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.And if yourhead hurts, just lie down, close the eyes, and relax.It'll be quite all rightin an hour or two.""Artillery?""Three pieces, carried by mules.If you'd like some aspirin--""Navy?""One converted tug, with 5.9 quick-firer and crew of seven, commanded by twoadmirals.I don't think you ought to talk now.I'll put up the hammock foryou, if you like, and you can sleep for an hour before lunch.""Police force?""There are eleven constables in Santa Miranda, under three superintendents.And in future I shouldn't have any whisky before sundown."The Saint smiled."I'm probably more used to the sun than you are," he said."This is merelycommon sense.What's the key to the situation? The government.Right.We don'tpropose to waste any of our good money bribing them-and if we did, they'ddouble-cross us.Therefore they must be removed by force.And at once, becauseI can't stay long.Long live the revolution!""Quite," agreed Sheridan helplessly."And the revolutionary army? This stateis the only one in South America that's never had a revolution-becausenobody's ever had enough energy to start one."The Saint fished for his cigarette case."We are the revolutionary army," he said."I ask you to remember that we marchon our stomachs.So we'll just have another drink, and then some lunch, andthen we'll wander along and try to enlist the mad Irishman.If we three can'tmake rings round six hundred and fifteen comic-opera dagoes, I'm going toretire from the fighting game and take up knitting and fancy needlework!""MY dear soul," the Saint was still arguing persuasively at the close of themeal, "it's so simple.The man who manages the government of this two-by-fourbackyard is the man who holds the fate of Pasala Oil Products in his hands.Atpresent Shannet is the bright boy who manages the government, and the masterof P.O.P.is accordingly walking around under the Shannet hat.We'll go onebetter.We won't merely manage the government.We'll be the government.AndPOP is ours to play hell with as we like.Could anything be morestraightforward? as the actress said when the bishop showed her his passbook.""Go on," encouraged Sheridan weakly."Don't bother about my feelings.""As the actress said to the bishop shortly afterwards," murmured the Saint."Blessed old Archie, it's obvious that three months in this enervating climateand the society of Lilla McAndrew have brought your energy down to the levelof that of the natives you spoke of so contemptuously just now.I grant youit's sudden, but it's the only way.Before I knew the whole story I thought itwould be good enough if we held up the post office and sent Campard a spoofcable purporting to come from Shannet, telling him the government had beenPage 47 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlkicked out, the concession revoked, and the only thing to do was to sell outhis POP holdings as quickly as possible.What time our old friend Roger, backin London, snaps up the shares, discreetly, as fast as they come on themarket.""Why won't that work now?""You're forgetting the girl," said Templar."This oil is really her property,so it isn't good enough just to make Campard unload at a loss and sell back tohim at a premium when the rumour of revolution is exploded.The concession hasreally got to be revoked.Therefore I propose to eliminate the presentgovernment, and make Kelly, your mad Irishman, the new Minister of theInterior.That is, unless you'd take the job.""No, thanks," said Sheridan generously."It's not quite in my line.Pass meup."The Saint lighted a cigarette."In that case Kelly is elected unanimously," he remarked with charmingsimplicity."So the only thing left to decide is how we start the trouble.I've been in South American revolutions before, but they've always been wellunder way by the time I arrived.The technique of starting the blamed thingswas rather missed out of my education.What does one do? Does one simply wadeinto the Presidential Palace, chant Time, gentlemen, please!' in the ear ofhis illustrious excellency, and invite him to close the door as he goes out?Or what?""What, probably," said Sheridan."That would be as safe as anything.I mightget you reprieved on the grounds of insanity."The Saint sighed."You aren't helpful, Beautiful Archibald.""If you'd settle down to talk seriously--""I am serious."Sheridan stared.Then:"Is that straight, Saint?" he demanded."From the horse's mouth," the Saint assured him solemnly."Even as the crowflieth before the pubs open.Sweet cherub, did you really think I was wastingprecious time with pure pickled onions?"Sheridan looked at him.There was another flippant rejoinder on the tip ofArchie Sheridan's tongue, but somehow it was never uttered.The Saint was smiling.It was a mocking smile, but that was for Sheridan'sincredulity.It was not the sort of smile that accompanies a test of theelasticity of a leg.And in the Saint's eyes was a light that wasn't entirelyhumorous.Archie Sheridan, with a cigarette in his mouth, fumbling for matches, realizedthat he had mistaken the shadow for the substance.The Saint wasn't making funof revolutions.It was just that his sense of humour was too big to let himplan even a revolution without seeing the funny side of the show.Page 48 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlSheridan got a match to his cigarette."Well?" prompted the Saint."I think you're pots, bats, and bees," he said."But if you're set on thatkind of suicide-lead on.Archibald will be at your elbow with the bombs.Youdidn't forget the bombs?"The Saint grinned."I had to leave them behind," he replied lightly."They wouldn't fit into mysponge bag.Seriously, now, where and how do you think we should start thetrouble?"They were sitting opposite one another at Sheridan's bare mahogany diningtable, and at the Saint's back was the open door leading out onto the verandaand commanding an uninterrupted view of the approach to the bungalow."Start the thing here and now and anyhow you like," said Sheridan, and he waslooking past the Saint's shoulder towards the veranda steps.Simon Templar settled back a little more lazily into his chair, and a verySaintly meekness was spreading over his face."Name?" he inquired laconically."Shannet himself."The Saint's eyes were half closed."I will compose a little song about him immediately," he said.Then a shadow fell across the table, but the Saint did not move at once.Heappeared to be lost in a day-dream."Buenos dias, Shannet," said Archie Sheridan
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