Something in his face warned me that it was a password. I recovered myself from my momentary confusion and smiled.
“The word’s changed,” I said with an air of authority. “It’s North Sea and Canal.”
The Russian seemed satisfied.
“Well,” he said, stumbling to his feet, “if we’re going on board we’d better go.”
“Don’t forget the magnums,” I put in, as I rose in my turn.
The reckoning was settled, and the champagne ordered to follow us down to the boat.
Vassileffsky nearly lost his footing as we got out into the fresh air, and caught hold of my arm.
“You’ll have to lead me,” he said, speaking thickly. “Straight along the street, and down the first turning on the quay.”
We walked along, arm-in-arm, my companion appearing to become more helpless every minute.