The Saint stared at her. For a moment he was completely and irrevocably taken aback.
In that moment his first hasty estimate of her underwent a surprising reversal, although it made no difference to his belief in her innocence. But it gave him an insight into her mind which he had not been expecting. She might be featherbrained and spoiled, but she had something more in her head than he had credited her with. For the first time he found himself appreciating her.
"You win, darling," he said. The turn of his lips became impish. "Only I always mean it a little."
Then one of the side doors opened and he saw Lady Sangore surge out like a full-rigged ship putting out from harbour. Behind her, in a straggling flotilla, came Sir Robert, Kane Luker and Mr Fairweather. Fairweather, peering round, caught sight of a ruddy-faced walrus-moustached man who. looked like a builder's foreman dressed up in his Sunday suit, who got up from the bench where he had been sitting as the party emerged. They shook hands, and Fairweather spoke to him for a moment before he shepherded him into the office which they had just left and came puttering back to rejoin the wake of the fleet. Simon noted the incident as he watched the armada catch sight of Lady Valerie and set a course for her.
"My dear, I'm so sorry we've been such a long time," said Lady Sangore as she hove to. "All this bother only makes everything so much worse."
She conveyed the impression that a fire in which somebody was burnt to death would not be nearly so distressing if it were not for the subsequent inconvenience which she personally had to suffer.
"I hope you haven't been too bored, my dear," said Fairweather, puffing through into the foreground.
Lady Valerie smiled.
"Oh no," she said. "I've been very well looked after. You haven't forgotten the hero of the evening, have you?"
Fairweather blinked at the Saint.