"Rivals — more or less friendly — yes," he said. “But I'm not a detective, and never was. I'm playing for my own hand, with an enormous quantity of ha'pence coming to me if I win, and everybody's kicks if I lose. Profession, gentleman adventurer: i.e., available for any job involving plenty of money and plenty of trouble, suitable for a man who doesn't bother much about the letter of the law and who's prepared to take his licking without a yelp if he gets landed. That's me. Like this. I happened to find Fernando, and as soon as I’d got the thing taped out I took a trip to Chicago and saw the boss of the Confederate. 'Here's nearly ayear since your strong room was busted,' I said, ‘and the dicks haven't brought you back one cent of the almighties. Now suppose you let me have a shot. Terms, twenty per cent. commission if I bring it off. Not a bean if I don't. Me to work on my lonesome, without reporting to anybody, and to take all the blame if I'm run over.' Well, that put them on something to nothing, so they bit. And there you are."

He was looking steadily at her, but she did not change colour. But the Saint was never a faker, and this was his call to clean the whole sheet, so that she could take it or leave it as she chose and would never be able to say he hadn't played square. He rubbed it in with brutal directness:

"That's the way I've lived for years. Pretty well, all things considered, so that if this gamble turns up I'll be able to retire and settle down as soon as I like, and not have to stint myself anywhere. In those years I've committed about half the crimes in the Calendar, at the expense of crooks. It's a sporting game — man to man, and devil take the mug: and the police, for obvious reasons, aren't invited to interfere by either side. Bloem's the first to break that rule; but the Tiger isn't a sportsman — he's just a pot hunter. Still, I doubt if your friends would appreciate my success in that career. D'you still want to be a partner in the firm?'

She sighed.

"Saint, you're an ass," she said. "And if you exhibit any symptoms of virulent imbecility I shall fire you and become managing director myself."

"Hell's bells," ejaculated Simon, unwontedly moved, and swung away.

Very carefully, so as not to disturb the board, he took another sight at the ship's masts; and presently he straightened up with a light of triumph breaking on his face.

"We're in luck," he said. "She hasn't shifted a millimetre. Rotten bad navigation. I'd have known the height of my masts to an inch, and the height of the cliffs here ditto, and I'd have figured out my position to six places of decimals.... But the Tiger's loss is our gain!"

"They'll start to come in at sunset,” she took him up excitedly. "And —

"And I'll be there," said the Saint. "It's a moonlight swim for me to-night. That's great — to let the Tiger Cubs themselves lead me to the cache! But the snag is ... Holy Habakkuk ... they'll be waiting for me." She stared. "They know I'll invite myself, bless it!"

"Why?"

"Because they know I'm wise to this Old House joke. I let on, like a fool. That was a poisonous bad bloomer! I was ragging old Bloem about Fernando, just seeing how much breeze I could put up him, and I mentioned the Old House. They'll think I knew exactly what and where it was. Oh, crumbs and crutches! D'you mind kicking me as hard as you can?"

She was as distressed as he was. It was in no halfhearted manner that she had enlisted in the army of adventurers. A setback stung her as much as anybody. She bit her lip.

"But they're coming in," she insisted.

"Yes — forewarned and forewarmed to the teeth. If I happen to have been a bit slow on the uptake, well and good. If I haven't, and think I'll butt in, they'll be ready for me. Maybe the Tiger's patting himself on the back right now, bucked to death with his dandy little scheme for getting away with the oof and me too. Well, it's up to me to hand him the jar of his life. Sit tight a shake while I think."

He dropped into a chair and lighted a cigarette, his brain reeling and humming to encompass this new twist to the problem. Undoubtedly he had sized it up right — the Tiger was giving himself a double chance. And that move had got to be baulked somehow. But how? The Saint had only to breathe a word to Carn, and the Tiger was dished. But then, so was the Saint. That put that out of bounds.

He was fully prepared to swim out to the Old House that night, with Anna strapped to his arm, and trust to the inspiration of the moment to show him a way of beating the gang, even if they were watching and waiting for him. That was an honest toss-up with sudden death, and Simon took risks of that stamp without turning a hair. But on the other hand he liked to have at least a shadowy loophole for emergencies — there was no point in chucking the game away for lack of a little forethought. And how to provide that loophole? The Tiger's forces were large: the Saint could reckon on only Orace and the girl, besides himself. And he didn't want to push a slip of a girl into the front line, however keen she might be to go. How to make three people — or nearer two and a half — do the work of a platoon was a poser worthy of the undivided attention of a great general. Manifestly, it could not be done by any ordinary means. Therefore, there must be subtlety.

And the Tiger had the added advantage of being the attacker. Simon's cigarette began to smoulder down in his fingers unnoticed. That was a point! The Tiger was sitting high and dry in his den, hatching plots and making raids and forays when the spirit moved him; while the Saint had to sit on the fence with his eyes skinned, just parrying the Tiger's thrusts. And it became clear to the Saint that there was something unfair about that arrangement. True, the Saint had made one attack — but why let the offensive stop there? The enemy had an idea that he would come lunging in again that night: well, so he might, if it looked like a good tussle and he felt in the mood. But that didn't imply an armistice until zero hour, by any manner of means. Quite a lot of skirmishing could take place before the big battle — and every blow of it would bother the Tiger and help harass his organization for the last rounds. There really was no earthly reason why the Tiger should have it all his own way.