“I’ve had a few happier moments myself. But he was quite right, according to what he knew. He’s a good guy. He’ll always be a good guy... He kind of likes you I think.”
She said nothing.
Morland and Hank were already in Morland’s station wagon. Just a few yards from it, Jean Morland stopped, and turned in front of him.
“Thank you so much,” she said, “—Saint.”
Her arms slipped around his neck, and for a long moment he felt the pressure of her lips.
Then she was gone.
He stood and watched the station wagon drive away.
After several minutes, he turned and walked over to the bunkhouse. The buttress of cots and furniture was undisturbed, and looked likely to remain that way until somebody from outside moved it. There was very little noise from the store-room where the nine Bundsmen were imprisoned. There was not likely to be much. A shortage of oxygen is highly discouraging to violent effort.
Simon went back to the ranch house and explored a bit. He found a bottle of Peter Dawson, and a bottle of Benedictine.
He decided that the occasion deserved the more expensive drink. He poured himself some Benedictine, and went back to the living room. There, after some searching, he gathered together some paper, a pen, and a package of cigarettes.