Anyhow, whichever way the calculation was made, it was going to be a breathless neck-and-neck affair, with every minute rated at inestimable value. And, having got every item in the programme weighed up and docketed in his brain, Carn wasted no time wailing and gnashing his teeth against the cussedness of a Fate that had tossed him such a fine, big, juicy plum that day, for all the accompanying hail of thistles and cactus. Once he knew where all the thorns were, and had tested their precise degree of spikiness, he grabbed up his hat and stick and set out to blunt as many of them as possible.

He went down to the village as quickly as he could without seeming unduly flurried to any of the Tiger's Cubs who might catch a glimpse of him, and on the way through he stopped at the inn.

"I've just had a letter from an old patient of mine," he explained. "An Ilfracombe man — he's had a heart attack. I've been his doctor for years,-and he wants me to attend to him now. It's a beastly nuisance, but I feel bound to go. Can you let me have the car?"

It was a plausible lie, for a boy cycled over from Ilfracombe with the post every morning, and did not arrive until lunch time.

"I'm sorry, sir," replied the publican, and Carn’s heart did a back-somersault and flopped sickeningly against his diaphragm — "two of the men from Sir John's came down and hired the car early this morning to go into Ilfracombe for their day off.''

"Damn the gentlemen," said Carn, but he said it to himself, and he did not call them gentlemen.

Aloud he said, with only a moderate display of annoyance:

"I ought to try and get over somehow — my patient's in a bad way, and they're expecting me. I suppose these fellows won't be back till late?"

"They didn't say, sir, but I'm not expecting them till the evening."

"Hasn't Horrick got a trap?"

Horrick was the nearest farmer, about half a mile out of the village, and the innkeeper opined that Horrick had something of the sort.

"I wonder if you could send a boy over te find out if he'd lend it to me?" suggested Carn.

The innkeeper cogitated at length, in the leisured manner of country people, while Carn masked his impatience as best he could. At last the man decided that it would be possible.

"Perhaps you'll join me in a glass of beer, sir?" he invited, after making this momentous resolution.

"If I could see the boy now, he could be getting on his way while we down a quick one," Carn mooted gently.

The publican sighed. The fidgetedness of city-bred people offended his placid spirit. Nevertheless, he shouted "Boy!" and after a decent interval, during which he embarked on a voluminous discussion of the weather and its influence on fish, a diminutive urchin answered his summons.

The urchin was instructed in the vernacular, but Carn was moved to add an exhortation in another language.

"Tell him it's urgent," he said, slipping a half-crown into the infant's paw, "and hurry yourself. You can ride over in the trap, and I'll stand you another of these if you're back quickly."

The boy nodded and disappeared at the double.

The innkeeper was working the beer engine, and Carn, outwardly impassive, gnawed mouthfuls out of the stem of his pipe in the effort of appearing calm. The absence of the Ford, however antique and rickety, was a disaster. It meant that unless he was remarkably lucky he would have to be content with the assistance of a mob of mutton-headed locals for the big job. They would be panting with excitement at the magnitude of it, twice as jumpy as so many cats on hot bricks, and good-naturedly clod-hopperly dense. The prospect of seeing the Tiger get away through their bungling almost broke Carn's heart. He would have taken a chance and tackled the whole brigade of Tiger Cubs single-handed if he had seen the faintest hope of success, but he had been turned out of a different mould from Simon Templar's, and his kind of brain did not run to schemes for capturing a boatload of bandits all by himself. As it was, he had more than half a mind to enlist the Saint. Templar was straight, he knew. And it would be better to pinch the Tiger with the Saint's help than to see the Tiger get clean away.

That, however, would have to be resolved on the spur of the moment, for there was still a chance — the rapidly fading ghost of a chance, but a chance all the same — that the final humiliation would not be thrust upon him.

Carn gulped down his beer, thankful that the innkeeper was perfectly happy to conduct a monologue. "

“Have another?"

"I don't mind if I do, thank you, sir."

The detective cursed and fumed inwardly, but it had to be borne. If he had rushed out without standing his whack, every subsequent customer would hear the innkeeper's comments on the doctor's extraordinary behaviour. And that would get to the Tiger's ears, and the Tiger, as Simon Templar had observed, owned a nasty, suspicious mind.

But the ordeal ended at last, and Carn was able to excuse himself. He went through the village and set out up the hill to the Pill Box. It was a sultry day, and Carn had accumulated a lot of spare avoirdupois since his London-to-Southend days. He climbed doggedly, with the perspiration streaming down into his collar, and gasped his relief when the slope commenced to flatten out.

He was still a dozen yards from the Pill Box when Orace appeared at the door. Orace made it elaborately obvious that he had simply come out for a breather. He surveyed the scenery with the concentrated interest of an artist, and honoured the detective with nothing but a nonchalant glance, but he kept his right hand behind his back.

"Mr. Templar in?" demanded Carn from a distance.

"Ain't," replied Orace laconically,

"D'you know where he is?"

Orace focussed the detective with unfriendly eyes.

"Dunno. Gorn fra walk, mos' likely. 'E might be chasin' 'ippopotamoscerosses acrorst Epping Forest," enlarged Orace, become humorous, "or 'e might be 'oppin' up'n dahn the 'Ome Secrety's chimbley looking fer Santiclaws. Or 'e mightn't. 'Oo knows, as the actriss said to the bishup?"

"Now, look here, Little Tich," rasped Carn with pardonable heat, "I haven't sweated up this blasted mountain in a temperature like hell warmed up just to hear a lot of funny backchat from you. The Tiger's going to push you over the cliff to-night, but you don't matter much. Ifs Mr. Templar I came to warn."

Orace looked meditatively at the detective.

"Ho?" he remarked. "Ho! Well in that case — "

His right hand came out of cover, revealing the blunderbuss which Carn had seen before. It levelled on the detective's waistcoat, and Carn needed all his experienced agility to knock it up and wrench it out of Orace's hand before any damage could be done. Then he chucked it round the corner of the Pill Box.

"Don't be such a blazing lunatic!" he snapped. "As far as I can see, the only use for that lump of ivory above your ears is that it makes a place to hang your hat on. Don't you see that I'm trying to save your worthless skin? I tell you, the Tiger's laying for you both this evening. Got it? Tiger — T-I-G-E-R — Tiger! You know who he is, don't you? Well, look out, that's all. He's aiming to have the pair of you ready for the morgue by morning, and if you wake up and find yourselves dead after this nobody can blame me."

"Nobody's gonna worry 'bout you, cocky," Orace assured him. "Thankin' ya kindly fer the tip, an' will ya go back to the Tiger an' tell 'im Mr. Templar an' me are layin' fer 'im to-night, an' so if 'e wants ta pick up a packet o' trouble this is our 'ome address?"

"Well, you go off and find your boss, Orace, and pass the tip along to him," said Carn shortly, and, turning his back on the man, lumbered off down the hill again.

He found the trap waiting for him outside the inn, with a farm hand on the box and an expectant urchin in tow. Largesse was forthcoming, and then Carn clambered up beside the driver.