“To-morrow morning? No—you mean Tuesday night.”
“’Deed I don’t, sur. She sails to-morrow morning, if there’s a breath o’ wind.”
Harrington drew his breath. Lucky I found this out, he said to himself; to-morrow I should have been too late.
“Driscoll,” he continued, “are those men armed?”
“They’ve got their knives, sur.”
“No pistols?”
“Sorra the wan, sur.”
“Do they stay in the boat all the time?”
“’Deed they don’t, sur. Wan or two o’ thim stays in her turn and turn about, and the rist o’ thim plays cards in the little room o’ the house on the island.”
“The house? Oh, it’s a hotel. Does the owner of the house know they have a negro in the boat?”