Leslie Charteris - The Saint vs Scotland Yard

He departed in the Saintly way, with a last Saintly smile and the clap of a hand on the detective's shoulder; and Teal watched him go without a word.

Patricia was waiting for him farther along the deck. He fell into step beside her, and they went down the gangway and crossed the quay. At the corner of a warehouse Simon stopped. Quite quietly he looked at her, propping up the building with one hand.

And the girl knew what his silence meant. For him, the die was cast; and, being the man he was, he was ready to pay cash. His hand was in his pocket, and the smile hadn't wavered on his lips. But just for that moment he was taking his unflinching farewell of the fair fields of irresponsible adventure, understanding just what it would mean to him to pay the score, scanning the road ahead with the steady eyes that had never feared anything in this life. And he was ready to start the journey there and then.

And Patricia smiled. She had never loved him more than she did at that moment; but she smiled with nothing but the smile behind her eyes. And she answered before he had spoken.

"Boy," she said, "I couldn't be happier than I am now."

He did not move. She went on, quickly:

"Don't say it, Simon! I don't want you to. Haven't we both got everything we want as it is? Isn't life splendid enough? Aren't we going to have more adventures, and — and—"

"Fun and games for ever?"

"Yes! Aren't we? Why spoil the magic? I won't listen to you. Even if we've missed out on this adventure—"

Suddenly he laughed. His hands went to his hips. She had been waiting for that laugh. She had put all she was into the task of winning it. And, with that laugh, the spell that had held his eyes so quiet and steady was broken. She saw the leap of the old mirth and glamour lighting them again. She was happy.

"Pat, is that really what you want?"

"It's everything I want."

"To go on with the fighting and the fun? To go on racketing around the world, doing everything that's utterly and gloriously mad — swaggering, swashbuckling, singing — showing all these dreary old-dogs what can be done with life — not giving a damn for anyone — robbing the rich, helping the poor — plaguing the pompous — killing dragons, pulling policemen's legs—"

"I'm ready for it all!"

He caught her hands.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"Not one tiny little doubt about it?"

"Not one."

"Then we can start this minute."

She stared.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

The Saint loosened his belt and pointed downwards. Even then, she didn't understand.

"Remember how I found Bertie? He was halfway into the Lovedew's wardrobe trunk. We had a short but merry scrap. And then he went on in. Well, during the tumult and the shouting, and the general excitement, in the course of which Bertie soaked up one of the juiciest K.O.s I've ever distributed—"

He broke off and the girl turned round in amazed perplexity.

From somewhere on the Berengaria had pealed out the wild and frantic shriek of an irreparably outraged camel collapsing under the last intolerable straw.

Patricia turned again, her face blank with bewilderment.

"What on earth was that?" she asked.

The Saint smiled seraphically.

"That was the death-cry of old Pimply-face. They've just opened her trunk and discovered Bertie. And he has no trousers on. We can begin our travels right now," said the Saint.