"Quite right, too," he approved. "A healthy, good-looking girl like you ought to get married. Who's the unlucky man?"
"Don Knightley — Captain Knightley. You remember him don't you? He rescued me from the fire."
"So he did." The Saint laughed quietly; but it was a rather thoughtful kind of laugh. "Damn it, that was less than a month ago."
"Is that all?" she said. "It seems ever so much longer than that. Just think — only a month ago everything was ordinary, if you know what I mean. John and Ralph and Luker were alive, and General Sangore… Why do you think General Sangore shot himself?"
"I suppose he thought it was the best way out for him," said the Saint soberly. "Probably he wasn't so far wrong at that. Anyway, let's drink to him."
He raised his glass.
She looked at him curiously.
"It's funny that you should do that," she said.
"Is it? I don't think so. We shouldn't be having this drink together now if it hadn't been for him."
"I don't understand."