“Sorry, sir, but it doesn’t matter if—” The man gulped, and peered at them more closely. “Templar, did you say?”
“Yes, Simon Templar.”
The Admiral removed his hat, mopped at his pink forehead.
“Whew! That was a shot across the bow. I’ve heard about you, Mr... er... Sss...”
“Call him Saint,” said Patricia. “He likes it.”
“But I still can’t let you in the Quarterdeck, sir.”
“You aren’t letting us,” the Saint said gently. “But you aren’t stopping us, either.”
“I wouldn’t want to cause any unpleasantness, sir, but—”
“No,” the Saint agreed, not so gently. “I wouldn’t, if I were you. It might be more unpleasant for you than you’d bargained for. Now if you’ll just slip anchor and drift to the northwest a trifle—”
“For another thing,” Pat put in, “we were invited here.”