The Saint was capable of surprising himself. That plan of campaign, rigged out on the spur of the moment to put the girl off the main trail, caught hold of his imagination even as he improvised it. He ended on a note of genuine enthusiasm, and found that she was wringing his hands joyfully. “That’s really brilliant,” she bubbled. “Oh, Saint, it’s going to be the most fearfully thrilling thing that ever happened—if we can only bring it off!” He gazed sadly down at her. There it was—a tank of mulligatawny big enough to drown a brontosaurus, and he’d fallen right in before he knew what was happening. He shook his head. “Kid,” he said, “piracy on the low seas isn’t part of the curriculum at Mayfield, is it?” “I can swim a couple of miles any day of the week.” “Can you climb eighteen feet of anchor chain at the end of it?” objected the Saint. “Can you back yourself to put a man to sleep before he can loose a yell? Can you make yourself unpleasant with a belaying-pin if it comes to a riot? I hate to have to damp your ardour, Pat, but a woman can’t be expected to play that game.” She was up in arms at once. “Saint, you’re trying to elbow me out again!” she accused. “Possibly you’ve never met anybody like me before—I flatter myself I’m a bit out of the ruck in some ways. And I won’t be packed up in cotton-wool! Whatever you go into, I’m going with you.” Then he let her have it from the shoulder. “Finally,” he said in a level voice, “how d’you fancy yourself as a prisoner on that tub, at the mercy of a bunch like the Tiger’s, if we happen to lose? We might, you know. Think it over.” “You needn’t worry,” she said. “I shall carry a gun—and save one cartridge.” The Saint’s fists clenched. His mouth had set in a hard line, and his eyes were blazing. The Saintly pose had dropped from him like the flimsy mask it was, and for the first and last-but-one time she saw Simon Templar in a savage fury. “And—you think—you, my girl, you——” The words dropped from his tense lips like chips of white-hot steel. “You think I shall let you—take—that chance?” “Is there any logical reason, my man, why you shouldn’t?” “Yes, there is!” he stormed. “And if you aren’t damned careful you’ll hear it—and I don’t care how you take it!” She tossed her head. “Well, what is it?” “This,” said Simon deliberately—“I love you.” “But, you dear priceless idiot,” said Patricia, “hasn’t it occurred to you that the only reason I’m in this at all is because I love you?” For a space he stared. Then—— “Burn it,” said the Saint shakily, “why couldn’t you say so before?” But after that there was only one thing to do. For a man so unversed in the ways of women he did it exceedingly well. Chapter X The Old House