Boon Island - Kenneth Roberts [62]
Neal nodded.
Captain Dean and I went out onto the street and turned toward the river. We found Tintoretto near London Street, between our house and the park. He was huddled against a hedge, a crumpled shadow of a man.
"The man's drunk," Captain Dean said loudly. "This is no place for him! We'll put him where he can sleep it off. You take him under one arm, Miles, and I'll take him by the other. We'll walk him toward the park."
When we pulled him to his feet, his head hung slack on his shoulders, and even in the dim light his painted face had the blank look of a clown's. The handle of Neal's knife still protruded from the black silk front of his coat. His garments had an abominably musky odor.
"Take out that knife, Miles," Captain Dean whispered. "We can't leave that in him. Toss it into your yard. We'll pick it up in the morningif we can't find it tonight."
We supported Tintoretto draggingly toward the park, and it seemed to me that we did it so successfully that anyone who saw us would think we were merely doing a Christian act for a gentleman who had been oversedulous with the port.
At least, that's what I thought until two men came toward us from the direction of the park. Then I knew that Tintoretto's body was limper than any mere drunken man could be or could look.
As they drew nearer to us, Captain Dean muttered, "Better do some acting!"
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He took Tintoretto around the waist and hung him, doubled up, over his arm; then bent over him solicitously. I bent over too and made retching sounds.
The two men halted beside us. One said, "Want any help?" I thought I recognized the voice of Lacy Ryan, one of Penkethman's young players.
"No, indeed," Captain Dean said heartily. To Tintoretto's body he said cheerfully, "Try hard! Better out than in." Again I uttered retching sounds and made play with my handkerchief.
The two men went slowly on, laughing; and when they were dim in the darkness, we carried Tintoretto to a wooded spot and left him there.
I was sweating, and with good reason, because I had no way of knowing how much the eyes of a keen young man like Lacy Ryan might have seen.
"Well," my father said, when we told him that Tintoretto was dead with a knife wound under his ribs, and that Lacy Ryan and another man had spoken to us when we were getting rid of the body, "there's nothing like an occurrence of this nature to help a man make up his mind. And there's one sure thing about it: we've got to get Miles and Neal Butler out of here before somebody starts asking too many questions."
He looked at Captain Dean. "How long before you'll be ready to sail, John?"
"Two weeks, maybe," Captain Dean said. "Our cordage is at Gravesend, ready to go aboard, but I've done nothing about the butter and cheese. I'm only taking on a little: just enough for a quick turnover in Portsmouth or BostonPortsmouth probably."
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"Get 'em in Donegal," my father said promptly. "Go north-about around Scotland and Ireland: come down to the island of Aran, and just beyond it you'll see the red cliffs of Donegal. The best butter and cheese in the world come from those fields around Donegal Bay. They're the greenest fields you'll ever find. I'll tell you what to do, John: drop down to Gravesend on the early tide tomorrow morning, and pick up your butter and cheese when you get to Ireland."
When Captain Dean started to protest, my father jumped up to wag a magisterial finger before his nose. "Now listen, John! I can't have Miles mixed up in anything like this, and if Lacy Ryan recognized him, he certainly will be mixed up in it. So now I've told you what to do, I'll tell you what I'll do: I'll provide enough money to double your purchases, the profit from my part to be divided between us.
"I make this stipulation, though: Miles must go along as supercargo, and