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serious.”
    “That’s the point. That’s what fascinates me, in a way. Why doesn’t anybody ever break the rules? Why doesn’t anyнbody try to ride the others off and marry him, for instance?”
    She laughed shortly.
    “That’s two questions. But I’ll tell you. Nobody goes too far because they wouldn’t be here if they did. Or they’d only do it once. And then-out. No guy wants to live in the middle of a mountain feud; and after all, Freddie’s the meal ticket. He’s got a right to have some peace for his money. So everybody behaves pretty well. As for marrying him-that’s funny.”
    “Guys have been married before.”
    “Not Freddie Pellman. He can’t afford to.”
    “One thing that we obviously have in common,” said the Saint, “is a sense of humor.”
    She shook her head.
    “I’m not kidding. Didn’t you know about him?”
    “No. I didn’t know about him.”
    “There’s a will,” she said. “All his money is in a trust fund. He just gets the income. I guess Papa Pellman knew Freddie pretty well, and so he didn’t trust him. He sewed everything up tight. Freddie never will be able to touch most of the capital, but he gets two or three million to play with when he’s thirty-five. On one condition. He mustn’t marry beнfore that. I guess Papa knew all about girls like me. If Freddie marries before he’s thirty-five, he doesn’t get another penny. Ever. Income or anything. It all goes to a fund to feed stray cats or something like that.”
    “So.” The Saint poured himself some coffee. “I suppose Papa thought that Freddie would have attained a certain amount of discretion by that time. How long does that keep him safe for, by the way?”
    “As a matter of fact,” she said, “it’s only a few more months.”
    “Well, cheer up,” he said. “If you can last that long you may still have a chance.”
    “Maybe by that time I wouldn’t want it,” she said, with her disturbing eyes dwelling on him.
    Simon lighted a cigarette and looked up across the patio as a door opened and Lissa and Esther came out. Lissa carried a book, with her forefinger marking a place: she put it down open on the table beside her, as if she was ready to go back to it at any moment. She looked very gay and fresh in a play suit that matched her eyes.
    “Have you and Ginny solved it yet?” she asked.
    “I’m afraid not,” said the Saint. “As a matter of fact, we were mostly talking about other things.”
    “I’ll take two guesses,” said Esther.
    “Why two?” snapped Ginny. “I thought there was only one thing you could think of.”
    The arrival of Angelo for their orders fortunately stopped that train of thought. And then, almost as soon as the Filipino had disappeared again and the cast were settling themselves and digging their toes in for another jump, Freddie Pellman made his entrance.
    Like the Saint, he wore swimming trunks and a perfunctory terry-cloth robe. But the exposed portions of him were not built to stand the comparison. He had pale blotchy skin and the flesh under it looked spongy, as if it had softened up with inward fermentation. Which was not improbable. But he seemed totally unconscious of it. He was very definitely himнself, even if he was nothing else.
    “How do you feel?” Simon asked unnecessarily.
    “Lousy,” said Freddie Pellman, no less unnecessarily. He sank into a chair and squinted wearily over the table. Ginny still had some orange juice in her glass. Freddie drank it, and made a face. He said: “Simon, you should have let the murderer go on with the job. If he’d killed me last night, I’d have felt a lot better this morning.”
    “Would you have left me a thousand dollars a day in your will?” Simon inquired.
    Freddie started to shake his head. The movement hurt him too much, so he clutched his skull in both hands to stop it.
    “Look,” he said. “Before I die and you have to bury me, who is behind all this?”
    “I don’t know,” said the Saint