The Saint and the People Importers (21 page)

“Are you the police?” one of them asked.

“No.”

“Where are we going? What can we do? Must we go to jail?”

“I’m afraid you must go back home,” Simon told them. “As long as you don’t go inside the territorial limits of Great Britain you haven’t broken any laws. I’m going to leave you off at the fort you just came from. I’ll arrange transportation so you can get back to the continent. You’re on your own from there.”

“I have no money!” one of them cried.

There was a scramble in the front of the boat.

“What is this?”

“I found it!”

The Saint’s voice carried invincible authority.

“Give it to me,” he ordered.

The packet which had caused the commotion was passed to him.

“It came from the man in the big boat,” one said.

Simon looked inside. He did not need to count. The great thickness of the package was enough.

“What is it?” someone asked.

“How much did you pay for this outing?” the Saint asked.

“Five hundred pounds,” one of them said.

“Four hundred,” said another.

“Seven hundred!”

Simon interrupted.

“Before the bidding gets any higher, I am authorised by this packet to announce that your fares will be returned- at five hundred pounds a head, just to be equitable about it-on condition that you use part of the money to get back home and don’t try any reverse colonisations in this direction in the future.”

He kept the packet to himself until they arrived back at the fort. Then he sent all but the one most articulate of the men up the ladder from the boats.

“I’m going to give your comrades five hundred pounds for each of you,” he said as they left. “Share it out equally, no matter what you paid to get here.”

As he counted out the money from Fowler’s package he told the Indian who had remained with him to assure the others that someone would come to take them away before noon the next day.

“Thank you, sahib.” He looked wistfully towards the lights of the shore. “So that is all I shall ever see of England.” .

“Maybe you’ll come back honestly some day. Or treat yourself to a two-week tour.”

“Thank you, sahib.”

He took the money, shook Simon’s hand, and climbed up the ladder.

The Saint set the Zodiac adrift so that no overenterprising immigrants could still use it to reach the coast, and scarcely had time to get the speedboat cast off and under way again when he heard a voice across the water.

“Ahoy there!”

The sail of the Sunny Hours was a white smear against the dark sky, cutting down swiftly towards him.

“Ahoy!” Simon said. “How do you know I’m not Fowler, about to put a bullet through your head?”

“I have faith in my Simon,” Tammy called back. She steered to within a dozen yards of him, turning to luff into the wind. “When I heard the outboard coming back I knew it must be you. What happened?”

The Saint used a foot to fender their sides as the two boats drifted together.

“Kalki and Fowler are down among the dead men. Their clients just managed not to go with them. I’ll tell you all about it on the way back.”

“I’ll race you,” she said.

He looked at the luminous dial of his watch.

“I’ll give you a tow,” he said. “It’ll save a lot of time, and old Nautical William back at South Benfleet is probably having kittens already about his precious scow. Besides, I’m starting to feel hungry for a real dinner … Curry, anybody?”

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