“I want you to take me on board your ship.”
An angry frown crossed his face.
“You want me to hide you from the police!”
“Nonsense. The police are all right. They want me to get away. They could have put their hands on me long ago if they had wanted to.”
“Then why have you come here?”
“I told you. I want to have a talk with you about our plans.”
“The plan is all right. But I want to know when we’re to sail.”
“I’m doing all I can. It’s only a question of weeks now.”
Vassileffsky looked hard at me again, bent across the table, and whispered a word which I failed to understand.