'Signor, please, these men ...'

Sparkman looked up and nodded to the smuggler. 'Tell your men to be off, Clarke,' he ordered and then, as the seamen retreated, clumping down the stairs, he asked, 'Where did you pick this fellow up?'

'At Flushing. I was told take a passenger ...'

'Told?' Sparkman asked. 'By whom?' and, seeing Clarke's hesitation, 'Come on, Clarke, you've no need to haver. If I read you aright, you've brought live cargo over before, have you not?'

'A man has to feed his family, Sparkman, and these are hard times…'

'Never mind your damned excuses. Who approached you?'

'A man who has arranged this kind of business before.'

'Very well. And what were you contracted to do with this fine gentleman?' Sparkman indicated the Neapolitan who was about to speak. 'A moment, sir,' Sparkman cut him short. 'Go on, Clarke.'

'To deliver him to a government officer. When I heard you had been inspecting the coast...'

'You were damned lucky I was about, then, and that it wasn't an Exciseman or a Riding Officer you bumped into.'

'I wouldn't call it luck, Sparkman,' Clarke countered darkly, alluding to the intelligence system the so-called 'free-traders' possessed.

'I suppose you'd have left him to walk the Gunfleet Sands until the tide covered him?'

'I usually do what I'm told in these circumstances, Sparkman ...'

'Aye, and avoid the gallows by it!'

'I'd advise you to do the same, Sparkman. The gentlemen at Colchester are in my pocket too,' Clarke said, his grin sinister with implication.

'Why you impertinent ...' The reference to the army officers of the local garrison irritated him.

'Are you a naval officer?' Bardolini snapped, breaking into the row fomenting between the two men, which it was clear he understood perfectly. 'You have my passport. Please be good enough to read it.'