Charteris, Leslie - The Saint 01 - The Saint Meets the Tiger by Leslie Charteris

Author:Leslie Charteris
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
ISBN: 9780441524112
Publisher: Avon
Published: 1952-01-15T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter XV

SPURS FOR ALGY

It was then ten o’clock.

"The boat should be coming in now," said Patricia, and she and Algy went outside to look round.

They lay on the grass at the edge of the cliff, gazing out to sea. It was a cloudless night, and although there was as yet no moon, the stars shone brightly and covered the world with a dim silvery radiance. Starlight is the most deceptive and baffling of lights, but water is the easiest thing on earth to see over in the dark. The starlight etched in the tiny ripples over the sea, making it a wide, smooth expanse of glistening black and luminous gray; the island called the Old House sheered up from the calm flatness like some fabulous swarthy beast rising from the depths of the ocean.

"I can see the jolly old tub," breathed Algy excitedly.

The girl's hand closed over his arm like a vise.

"The Saint was right," she said.

But it was not so much seeing the ship as detecting a shadowy mast silhouetted against the sleek darkness of the waters. The hull could be picked out in a profile of blurred outline, where there showed no flicker of reflected luminosity from the facets of the wrinkled sea. The Tiger's bark must still have been six miles out from the coast, if not more.

Patricia watched it till her eyes ached.

"They must be coming in very slowly," she said. "They hardly seem to have moved in the last five minutes. Right under the Saint's bedroom window, they'd have to be careful."

"Smugglers and pirates all up to date—what?" remarked Algy. "Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of Bass...."

He was as eager as a schoolboy.

They returned to the Pill Box, and Patricia consulted her watch and made a rough calculation.

"They should be in about eleven, at this rate," she reckoned. "You'd better go home and slip on a bathing costume. And do you happen to have any firearms about the place?"

"I believe Uncle Hans stocks one."

She smiled, and took the automatic from her pocket.

"He doesn't now—Simon relieved him of it last night."

"Perhaps he's got another. I've an idea there used to be quite an armoury. I'll do my best."

"How long will it take you?"

He thought.

"I'll be back at eleven."

"Don't be later," she ordered. "It'd make it a longer swim if we went from the quay, but the tide's only just turned, so we can't get along the beach. We'll have to go over the cliff here—could you find enough strong rope?"

"I'll knock up a bloke in the village. He's got miles and miles of it—sells it to the stout mariners, y'know."

She nodded.

"Go ahead, then, Algy. I'll expect you back sharp at eleven."

"Oh, most frightfully rather!" promised Mr. Lomas-Coper. "Cheer-screamingly-ho, wuff, wuff!"

He pranced off in a realistically Wodehousian manner, and the girl smiled. Algy was the goods, under his superficial fatuousness, and even if he were not noticeably blessed with superfluous quantities of gray matter he was at least a very willing horse. In the miasma of dark suspicion

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