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Goodcastle over carefully. The man was trying his hardest to be a carefree bloke but the man clearly had a desperate air about him. Ah, this was tidy! Desperation and its cousin fear were far better motivators than greed for getting men to do what you wanted. Sloat pointed toward Goodcastle with a blunt finger that ended in a nail darkened from the soot that fell in this part of town like black snow. “You’ll come a cropper if you’re ’ere to say you don’t ’ave me crust this week.”
    “No, no, no. I’ll have your money. It’s not that.” A whisper: “Hear me out, Sloat. I’m in trouble. I need to get out of the country quickly, without anybody knowing. I’ll pay you handsomely if you can arrange it.”
    “Oh, me dear friend, whatever I do for you you’ll pay ’andsomely,” he said, laughing. “Rest assured of that. What’d you do, mate, to need a ’oliday so quick like?”
    “I can’t tell you.”
    “Ey, too shy to share the story with your friend Bill?You cuckold some poor bloke? You owe a sack of lolly to a gambler? . . .” Then Sloat squinted and laughed harshly. “But no, m’lord. You’re too bald and too skinny to get a married bird to shag. And your cobblers ain’t big enough for you to go wagering more’n a farthing. So, who’s after you, mate?”
    “I can’t say,” he whispered.
    Sloat sipped more of his bitters. “No matter. Get on with it. It’s me dinnertime and I ’ave a ’unger.”
    Goodcastle looked around and his voice lowered even further. “I need to get into France. Nobody can know. And I need to leave tonight.”
    “Tonight?” The ruffian shook his head. “Lord love me.”
    “I heard you have connections all over the docks.”
    “Bill’s got ’is connections. That ’e does.”
    “Can you get me onto a cargo ship bound for Marseille?”
    “That’s a bleedin’ tall order, mate.”
    “I don’t have any choice.”
    “Well, now, I might be able to.” He thought for a moment. “It’ll cost you a thousand quid.”
    “ What ?”
    “It’s bloody noon, mate. Look at the clock. It ain’t easy, what you’re asking, you know. I’ll ’ave to run around all day like a chicken without its ’ead. Blimey. Not to mention the risk. The docks’re lousy with guards, customs agents, sergeants at arms—thick as fleas they are . . . . So there you ’ave it, guv’nor. A thousand.” He skewered another brown apple wedge and chewed it down.
    “All right,” Goodcastle said, scowling. The men shook hands.
    “I need something up front. ’Ave to paint some palms, understand.”
    Goodcastle pulled out his money purse and counted out some coin.
    “Crikey, guv’nor.” Bill laughed. The massive hand reached out and snatched the whole purse. “Thank’ee much . . . . Now, when do I get the rest?”
    Goodcastle glanced at his pocket watch. “I can have it by four. Can you make the arrangements by then?”
    “Rest assured I can,” Sloat said, waving for the barmaid.
    “Come by the shop.”
    Sloat squinted and looked the man over warily. “Maybe you won’t own up to what you done, but tell me, mate, just ’ow safe is it to be meetin’ you?”
    The shopkeeper gave a grim laugh. “You’ve heard the expression ‘giving somebody a taste of their own medicine’?”
    “I ’ave, sure.”
    “Well, that’s what I’m going to do. Don’t worry. I know how to make sure we’re alone.”
    Goodcastle sighed once more and then left the Green Man.
    Sloat watched him leave, thinking, A thousand quid for a few hours’ work.
    Desperation, he thought, is just plain bloody beautiful.

    At five minutes to four that afternoon, Peter Goodcastle was uneasily awaiting Bill Sloat’s arrival.
    While he’d made his arrangements to evade the law, Goodcastle had kept up the appearance of going throughhis business as usual. But he’d continued to observe the street outside. Sure enough, he’d noted several plain-clothed detectives standing well back in the shadows.