The girl flung up her head and marched to the door. Go back to Simon? She would. There wasn’t much risk about walking over to the Pill Box, she thought, and the feel of the automatic in her pocket gave her all the courage she needed. The Saint wouldn’t be expecting her, but he could hardly object, considering the news she was bringing him. It had been an eventful afternoon—more eventful than he could possibly have foreseen—and, since there was nothing more that she could achieve on her own, it was essential that he should be provided with all the news up to date. The time had passed quickly. It was twenty to seven when she set out; she came in sight of the Pill Box towards a quarter past, having taken it easy, and by that time it was nearly dark. The sea shone like dull silver, reflecting all the last rays of twilight, and from the top of the cliff Patricia strained to see the ship they had observed that morning. She thought she could make out the tiniest of black dots on the horizon, but she would not have sworn to it. That was the ship that the Saint and Orace and she were scheduled to capture by themselves, and the monumental audacity of the scheme made her smile. But it was just because the scheme was so impossible that the prospect of attempting to carry it out did not bother her at all: it was the sort of reckless daredevil thing that people did in books and films, the forlorn hope that always materialised in time to provide a happy ending. She could think of no precedent for it in real life, and therefore the only thing to go by was the standard of fiction—according to which it was bound to succeed. But she wondered if any man living except the Saint—her Saint—would have had the imagination to think of it, the courage to work out the idea in all seriousness, the heroic foolhardiness to try and bring it off, and the personality to captain the adventure. She and Orace were nothing but his devoted lieutenants: the whole fate of the long hazard rested on the Saint’s broad shoulders. With a shrug and a smile that showed her perfect teeth—a smile of utter fearlessness that Simon would have loved to see—the girl turned away and strolled across to the Pill Box. There was a light in the embrasure which she knew served for a window in the dining-drawing-smoking-sitting-room, but when she peeped in she saw only Orace laying dinner. She went in, and he swung round at the sound of her footsteps. She was amused but perplexed to see his face light up and then fall again as he recognised her. “Where’s Mr. Templar?” she asked, and he almost glared at her. “Back ut arf pas’ sevin,” he growled.