Reiger turned to the Chinaman, who gave him a package wrapped in oilskin, and then climbed into the long-boat, which disappeared into the night.
Fenner said between his teeth: “There’s a nice rap hanging to this sort of racket.”
Reiger said, “Yeah? You gettin’ milky?”
“I guess I was entitled to know you were runnin’ women. That ain’t a thing that gets passed over easily.”
“What do you think? A twist is worth ten Chinks, if you can get them. So shut up, will you?”
Fenner didn’t say anything, he let Reiger go to the cockpit. He stood there brooding. Was this the answer to the riddle? They’d picked up twelve Chinks and a woman. Was that what this sister of Marian’s was trying to hint at? Or was it just a coincidence? He didn’t know.
Miller shouted. “Take her back, Reiger, I’ve had enough of it.”
Reiger said, “Sure, tell the Nigger to start her up.”
The boat quivered as the engines sprang into life. Fenner sat down with his back to the cockpit roof and searched the darkness. His ears strained, hoping to pick up the sound of a patrol boat. He neither heard nor saw anything.
Reiger shouted suddenly. “Ross—where the hell are you? Hi, Ross!”