"Grenville?" Easton looked puzzled. "That self-important dandy? Why should I involve him?"

"He is a friend and trustworthy. Now, you need to be off. The tide is out, but if we go to the point you might be able to hire someone willing to take you at once."

"I have a boat of my own. Down in the Broads."

"Which Denis will no doubt be watching. Hire someone, chosen at random, and go. Denis is not a man to hesitate. Gather what you need-quickly-and be off."

In the end, I had to go with him to the boat. The brigadier and I rode out on a pair of his horses, he with a small pack strapped to his saddle.

I took a direct route to the coast, deciding that if Denis's men were watching and following, they would be less likely to attack us in the middle of a village high street than on a deserted back lane.

In any case, I saw nothing of the hired pugilists Denis employed to do everything from serve brandy to dispose of men who disobeyed him. What Easton had done to draw Denis's displeasure I couldn't imagine, and Easton wasn't about to tell me.

At the point, I refused a fisherman far too eager to sail Easton across the North Sea, and chose one I more or less had to threaten to do it. I could too well imagine the eager fisherman taking Easton's money and dropping him overboard halfway to Amsterdam.

The rain continued without abatement, and I was soaked through by the time I helped the fisherman and his son push the boat off the sands and into the waves. Easton had already disappeared into the tiny cabin, clutching his bundle of belongings, several guineas poorer. The fisherman had driven a hard bargain.

I had no doubt the fisherman would make it to Amsterdam or wherever he was bound. No matter how un-seaworthy a man's craft looked, I knew these fishermen could sail a goodly distance and back in safety.