"A bit wet in the water to-night, isn't it?" he remarked coolly.
"Just a little."
He pulled open a drawer and selected a couple of towels. As an afterthought, he detached a bathrobe from its hook and dropped that also on the couch.
"D'you prefer brandy or hot coffee?"
"Thanks." The impulse of mischief in her eyes was only a wraith of itself, masked down by a colder intentness. "But I think I'd better be getting back—to collect my bet. It was awfully good of you to—understand so quickly—and—and help me."
She held out her hand, in a quick gesture of final friendliness, with a smile which ought to have left the Saint gaping dreamily after her until she was lost again in the night.
"Oh, yes." Simon took the hand, but he didn't complete the action by letting go of it immediately as he should have done. He put one foot up on the couch and rested his forearm on his knee; and the quiet light of amusement that twinkled in his sea-blue eyes was suddenly very gay and disturbing. "Of course, I did hear something about a bet——"
"It—it was rather a stupid one, I suppose." She took her hand away, and her voice steadied itself and became clearer. "We were just talking, about how easy it would be to get away with anything on a foggy night, and somehow or other it got around to my saying that I could swim to Dinard and back without them finding me. They'd nearly caught me when you pulled me on board. I don't know if that was allowed for in the bet, but——"
"And the shooting?"
Her fine brows came together for a moment.
"That was just part of the make-believe. We were pretending that I'd come out to rob the ship——"
"And the shouting?"
"That was part of it, too. I suppose it all sounds very idiotic——"
The Saint smiled. He slipped a cigarette out of a packet on the shelf close by and tapped it.
"Oh, not a bit. I like these games myself—they do help to pass away the long evenings. Who did the shooting?"
"The man who spoke to you from the dinghy."
"I suppose he didn't shoot himself by mistake? It was a most realistic job of yelling." Simon's voice expressed nothing but gentle interest and approval; his smile was deceptively lazy. And then he left the cigarette in his mouth and stretched out his hand again. "By the way, that's a jolly-looking gadget."
There was a curious kind of thick rubber pouch strapped on the belt of her swim suit, and he had touched it before she could draw back.
"It's just one of those waterproof carriers for cigarettes and a vanity case. Haven't you seen them before?"
"No." He took his foot down, again from the couch, rather deliberately. "May I look?"
The note of casual, politely apologetic inquisitiveness was perfectly done. They might have been carrying on an idle conversation on the beach in broad sunlight; but she stepped back before he could touch the case again.
"I—I think I'd better be getting back. Really. The others will be starting to worry about me."
He nodded.
"Perhaps they will," he admitted. "But you can't possibly go swimming about in this mess. You don't know what a risk you're taking. It's a hundred to one you'd miss your boat, and it's cold work splashing around in circles. I'll run you back."
"Please don't bother. Honestly, the water isn't so cold——"
"But you are." His smiling eyes took on the slight shiver of her brown body. "And it's no trouble."
He passed her with an easy stride, and he was on the companion when she caught his arm.
"Please! Besides, the bet doesn't——"
"Damn the bet, darling. You're too young and good-looking to be washed up stiff on the beach. Besides, you've broken the rules already by coming on board. I'll take you over, and you can just swim across if you like."
"I won't go with you. Please don't make it difficult."
"You won't go without me."
He sat down on the companion, filling the narrow exit with his broad shoulders. She bit her lip.
"It's sweet of you," she said hesitantly. "But I couldn't give you any more trouble. I'm not going."
"Then you ought to use those towels and decide about the brandy and/or coffee," said the Saint amiably. "Of course, it may compromise you a bit, but I'm broad-minded. And if this is going to be Romance, may I start by saying that your mouth is the loveliest——"
"No, no! I'm not going to let you row me back."
"Then I take it you've made up your mind to stay. That's what I was talking about. And while we're on the subject, don't you know that it's immoral for anyone to have legs like yours? They put the wickedest ideas——"
"Please." There was a beginning of reluctant anger creeping into her gaze. "It's been nice of you to help me. Don't spoil it now."
Simon Templar inhaled deeply from his cigarette and said nothing.
Her grey eyes darkened with a scrap of half-incredulous fear that clashed absurdly with the careless good humour of his unvarying smile. Then, as if she was putting the ridiculous idea away, she came forward resolutely and tried to pass him.
One of his long arms reached out effortlessly and closed the remainder of the passage. She fought against it, half playfully at first, and then with all her lithe young strength; but it was as immovable as a bar of iron. In a sudden flash of panic savagery she beat at his chest and shoulders with her fists, but it was like hitting pads of toughened rubber. He laughed softly, without resentment; and she became aware that his other hand had been carefully exploring the form of the curious little pouch on her belt while she fought. She fell back quickly, staring at him.
"I thought it clunked," he murmured, "when I pulled you in. And yet you don't look as if you had a cast-iron vanity."
Her breath was coming faster now, and he knew that it was not only from her exertions.
"I don't know what you're talking about. Will you let me out?"
"No."
He liked her spirit. The trace of mischief in her eyes was gone altogether by this time, frozen into a sparkle of dangerous exasperation.
"Have you thought," she asked slowly, "what would happen if I screamed?"
"I suppose it couldn't help being pretty musical, as screams go. Your ordinary speaking voice——"
"I could rouse half the harbour."
He nodded, without shifting his strategic position on the companion. "It looks like being a noisy night."
"If you don't let me go at once——"
Simon Templar extended his legs luxuriously and blew smoke-rings.
"Sister," he said, "have you stopped to consider what would happen if I screamed?"
"What?"
"You see, it isn't as if this was your boat. If I'd swum out and invaded you at this hour, and you'd been wearing pyjamas instead of me, and more or less the same argument had taken place —well, I guess you could have screamed most effectively. But there's a difference. This tub is mine, and you're trespassing. Presumably you couldn't put up a story that I kidnapped you, because then people would ask why you hadn't screamed before. Besides, you're wearing a wet bathing costume, which would want a whole lot more explaining. No—the only thing I can see to it is that you invited yourself. And the time is now moving on to half-past three in the morning. Taking it by and large, I can't help feeling that you'd be answering a lot of embarrassing questions about why you took such a long time to get frightened. Besides which, this is a French port, with French authorities, and Frenchmen have such a wonderful grip on the facts of life. I am a very retiring sort of bloke," said the Saint shyly, "and I don't mind telling you that my modesty has been outraged. If you make another attempt to assault me——"