shorts, a sailor’s cap, and two narrow straps that crossed over her pneumatic bosom. The croupiers wore three-cornered hats emblazoned, aptly, with the Jolly Roger.
Patricia’s blue eyes took in the big room one customer at a time.
“I don’t see Lida,” she said presently. “She said she’d be waiting.”
“Probably she’s just late,” Simon answered. “It has happened to women before.” He ignored the daggered glance which his lady launched at him. “Shall we mingle with the elite, and lose a fortune in the well-bred fashion of wealthy suckers?”
“The next time I have to wait for you-” Patricia began; and then Simon stopped her with a hand on her arm.
“Don’t look now,” he said in a low voice, “but something tall, dark, and rancid is coming up on our starboard quarter.”
The newcomer wasn’t really tall. He stood several inches be low the Saint’s seventy-four, but he gave the impression of height by his manner: suave, completely poised.
“Good evening,” he said, his dark eyes flickering up and down Pat in appreciation. “Permit me to introduce myself. I am Esteban. Welcome to the Quarterdeck.”
“How do you do, Esteban?” said the Saint. “Quite well, I guess, from the looks of things.”
Esteban smiled, and made a comprehensive gesture at the crowd.
“Always there are many people at the Quarterdeck Club. We conduct honest games. But what will you play? Roulette, faro, blackjack?”
“None but the brave chemin de fer,” murmured the Saint. “It’s nice of you to give us a choice of weapons. But as a matter of fact, we’re looking for a friend. A Mrs Verity.”
The dark eyes went flat.
“Ah,” Esteban said without expression. “Mrs Verity.”
Pat said: “You know her?”
“Who does not, seńorita? Of course.”
“She’s here, isn’t she?”
“I am afraid you are to be disappointed. I think Mrs Verity has gone.”
“You think?” Simon repeated pointedly. “Did you see her go?”
Esteban shrugged, his face still blank and brown.
“There are so many. It is hard to say.”
Simon’s stare could have been fashioned in bronze. “You wouldn’t be stalling, would you, Esteban?” he asked with gentle deadliness.
“She told us she’d wait for us,” Pat said. “When did she leave?”
Esteban smiled suddenly, the accommodating host.
“I try to find out for you. Mrs Verity like to play the big, big stake, take the big risk. Maybe she hit too many times wrong at the blackjack; perhaps she went for more money… . Please, will you have a drink on the promenade deck while I make inquiries? Out here…”
He ushered them towards french doors that opened on one side of the gaming room, and bowed himself away. The patio was dappled with moonlight and the shadows of palm fronds, but it seemed to have no appeal for the other customers. Simon lighted a cigarette, while Patricia walked to a rail trimmed with unnecessary life belts, and gazed out at the vista of landscaped ground sloping gently to the moongladed sea.
She caught her breath at the scene, and then shivered slightly.
“It’s so beautiful it hurts,” she said. “And yet it seems every time we find a romantic spot like this, there’s something … I don’t know, but this place gives me the creeps.”
“Inside,” the Saint said, “the creeps are giving to Esteban. I don’t know if you’d call that a fair exchange.”
He looked up as a waiter arrived.
“Esteban’s compliments, sir. Would you and the lady care for anything?”
“Very handsome of Esteban,” the Saint said. “Well have double Manhattans made with a good bourbon, and-“
He broke off as a flat splat! broke the silence off in the direction of the sea, seeming to come from a clump of magnolia trees.
“What was that?” Patricia breathed.
“Probably a backfire, miss,” the waiter said. “Somebody having trouble with a car.”
“On account of driving it into the sea?” Simon said, and swung a leg over the
Patricia’s blue eyes took in the big room one customer at a time.
“I don’t see Lida,” she said presently. “She said she’d be waiting.”
“Probably she’s just late,” Simon answered. “It has happened to women before.” He ignored the daggered glance which his lady launched at him. “Shall we mingle with the elite, and lose a fortune in the well-bred fashion of wealthy suckers?”
“The next time I have to wait for you-” Patricia began; and then Simon stopped her with a hand on her arm.
“Don’t look now,” he said in a low voice, “but something tall, dark, and rancid is coming up on our starboard quarter.”
The newcomer wasn’t really tall. He stood several inches be low the Saint’s seventy-four, but he gave the impression of height by his manner: suave, completely poised.
“Good evening,” he said, his dark eyes flickering up and down Pat in appreciation. “Permit me to introduce myself. I am Esteban. Welcome to the Quarterdeck.”
“How do you do, Esteban?” said the Saint. “Quite well, I guess, from the looks of things.”
Esteban smiled, and made a comprehensive gesture at the crowd.
“Always there are many people at the Quarterdeck Club. We conduct honest games. But what will you play? Roulette, faro, blackjack?”
“None but the brave chemin de fer,” murmured the Saint. “It’s nice of you to give us a choice of weapons. But as a matter of fact, we’re looking for a friend. A Mrs Verity.”
The dark eyes went flat.
“Ah,” Esteban said without expression. “Mrs Verity.”
Pat said: “You know her?”
“Who does not, seńorita? Of course.”
“She’s here, isn’t she?”
“I am afraid you are to be disappointed. I think Mrs Verity has gone.”
“You think?” Simon repeated pointedly. “Did you see her go?”
Esteban shrugged, his face still blank and brown.
“There are so many. It is hard to say.”
Simon’s stare could have been fashioned in bronze. “You wouldn’t be stalling, would you, Esteban?” he asked with gentle deadliness.
“She told us she’d wait for us,” Pat said. “When did she leave?”
Esteban smiled suddenly, the accommodating host.
“I try to find out for you. Mrs Verity like to play the big, big stake, take the big risk. Maybe she hit too many times wrong at the blackjack; perhaps she went for more money… . Please, will you have a drink on the promenade deck while I make inquiries? Out here…”
He ushered them towards french doors that opened on one side of the gaming room, and bowed himself away. The patio was dappled with moonlight and the shadows of palm fronds, but it seemed to have no appeal for the other customers. Simon lighted a cigarette, while Patricia walked to a rail trimmed with unnecessary life belts, and gazed out at the vista of landscaped ground sloping gently to the moongladed sea.
She caught her breath at the scene, and then shivered slightly.
“It’s so beautiful it hurts,” she said. “And yet it seems every time we find a romantic spot like this, there’s something … I don’t know, but this place gives me the creeps.”
“Inside,” the Saint said, “the creeps are giving to Esteban. I don’t know if you’d call that a fair exchange.”
He looked up as a waiter arrived.
“Esteban’s compliments, sir. Would you and the lady care for anything?”
“Very handsome of Esteban,” the Saint said. “Well have double Manhattans made with a good bourbon, and-“
He broke off as a flat splat! broke the silence off in the direction of the sea, seeming to come from a clump of magnolia trees.
“What was that?” Patricia breathed.
“Probably a backfire, miss,” the waiter said. “Somebody having trouble with a car.”
“On account of driving it into the sea?” Simon said, and swung a leg over the
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