'D'you wish for a candle, sir?' enquired the landlord. 'It will take but a moment...'

'I want a quiet evening before the fire,' Sparkman muttered through clenched teeth.

'Aye, sir, 'tis a bad night, and…'

'Be so good as to stand aside!' Sparkman exploded.

'What about payment for the room?'

Bardolini shuffled round as Sparkman seized his damp cloak from the bed and drew it about his shoulders. The wet collar rasped against his neck, reminding him of the weather outside and the comfort he was forsaking. He threw the landlord a handful of silver.

'You will take me to see the General Officer commanding at Colchester?' the Neapolitan asked, obviously well-informed.

'No, sir, 'tis too far. I will take you to Harwich for tonight. Tomorrow we will see about Colchester.' Sparkman turned on Clarke who barred his exit. 'You must have had a bad passage, Clarke.'

Clarke grinned and jerked his head at Bardolini, at the same time holding out his hand and preventing anyone from leaving the room. 'He certainly did.'

With an extravagant sigh, Bardolini drew a purse from his belt. Sparkman heard the chink of coin as he passed it to the smuggler.

'I wish you good-night, gentlemen,' said Clarke, standing aside and bowing with an ironic exaggeration.

Sparkman threw the wet satchel over his shoulder and picked up a pair of pistol holsters. 'Be so kind as to bring my baggage, landlord,' he ordered, nodding at his portmanteau, then he stepped forward, through the slime his visitors had left by the door.

As he passed, Clarke muttered sarcastically, 'I took his pistols while he was vomiting over the rail. He won't give you too much trouble.'

'I am much obliged to you, Clarke,' Sparkman retorted with equal incivility.