"No, no," protested the young officer in alarm; "that won't do."
"Why not?" persisted the washerwoman. "Mynheer the Commandant is very kind."
"Undoubtedly," replied the Flight-Sub. "But we would much rather that you wait until we are away from the place before you ask him. See, here are five English sovereigns. They are yours once you get us clear."
The vrouw shook her head.
"I do not care to," she replied firmly; then without a pause she continued: "My son-in-law, Jan van Beverwijk, will. I am sure he will. Next Friday he will come instead of me. He is mate of a steamship that takes the bulbs from Holland to England. He returns to-morrow, and sails on Saturday from Ymuiden."
"That sounds excellent," commented the Flight-Sub.
"It is excellent," agreed Katje. "It will cost you each twenty English sovereigns."
"But we haven't ten between us."
The vrouw smiled till her weather-beaten face was one mass of deep wrinkles.
"You English have a proverb about a road," she remarked.