Half an hour later, Fenwick left the house and made his way straight to the Docks. At a public-house in the vicinity he obtained the brandy that he needed so badly, and felt a little stiffened and braced up by the spirit. He found presently the thing he wanted, in the shape of a large barque bound for the River Plate. The skipper, a burly-looking man with an enormous black beard, was uproariously drunk, but not quite so intoxicated that he could not see the business side of a bargain. "Oh, you want to go out with me, mister?" he said. "Well, that's easily enough managed. We've got no passengers on board, and you'll have to rough it with the rest of us. I don't mind taking you on for fifty pounds." "That's a lot of money," Fenwick protested. The black-bearded skipper winked solemnly at the speaker. "There's always a risk in dealing with stolen goods," he said. "Besides fifty pounds isn't much for a man who wants to get out of the country as badly as I see you do, and once I have passed my word to do it, I'll see you safe through, and so will my crew, or I'll know the reason why. Now, my yellow pal, fork out that money, and in half an hour you'll be as safe as if you were on the other side of the herring-pond and not a policeman in London will know where to find you. Now, is it a bargain or not?" Fenwick made no further demur; he accepted the conditions there and then. There was nothing to be gained by affecting to pose as an honest man, and he was a little frightened to find how easily this drunken ruffian had spotted him for a fugitive from justice. "I can't give you the money just now," he whispered. "I've got it concealed about me, and to produce a lot of cash in a mixed company like this would be too dangerous."