“Need I? God forbid. Can you swim?”
“Yes, why?”
“You’ll have to. I see you don’t know the game we play. Better learn before I take your money. You find it—convenient—to travel informally, to land on the other side incognito— No, your name may be Drake, and I don’t care if it is or not. Names don’t count here. But you wish to land as Drake, unknown to anyone. We arrange that. No immigration folk to pester you. No police. We sail for Montreal. Below that city fifty miles or so are islands. Sometimes we go slowly through them, close to land. An active swimmer, dropping overside—you have more money, have you not?”
“Yes, Captain, a little.”
“There’s a man on one island, there. He has a boat. If you give him more than five pounds, he’s robbing you. After that your movements are not my concern.”
Again, as the captain paused, Drake had that strange feeling that here was a man talking overmuch—a man more fond of silence.
“And that’s all?” Drake asked. “Simple, isn’t it?”
“Why do you say that?”
“I feared I’d have to work my passage, and I’m lazy.”
The captain of the Cora reached for the little pile of notes.