The Saint grinned and opened the door.
"Hullo there, Marty." He settled his pockets, buttoned his coat and slipped out. "Are you ready to travel?"
"If there's nothing to stop us."
"There isn't." Simon punched him gently in the stomach and their hands met. "The car is yours, and you'll find about fifty thousand bucks lying about in it. The earth is yours between here and the Canadian border; but if I were you I'd strike east from here and go up through White Plains. And any time I'm in Canada I'll drop by your garage for some gas. Maybe it '11 go towards evening up what you did for me one time." He gripped Marty's shoulder for a moment and then turned to the other slighter figure which stood beside them. "Take care of him, Cora — and yourself too."
"I'll do that."
A match flared in the Saint's hands for an instant, but his eyes were intent on the cigarette he was lighting.
"You called Lucky Joe as I told you to?" he asked casually. "Told him you were through with Marty and couldn't bear to wait another day to take up with the new love?"
"Yes. Half an hour ago."
"I bet he fell for it."
"He said he'd be there." She hesitated. "I don't know why you've done all this for us, Saint, and I don't know how you did it — but why did you want me to do that?"