The banker ranged the chairs round the table, and the oddly assorted group seated themselves. The man who had not yet spoken, and who sat down last, was obviously a sailor. His face was burned a deep brown, and was mostly hidden by a closely cut beard. He had the slow ways of a Northerner, the abashed manner of a merchant skipper on shore. The mark of the other element was so plainly written upon him that Captain Cable looked at him hard and then nodded. Without being invited to do so they sat next to each other at one side of the table, and faced the three landsmen. Again Captain Cable spoke first.
“Provided it's nothing underhand,” he said, “I'm ready and willing. Or'nary risks of the sea, Queen's enemies, act o' God—them's my risks! I am uninsured. Ship's my own. I don't mind explosives—”
“There are explosives,” admitted the banker.
“Then they must be honest explosives, or they don't go below my hatches. Explosives that's to blow a man up honest, before his face.”
“There are cartridges,” said the young man who had shaken hands.
“That'll do,” said the masterful sailor. And pointing a thick finger towards the banker, added, “Now, mister,” and sat back in his chair.
“It is a very simple matter,” explained the banker, in a thick, suave voice. “We have a cargo—a greater part of it weight, though there is some measurement—a few cases of light goods, clothing and such. You will load in the river, and all will be sent to you in lighters. There is nothing heavy, nothing large. There is also no insurance, you understand. What falls out of the slings and is lost overside is lost.”
The banker paused for breath.
“I understand,” said Captain Cable. “It's the same with me and my ship. There is no insurance, no tricking underwriters into unusual risks. It's neck or nothing with me.”
And he looked hard at the breathless banker, with whom it was, in this respect, nothing.