“Good Scout!” he approved. “The other item is old Lapping. He’s been lying doggo since the beginning of the piece, but there are so darn few possible winning numbers in this lottery that I think we ought to get a line on Lapping. On the face of it, he’s right out of the running—but then, so’s everyone else in Baycombe. And I’m just wondering about a lad called Harry the Duke.” “‘Harry the Duke’?” she repeated, mystified. “Whoever’s he?” “A swell mobsman that Lapping sent down for seven years when he was a judge. It was a nasty piece of work—I’ll spare you the details—but Harry escaped six years ago, and he never was a forgiving man, from all accounts. In fact, knowing what’s said about Harry at the Yard, I’m surprised he hasn’t taken it out of Lapping before now. There’s a story that Harry followed the first magistrate who convicted him half-way round the world—and got him. Since when there was no other, Harry being miles and miles above the common run of crooks in brains, until Lapping. It’s a long shot, I know, but bad men run pretty much to pattern, and the Tiger’s acknowledged to be an Englishman. And the hunch got me recently—suppose Harry the Duke is the Tiger?” “Wouldn’t he have been recognised?” “Harry’s face is pure plasticine, and he’s forgotten more about make-up than most actors ever learn. And Harry’s one of the few men I’d credit with brains enough to wear the Tiger’s hat. . . . It’s all speculation, and long odds against it on probability, but it’s worth a flutter. You see, if the Tiger did happen to be Harry the Duke—and the Tiger started operations not so long after Harry broke gaol—it accounts for Lapping’s continued health. The Tiger’ll just be waiting till he’s ready to skedaddle with the swag, since Lapping’s right where he can lay his hands on him any time, and then he’ll pay off the old score and sail away.” She was still puzzled. “But what do you want me to do?” she asked. “If you’ve got time and energy left after pasting Auntie, go over and be sweet and winsome to Sir Mike,” replied Simon. “You know him quite well—lay it on with a spade. Ask him to advise you about me. That’s sound! If he happened to be in with the Tiger, it might put you on safer ground, if you can kid them you’re not in my confidence after all. If he’s harmless, it can’t hurt us. Talk to him as the old friend and honorary uncle. Tell him about _l’affaire_ Bittle—noting how he reacts—and lead from that to my eccentric self. You might say that you felt attracted, and wondered if it was wise to let it go any further. The blushing ingenuous maiden act.” “I’ll do it,” she said, and he leaned across the table and touched her hand. “You’re a partner in a million, old Pat.” After lunch Orace served coffee outside, and they sat and smoked while they discussed the final arrangements.