"They haven't a hope. The French are very practical in these matters. Luckily I didn't quite kill that bloke who was going to do the assassination, and they got a statement out of him before he slid off… It's a pity they couldn't get anything definite on Fairweather, though. I hate to think of him being the only one to get away with it, even if he was the least important of the lot."
"I think you're very vindictive," she said. "There's no harm in Algy, really. I've still got quite a soft spot for him."
"Maybe I'll try to develop some sort of spot for him myself," said the Saint meditatively. "Let's not bother about him now. Tell me more about your marriage."
She frowned.
"What do you want to know about it? You don't object or anything, do you?"
"Not at the moment. I'm only waiting to see my solicitor and find out what chance I'll have of suing you for breach of promise. I've still got the evidence, you know; and I think it must have been Reginald who told the newspapers — anyway, they all printed it, and I shall have a lot of questions to answer if you jilt me."
She looked at him rather sadly.
"I mean, you aren't really entitled to object, are you? It isn't as if you wanted to marry me yourself, or anything like that."
"Of course I want to marry you myself. But since your heart belongs to another I shall be a strong silent man and keep a stiff upper lip and—"
"I wouldn't marry you, anyway," she said. "I admit you did rather steal my girlish heart away at one time, but after that night when everything happened I decided I just couldn't stand the pace. After all, spending one's whole time being lugged about and threatened with floggings and firing squads and being generally manhandled isn't much of a life for a girl, is it? All the same, I hope you'll come and see me after I'm married, whenever you aren't doing anything in particular. I mean, there must be some evenings every now and again when you haven't got a gang of desperadoes after you; and Don will be away quite a good bit, you know."