Simon was not so disappointed. Indeed, if a monster had actually appeared almost on schedule under their expectant eyes, he would have been inclined to sense the hand of a Hollywood B-picture producer rather than the finger of Fate.
“As you said yesterday, it’s a matter of patience,” he observed philosophically. “But the odds are that the rest of your eight hours, now, will be just routine. So if you’re not nervous I’ll ramble around a while.”
His rambling had brought him no nearer to the house than the orchard when the sight of a coppery-rosy head on top of a shapely free-swinging figure made his pulse fluctuate enjoyably with a reminder of the remotely possible promise of romantic compensation that had started to warm his interest the day before.
Annie Clanraith’s smile was so eager and happy to see him that he might have been an old and close friend who had been away for a long time.
“Inspector Mackenzie told my father he’d left you here when he drove away. I’m so glad you stayed!”
“I’m glad you’re glad,” said the Saint, and against her ingenuous sincerity it was impossible to make the reply sound even vestigially skeptical. “But what made it so important?”
“Just having someone new and alive to talk to. You haven’t stayed long enough to find out how bored you can be here.”
“But you’ve got a job that must be a little more attractive than going back to an office in Liverpool.”
“Oh, it’s not bad. And it helps to make Father comfortable. And it’s nice to live in such beautiful scenery, I expect you’ll say. But I read books and I look at the TV, and I can’t stop having my silly dreams.”
“A gal like you,” he said teasingly, “should have her hands full, fighting off other dreamers.”
“All I get my hands full of is pages and pages of military strategy, about a man who only managed to beat Napoleon. But at least Napoleon had Josephine. The only thing Wellington gave his name to was an old boot.”
Simon clucked sympathetically.
“He may have had moments with his boots off, you know. Or has your father taught you to believe nothing good of anyone who was ever born south of the Tweed?”
“You must have thought it was terrible, the way he talked about Mr Bastion. And he’s so nice, isn’t he? It’s too bad he’s married!”
“Maybe his wife doesn’t think so.”
“I mean, I’m a normal girl and I’m not old-fashioned, and the one thing I do miss here is a man to fight off. In fact, I’m beginning to feel that if one did come along I wouldn’t even struggle.”
“You sound as if that Scottish song was written about you,” said the Saint, and he sang softly:
She laughed.
“Well, at least you smiled at me, and that makes today look a little better.”
“Where were you going?”
“To work. I just walked over across the fields — it’s much shorter than by the lane.”
Now that she mentioned it, he could see a glimpse of the Clanraith house between the trees. He turned and walked with her through the untidy little garden, towards the Bastions’ entrance.
“I’m sorry that stops me offering to take you on a picnic.”
“I don’t have any luck, do I? There’s a dance in Fort Augustus tomorrow night, and I haven’t been dancing for months, but I don’t know a soul who’d take me.”
“I’d like to do something about that,” he said. “But it rather depends on what develops around here. Don’t give up hope yet, though.”
As they entered the hall, Bastion came out of a back room and said, “Ah, good morning, Annie. There are some pages I was revising last night on my desk. I’ll be with you in a moment.”
She went on into the room he had just come from, and he turned to the Saint.
“I suppose you didn’t see anything.”
“If we had, you’d’ve heard plenty of gunfire and hollering.”
“Did you leave Eleanor down there?”
“Yes. But I don’t think she’s in any danger in broad daylight. Did Mackenzie call?”
“Not yet. I expect you’re anxious to hear from him. The telephone’s in the drawing room — why don’t you settle down there? You might like to browse through some of Eleanor’s collection of books about the Monster.”
Simon accepted the suggestion, and soon found himself so absorbed that only his empty stomach was conscious of the time when Bastion came in and told him that lunch was ready. Mrs Bastion had already returned and was dishing up an agreeably aromatic lamb stew which she apologized for having only warmed up.
“You were right, it was just routine,” she said. “A lot of waiting for nothing. But one of these days it won’t be for nothing.”
“I was thinking about it myself, dear,” Bastion said, “and it seems to me that there’s one bad weakness in your eight-hour-a-day system. There are enough odds against you already in only being able to see about a quarter of the loch, which leaves the Monster another three-quarters where it could just as easily pop up. But on top of that, watching only eight hours out of the twenty-four only gives us a one-third chance of being there even if it does pop up within range of our observation post. That doesn’t add to the odds against us, it multiplies them.”
“I know, but what can we do about it?”
“Since Mr Templar pointed out that anyone should really be safe enough with a high-powered rifle in their hands and everyone else within call, I thought that three of us could divide up the watches and cover the whole day from before dawn till after dusk, as long as one could possibly see anything. That is, if Mr Templar would help out. I know he can’t stay here indefinitely, but—”
“If it’ll make anybody feel better, I’d be glad to take a turn that way,” Simon said indifferently.
It might have been more polite to sound more enthusiastic, but he could not make himself believe that the Monster would actually be caught by any such system. He was impatient for Mackenzie’s report, which he thought was the essential detail.
The call came about two o’clock, and it was climactically negative.
“The doctor canna find a trrace o’ drugs or poison in the puir animal.”
Simon took a deep breath.
“What did he think of its injuries?”
“He said he’d ne’er seen the like o’ them. He dinna ken anything in the wurruld wi’ such crrushin’ power in its jaws as yon Monster must have. If ’twas no’ for the teeth marrks, he wad ha’ thocht it was done wi’ a club. But the autopsy makes that impossible.”
“So I take it you figure that rules you officially out,” said the Saint bluntly. “But give me a number where I can call you if the picture changes again.”
He wrote it down on a pad beside the telephone before he turned and relayed the report.
“That settles it,” said Mrs Bastion. “It can’t be anything else but an Niseag. And we’ve got all the more reason to try Noel’s idea of keeping watch all day.”
“I had a good sleep this morning, so I’ll start right away,” Bastion volunteered. “You’re entitled to a siesta.”
“I’ll take over after that,” she said. “I want to be out there again at twilight. I know I’m monopolizing the most promising times, but this matters more to me than to anyone else.”
Simon helped her with the dishes after they had had coffee, and then she excused herself.
“I’ll be fresher later if I do take a little nap. Why don’t you do the same? It was awfully good of you to get up in the middle of the night with me.”