“I am a passenger.”
“I don’t carry passengers.”
“My kind? Dip sent me, remember.”
“You know then; you have money?”
Drake spread five fifty-pound notes out on his knee.
“As bad as that?” The captain whistled. “You could swank aboard a liner for that.”
“And swank off across the pond?”
The captain stroked his long jaw reflectively. His eyes wandered over Drake’s face, stopped for a moment on the wall clock above his head, dropped to the pile of treasury notes and dwelt there.
“As bad as that?” said the captain of the Cora. “Not murder?”
“No, Dip sent me. He knows. Need you?”