“It might be either,” he said exultantly, “or it might be both—the Tiger may have a home from home in your defunct pub, and he may have parked the doubloons on the island. Anyway, we’ll draw both covers and see. Thinking it over, I guess I’ve hit it. The Tiger’d want to have the gold in some place he could ship it from easily—remember it’s got to go to Africa. And by the same token . . . Here, hold on half a sec.” He disappeared into the Pill Box and came back in a moment with field-glasses. Then he focused on the horizon and began to sweep it carefully from west to east. He had covered three-quarters of the arc when he stopped and stared for a full minute, suddenly rigid. “And there she blows,” he muttered. He handed her the binoculars and pointed north-east. “See what you make of it.” “It looks like a couple of masts sticking up.” “Motor ship—no funnels,” he explained. “The Bristol shipping passes here, but we’re back in a sort of big bay, and I don’t think they’d stand in as near as that. But we’ll just make sure.” He took the glasses from her again and went into the Pill Box, and she followed. He fossicked about in the kitchen till he found a piece of board, the remains of a packing-case, and this he settled in one of the embrasures, truing it up level with little wedges of newspaper. Then he put the field-glasses on it and took a sight on one of the masts by means of a couple of pins stuck in the board. “We’ll give her five minutes.” She grasped his meaning at once. “You think they’re waiting to come in after dark?” “No less. Comrade Bloem hasn’t done all he’d like to with T. T. Deeps, but he’ll have some weeks’ grace while the stuff’s getting to the mine. And he daren’t let it lie around here any longer, in case my luck holds and I don’t get bumped off according to schedule. I’ve rattled the Tiger!” He was keeping an eye on his watch, and the minutes ticked away very slowly. “Is Dr. Carn a detective?” she asked. “That’s hit it in one,” affirmed the Saint. “But don’t let on you know. It wouldn’t be sporting not to give the old boy a fair run.” “Then aren’t you a detective?” she stammered in bewilderment. “I thought you were friendly rivals—that was the only explanation I could work out last night.” The Saint smiled grimly.