But for one thing Simon could and did thank his stars: he had successfully put her off the track of the first string on his bow — the disused inn behind the village. He would be able to tackle the proposition from that angle without her knowledge before t nightfall, and if the Fates played into his hands he might manage to get a stranglehold on the Tiger before it was her turn to bat.

"If the mountain won't budge, Mahomet'll have to leave it where it is," said the Saint disarmingly. "But there are one or two knots that ought to be untied in the course of the afternoon, and that's where you can help. One — it might be a sound plot to see if we can't get this Aunt Aggie palaver cleared up a bit."

"She wouldn't tell me anything last night."

"You were hardly on form then, with me loose in the menagerie. This afternoon you can go back full of beans, with a parting hug from me to pep you up, and lam into Auntie two-fisted. If you can only carry it, you've got her cold. After all, she admits having tapped your treasure chest to save herself. It isn't too stiff a return to ask her to get a bit off her own chest for your satisfaction. I know she's a hefty handful, but she isn't half the size of some of the things you'll have to wire into during the next twenty-four hours, and it'll limber you up. If she tries to bully you, remember that there isn't a bully swaggering the earth that can't be bullied himself by someone with the guts to take on the job. And if she finds she can't treat you highhanded, and bursts into tears — don't let 'em dissolve you. I can't take her on myself, so I've got to rely on you."

She nodded.

"If you say so. Saint, I shan't funk it."

"Good Scout'" he approved. "The other item is old Lapping. He's been lying doggo since the beginning of the piece, but there are so darn few possible winning numbers in this lottery that I think we ought to get a line on Lapping. On the face of it, he's right out of the running — but then, so's everyone else in Baycombe. And I'm just wondering about a lad called Harry the Duke."

"'Harry the Duke'?" she repeated, mystified. "Whoever's he?"

"A swell mobsman that Lapping sent dowa for seven years when he was a judge. It was a nasty piece of work — I'll spare you the details — but Harry escaped six years ago, and he never was a forgiving man, from all accounts. In fact, knowing what's said about Harry at the Yard, I'm surprised he hasn't taken it out of Lapping before now. There's a story that Harry followed the first magistrate who convicted him halfway round the world — and got him. Since when there was no other, Harry being miles and miles above the common run of crooks in brains, until Lapping. It's a long shot, I know, but bad men run pretty much to pattern, and the Tiger's acknowledged to be an Englishman. And the hunch got me recently — suppose Harry the Duke is the Tiger?"

"Wouldn't he have been recognized?"

"Harry's face is pure plasticene, and he's forgotten more about make-up than most actors ever learn. And Harry's one of the few men I'd credit with brains enough to wear the Tiger's hat... .It's all speculation, and long odds against it on probability, but it's worth a flutter. You see, if the Tiger did happen to be Harry the Duke — and the Tiger 'started operations not so long after Harry broke jail — it accounts for Lapping's continued health. The Tiger'll just be waiting till he's ready to skedaddle with the Swag, since Lapping's right where he can lay his hands on him any time, and then he'll pay off the old score and sail away."

She was still puzzled.

"But what do you want me to do?" she asked.

"If you've got time and energy left after pasting Auntie, go over and be sweet and winsome to Sir Mike," replied Simon. "You know him quite well — lay it on with a spade. Ask him to advise you about me. That's sound! If he happened to be in with the Tiger, it might put you on safer ground if you can kid them you're not in my confidence after all. If he's harmless, it can't hurt us. Talk to him as the old friend and honorary uncle. Tell him about l'affaireBittle — noting how he reacts and lead from that to my eccentric self. You might say that you felt attracted, and wondered if it was wise to let it go any further. The blushing, ingenuous maiden act."

"I'll do it," she said, and he leaned across, the table and touched her hand.

"You're a partner in a million, old Pat."

After lunch Orace served coffee outside, and they sat and smoked while they, discussed the final arrangements.

"I'll send Orace over to fetch you after dinner," he said. "I think it'd be better if I didn't appear. Put a bathing costume on under your frock; and when the time comes I'll give you a belt and the neatest waterproof holster, that'll just carry your fit in guns. But I'll give you the shooter now."

He took a little automatic from his pocket, slipped the jacket to bring a cartridge into the chamber, and clicked over the safety catch.

"And it's not for ornament," he added. "If the occasion calls for it, let fly, and apologize to the body. Have you ever handled this sort of gadget?"

"Often. I used to go and shoot in revolver ranges on piers."

"Then that's all to the good. Put it away in your pocket — but don't flourish it about unnecessarily, because it belongs to Bloem. I picked his pocket when I was showing him out last night, thinking it might be handy to have around the house."

She rose.

"I'd better be getting along," she said. "I shall have a lot to do this afternoon. And we assemble after dinner?"

"Eightish," he said. "Don't take any risks till then. I just hate having to let you out of my sight even for as long as that. You never know what Tigers are up to. All the help I can give you is, distrust everybody and everything, keep your head and use it, and don't go and walk into the first trap that's set for you like any fool heroine in a novel."

Her arms went round his neck, and he held her close to him for a while. And then she drew back her head and looked up at him with a smile, though her eyes were brimming.

"Oh, I’m silly," she said. "But love's like that, old boy. What about me letting you out of my sight for so long?"

"I'm safer than the Bank of England," he reassured her. "The gypsy told me I'd die in my bed at the ripe old age of ninety-nine. And d'you think I'm going to let the Tiger or anyone else book me to Kingdom Come when I've got you waiting for me here? I am not!"

And then there had to be a further delay, which need not be reported. For those who have lost their hearts know all about these things, and those who haven't don't deserve to be told....

But at last he had to let her go, so he kissed her again and then took her hand and kissed that. And afterward he took her shoulders and squared them up, and drew himself up in front of her.

"Soldiers' wives. Pat!" he commanded. "Cheerio — and the best of luck!"

"Cheerio, Saint!" she answered. “God bless you...."

She flung him a brave smile, and turned and walked off down the hill with Orace ambling behind like a faithful dog. Just before the path led her round a bend and out of sight she stopped and waved her handkerchief, and the Saint waved back. Then she was gone, and he wondered if he would ever see her again.

He went back into the Pill Box, took off his coat, rolled up his left sleeve, and strapped Anna securely to his forearm. That was for emergencies; but now that the Tiger knew all about Anna the Saint had to rummage in his bag for her twin sister, and this dangerous woman he fixed to his left calf in a similar manner, where it would be quite likely to be overlooked if he were caught and searched. He made sure that he had his first-aid cigarette case in his hip pocket, and as an afterthought added to the kit a telescopic rod of the finest steel with a claw at one end.