Presently they passed under a bridge and entered that part of the canal which forms a moat for the fortress. The massive walls rose out of the water, broad at the base and narrowing upward to the frowning turrets. How strong, how threatening they had seemed to him a few hours ago! And now——
He laughed softly as he lay in the bottom of the boat.
“Hold your noise,” the sailor whispered, “and keep your head covered! We're close to the custom house.”
Arthur drew the clothes over his head. A few yards further on the boat stopped before a row of masts chained together, which lay across the surface of the canal, blocking the narrow waterway between the custom house and the fortress wall. A sleepy official came out yawning and bent over the water's edge with a lantern in his hand.
“Passports, please.”
The sailor handed up his official papers. Arthur, half stifled under the clothes, held his breath, listening.
“A nice time of night to come back to your ship!” grumbled the customs official. “Been out on the spree, I suppose. What's in your boat?”
“Old clothes. Got them cheap.” He held up the waistcoat for inspection. The official, lowering his lantern, bent over, straining his eyes to see.
“It's all right, I suppose. You can pass.”
He lifted the barrier and the boat moved slowly out into the dark, heaving water. At a little distance Arthur sat up and threw off the clothes.