11 The Brighter Buccaneer

"I didn't," said Peter, "as I've told you all along. Thank God you won't be going to prison on Thursday, anyway-if it's only a little party she's invited you to, I don't suppose you'll even see the Star of Mandalay."

Simon grinned.

"Little party be blowed," he said. "Gertrude has never thrown a little party in her life. When she talks about a 'little' party she means there'll only be two orchestras and not more than a hundred couples. And if she doesn't put on the Star of Mandalay for Lady Palfrey's benefit I am a bob-tailed ptarmi­gan and my name is Alphonse."

Nevertheless, when he suggested that Peter Quentin should come with him there was not much argument.

"How can you get me in?" Peter demurred. "I wasn't in­vited, and I don't known any princes."

"You've got an uncle who's a lord or something, haven't you?"

"I've got an uncle who's the Bishop of Kenya; but what does Mrs. Dempster-Craven care about South African bishops?"

"Call him Lord Kenya," said the Saint. "She won't look him up in Debrett while you're there. I'll say we were dining together and I couldn't shake you off."

At that point it all looked almost tediously straightforward, a commonplace exploit with nothing but the size of the prize to make it memorable. And when Simon arrived in Berkeley Square on the date of his invitation it seemed easier still; for Mrs. Dempster-Craven, as he had expected, was proudly sport­ing the Star of Mandalay on her swelling bosom, set in the centre of a pattern of square-cut sapphires in a platinum pendant that looked more like an illuminated sky-sign than anything else. True, there was a large-footed man in badly fitting dress clothes who trailed her around like a devoted wolf­hound; but private detectives of any grade the Saint felt com­petent to deal with. Professionals likewise, given a fair warning -although he was anticipating no professional surveillance that night. But he had not been in the house twenty minutes before he found himself confronting a dark slender girl with merry brown eyes whose face appeared before him like the Nemesis of one of his most innocent flirtations-and even then he did not guess what Fate had in store for him.

At his side he heard the voice of Mrs. Dempster-Craven cooing like a contralto dove: "This is Miss Rosamund Armitage-a cousin of the Duke of Trayall." And then, as she saw their eyes fixed on each other: "But have you met before?"

"Yes-we have met," said the Saint, recovering himself easily. "Wasn't it that day when you were just off to Ostend?"

"I think so," said the girl gravely.

A plaintive baronet in search of an introduction accosted Mrs. Dempster-Craven from the other side, and Simon took the girl in his arms as the second orchestra muted its saxophones for a waltz.

"This is a very happy reunion, Kate," he murmured. "I must congratulate you."

"Why?" she asked suspiciously.

"When we last met-in that famous little argument about the Kellman necklace-you weren't so closely related to the Duke of Trayall."

They made a circuit of the floor-she danced perfectly, as he would have expected-and then she said, bluntly: "What are you doing here, Saint?"

"Treading the light fantastic, drinking free champagne, and watching little monkeys scrambling up the social ladder," he answered airily. "And you?"

"I'm here for exactly the same reason as you are-my old age pension."

"I can't imagine you getting old, Kate."

"Let's sit out somewhere," she said suddenly.

They left the ballroom and went in search of a secluded corner of the conservatory, where there were armchairs and sheltering palm trees providing discreet alcoves for romantic couples. Simon noticed that the girl was quite sure of her way around, and said so.

"Of course I've been here before," she said. "I expect you have, too."

"On the contrary-this is my first visit. I never take two bites at a cherry."

"Not even a five thousand pound one?"

"Not even that."

She produced a packet of cigarettes from her bag and offered him one. Simon smiled, and shook his head.

"There are funny things about your cigarettes that don't make me laugh out loud, Kate," he said cheerfully. "Have one of mine instead."

"Look here," she said. "Let's put our cards on the table. You're after that pendant, and so am I. Everything on our side is planned out, and you've just told me this is your first visit. You can't possibly get in front of us this time. You took the Kellman necklace away under our noses, but you couldn't do it again. Why not retire gracefully?"

He gazed at her thoughtfully for a few seconds; and she touched his hand.

"Won't you do that-and save trouble?"

"You know, Kate," said the Saint, "you're a lovely gal. Would you mind very much if I kissed you?"

"I could make it worth a hundred pounds to you-for noth­ing-if you gave us a clear field."

Simon wrinkled his nose.

"Are there forty-nine of you?" he drawled. "It seems a very small share-out to me."

"I might be able to make it two hundred. They wouldn't agree to any more."

The Saint blew smoke-rings towards the ceiling.