“Sure, Mike.”
“There’s a lot of fellows going about,” George said, “if you understand what I mean, who call themselves blurry Buddhists. I’ll shake hands with a Protestant and I’ll shake hands with a Mahommedan. It’s true they have a lot of wives. I honour them for it. I’d do the same myself if I could afford it. But these Buddhist fellows: I want to tell you about these Buddhist fellows. All right Mr. O’Brien, if you don’t want to listen, you can do the other thing. These Buddhist fellows, they’re not Buddhist fellows, if you know what I mean, they’re a secre-ciety. That is,” he concluded, “if you understand what I mean.”
“They’re a lot of vegetarians,” Douglas said. “But come on, boys, and let’s get the stuff ashore.”
“You’ll not get-a the stuff ashore,” came from the Italian on the launch. “The capitan-a tell-a me ‘be back by six-a bell.’ You not clear-a the launch, so now I go. I tell-a the capitan-a. He give-a you what-a for.”
The launch had been thrust clear of the jetty; she lay two boat-lengths away, canted so that the current was swinging her.
“Come back with that launch, you Jesus-Maria!”
The Italian made an obscene gesture and sent the launch at full speed for the distant ship.
“There,” one of the men said, “there you are, O’Brien; half the cases not ashore, all because you want to hold a private Old Bailey.”
“And I’m going to hold it,” O’Brien said. “This man is a police-spy and I’m going to shoot him.”
“You’ll shoot him, hell,” Douglas said.