"We've got a date to be shot up at East Lulworth at half past ten," he said cheerfully and gave them a literal account of the conversation.
"They're making you travel a bit before they kill you," said Peter. "Are you going on with this mad idea of yours?"
"It's the only thing to do if we're sticking to our plan of campaign. We're fish on the rise tonight, and we'll go on rising until we get a line if it—"
He broke off with his hand whipping instinctively to his pocket again as a bicycle whirred out of the shadows towards them at racing speed. The brakes grated as it shot by, and a man almost threw himself off the machine and turned back towards them. A moment later the Saint saw that it was Jopley.
"Thank Gawd I caught yer," he gasped. "I was afride it 'ud be too late. Yer mustn't go ter Lulworth tonight!"
"That's a pity," said the Saint tranquilly. "But I just made a date to go there."
"Yer carn't do it, sir! They'll be wytin' for yer wiv a machine gun. I 'eard 'im givin' the orders an' 'ow the lidy was ter meet yer 'ere an' tell yer the tile an' everythink—"
Simon became suddenly alert.
"You heard who giving the orders?" he shot back.
"The boss 'imself it was — 'e's at Gad Cliff 'Ouse naow!