“Saint, you’re an ass,” she said. “And if you exhibit any symptoms of virulent imbecility I shall fire you and become managing director myself.”
“Hell’s bells,” ejaculated Simon, unwontedly moved, and swung away.
Very carefully, so as not to disturb the board, he took another sight at the ship’s masts; and presently he straightened up with a light of triumph breaking on his face.
“We’re in luck,” he said. “She hasn’t shifted a millimetre. Rotten bad navigation. I’d have known the height of my masts to an inch, and the height of the cliffs here ditto, and I’d have figured out my position to six places of decimals. . . . But the Tiger’s loss is our gain!”
“They’ll start to come in at sunset,” she took him up excitedly. “And——”
“And I’ll be there,” said the Saint. “It’s a moonlight swim for me to-night. That’s great—to let the Tiger Cubs themselves lead me to the cache! But the snag is . . . Holy Habbakuk . . . they’ll be waiting for me.” She stared. “They know I’ll invite myself, bless it!”
“Why?”
“Because they know I’m wise to this Old House joke. I let on, like a fool. That was a poisonous bad bloomer! I was ragging old Bloem about Fernando, just seeing how much breeze I could put up him, and I mentioned the Old House. They’ll think I knew exactly what and where it was. Oh, crumbs and crutches! D’you mind kicking me as hard as you can?”
She was as distressed as he was. It was in no half-hearted manner that she had enlisted in the army of adventurers. A setback stung her as much as anybody. She bit her lip.
“But they’re coming in,” she insisted.