11 The Brighter Buccaneer

These chronicles have only attempted a few incidents in the Saint's career that were distinguished by some odd twist of luck or circumstance or ingenuity. His crimes were always legion; and it is often hard for the historian to select the exploits which seem most worthy of commemoration.

"I owe you a lot," said Peter.

"Brickdust," said the Saint tersely.

He spread the lather over his arms and chest and shoulders, and submerged himself again. Then he said: "Peter, I let you come in with me because you wanted to and you'd lost your job and you had to live somehow. Now you've got forty thousand quid, three thousand a year or more if you invest it skillfully, and you don't need a job. You don't need to run to seed in an office. You're not rich, but you can have all the fun in the world. You can go anywhere, do almost anything you like within reason. If I may talk to you like an uncle-don't be the pitcher that goes once too often to the well."

"You've never stopped," said Peter.

The Saint grinned.

"I never could. While I'm strong and alive, I've got to go on. When I stop crashing about the world and raising hell, I might as well die. Excitement, danger, living on tiptoe all the time- that's what life means to me. But it isn't the same for you."

"What will you do now?"

"I'm blowed if I know. I think I shall travel south, and put my trust in the Lord. Something's sure to happen. Something always does happen, if you go out and challenge it. Adventure never comes. You have to lug it in by the ears. You might settle down in a nice house in England for fifty years, and nothing would ever happen. A few people would die, a few people would get married, they might change over from bridge to canasta or back again, the man next door might run off with his wife's sister and the grocer's assistant might run off with the till-that's all. But you won't find adventure unless you look for it, and that means living dangerously. Sometimes when I hear fools complaining that life is dull, I want to advise them to knock their bank manager on the head and grab a handful of money and run. After a fortnight, if they could keep run­ning that long, they'd know what life meant. ... I expect I shall do something like that, and the chase will start all over again. But somewhere in the south it will be, Peter. Do you know, when I woke up this morning it was cold enough for me to see my breath going up like steam, and when that happens I feel the old call of long days and sunshine and blue skies."

He stood up, twitched out the plug, and turned the tap of the cold shower. For a few seconds he stood under it, letting it stream down over him and laughing at the stinging brunt of it, rubbing the water over his arms and thighs and chest in a sheer pagan delight of hardiness; and then he climbed out and reached for a towel and cigarette, and his wet hand smote Peter between the shoulder-blades.

"And I feel like a million dollars on it," he said. "Come on- let's go and be rude to Julian!"

In a surprisingly short space of time he was dressed, immac­ulate and debonair as ever, and they walked up Piccadilly together.

"No alibi?" asked Peter.

"Why bother?" smiled the Saint. "If anything could possibly go wrong, Julian would have a swell job trying to explain exactly why he had the entire capital of the firm in a bag in his room, with a one-way passage booked to Buenos Aires-and I don't think he'd take it on."

He had a faultless sense of time, and Kate Allfield had also learned that in their profession punctuality may be more precious than many alibis. She had just paid off her taxi when they arrived at the Savoy; and Simon could understand the foolishness of Julian Lamantia no less than the foolishness of Peter Quentin. He had always thought her lovely, even at that first meeting at the airport when he had only just discovered the hypnotic powers of her cigarettes in time; and the affair of the Star of Mandalay had shown him something else about her that he saluted in his own way. But it was Peter Quentin's hand that she touched first; and Simon knew that with this adventure one more adventurer came to an end.

They went in together, and Peter and Simon stood aside while the girl approached the hall porter and had her name telephoned up to Mr. Lamantia's room. The reply came back, as they had expected, that she was to be shown up; and the two men strolled along and joined her quite naturally as she was escorted to the lift.

They got out on the third floor, and she stopped the page­boy who accompanied them with a smile.

"I know the way," she said.

Simon slipped a half-crown into the midget's hand, and they brushed past him. In a few yards they had the corridor to themselves.

"You might wander downstairs and drift out, Kathleen," said the Saint. "Go to the Mayfair. We'll join you there in about half an hour."

She nodded; and Peter's fingers slipped away from hers as they passed on.

They reached Mr. Lamantia's room, and Simon lifted his hand and knocked.