He cast a reproachful glance at Carn which made the detective take on an even deeper purple hue. Then he was smiling at Patricia with a message that was not for broadcasting. It showed his complete satisfaction with the way things had fallen out. There must have been a difference of a couple of minutes between their watches, and those two minutes had been just long enough to save the beans from being spilt all over the place. And the smile added: “Well played, kid! I knew I could rely on you. And everything in the garden’s lovely. . . . Which means, incidentally, that it’s our job to lead Carn up the garden. Watch your step!” And the girl smiled back, to show that she understood—but there was rather more in her smile than that. It showed that she was very glad to see him again, and the Saint had a struggle to stop himself grabbing her up in his arms and kissing her on the strength of it. “You seem to have been in the wars, Mr. Templar,” remarked Carn, and the Saint nodded tolerantly. “Didn’t Miss Holm tell you?” “I didn’t feel I could ask her.” The Saint raised his eyebrows, for although the girl had made some effort to tidy herself it was still glaringly evident that she had not spent the evening playing dominoes in the drawing-room. Carn explained: “When I opened the door and saw her, I thought something had happened and she was coming to me for—er—first aid. But she said it was only for a chat, so I overcame my—um—professional instincts, and said nothing. I rather think you were leading up to something when Mr. Templar came in, weren’t you, Miss Holm? . . . I see that you were. But as a—er—um—ah——” Carn caught the Saint’s accusing eye for the third time, and spluttered. “As a Doctor,” said Carn defiantly, “I was trained to let my patients make the running. The old school, but a good one. And then you arrive——” The detective broke off with a gesture that comprehended Patricia’s ragamuffin appearance and the Saint’s own tattered clothes, and Simon grinned. “So sad!” he drawled. “And now I suppose you’ll be in agonies of curiosity for weeks.” Carn shrugged. “That depends.” The detective was a passably good actor, but he was heavily handicapped by the suggestion of malicious glee that lurked in the Saint’s twinkling eyes. And he dared not seem to notice that the Saint was quietly laughing at him, because it was essential for him to maintain the _rôle_ of Dr. Carn in the presence of a witness. Which goes some way to explain why his florid face remained more rubicund even than it normally was, and why there was a certain unnatural restraint in his voice. Patricia was perplexed. She had expected to find that the Saint and Carn were familiar friends: instead, she found two men fencing with innuendo. It was beyond her to follow the subtleties of the duel, but there was no doubt that Simon was quite happy and Carn was quite annoyed, for it was indisputably the Saint’s game.