“Can’t see anything. This bunch are as windy as mice trying to nibble a cat’s whiskers. I’ll take a look outside. Stay right where you are, sonny.” Carn heard the Saint slither out, and there were words in the kitchen. A few seconds later Orace came in, bearing a lighted candle and clasping his beloved blunderbuss in his free hand. Orace did not speak. He set the candle down in a corner, so that the light did not interfere with his view of the embrasure, and waited patiently with the enormous revolver cocked and at the ready. “You have an exciting life,” remarked Carn, and Orace turned an unfriendly eye—and the revolver upon the Doctor. “Um,” said Orace noncommittally. The Saint was back in ten minutes by the clock. “Bad huntin’,” he murmured. “It’s as black as coffee outside, and he must have hared for home as soon as I scared him. . . . Beer, Orace.” “Aye, aye, sir,” said the silent one, and faded out as grimly as he had entered. Carn gazed thoughtfully after the retreating figure with its preposterous armoury and its preposterous strut. “Any more in the menagerie?” he enquired. “Nope,” said the Saint laconically. He was relighting the lamp, and the flare of the match threw his face into high relief for an instant. Carn became more thoughtful. His life had been devoted to dealing with men of all sorts and conditions. He had known many clever men, not a few dangerous men, and a number of mysterious men, but at that moment he wondered if he had ever met a man who looked more cleverly and dangerously and mysteriously competent to deal with any kind of trouble that happened to be floating around. “I’d rather have you on my side than against me, Saint,” said Carn. “You’d get a rake-off. Think it over.” Hands on hips, the Saint regarded the red-faced man quizzically. “Can I take that as official?” “Naturally not. But you can take it from me that it can be arranged on the side.” “Thanks,” said the Saint. “I don’t feel impressed with your balance sheet. Taken by and large, the dividend don’t seem fat enough to tempt this investor. Now try this one: come in with me, and I’ll promise you one third. Think it over, Detective Inspector Carn.” “Dr. Carn.” The Saint smiled. “Need we keep it up?” he asked smoothly. “What on earth, dear lamb, did you think you were getting away with?” Carn wrinkled his nose. “Just as you like,” he agreed. “You have the advantage of me, though. I’m hanged if I can place you.” “That’s the best news I’ve heard for some time,” said the Saint cheerfully. Carn rose to go after a couple of pints of beer had vanished, and Templar rose also. “Better let me see you home,” said the Saint. “I’ll feel safer.” “If you think I need nursing,” began Carn with some heat, but Simon linked his arm in that of the detective with his most charming smile. “Not a bit. I’d enjoy the stroll.”