“Yes, it is very important.  And I have already told you that I don’t care how much it costs.”

The skipper, who had evidently begun to waver, rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“H’m!  Anyhow, I couldn’t do it myself.  I have important information for the Herr major, and he would have a right to blame me, if I went away without even so much as speaking to him.  But perhaps—­perhaps I might find out a skipper who would take the risk, provided that I got something out of it for myself.”

“Of course, of course!  I don’t want a favour from you for nothing.  You shall have fifty pounds the moment I set foot in the boat.”

“Good!  And two hundred for the skipper and his men?  The men are risking their lives, you mustn’t forget that.  Besides, they will have to manage confoundedly cleverly to get past the German guardships unnoticed.”

“Yes, yes!  Why waste so much time over this useless bargaining?  Here is the money—­now get me a boat.”

“Go in there,” said Brandelaar, pointing to the door of a little dark side room.  “I will see whether my friend Van dem Bosch will do it.”

Before complying with Brandelaar’s suggestion, Edith glanced at the man whom he had indicated with a movement of his head.  Externally this robust old sea-dog was certainly not attractive, but his alarming appearance did not make Edith falter in her resolution for a moment.

“Good—­talk to your friend, Brandelaar!  And mind that I don’t have to wait too long for his consent.”

. . . . . . .

The gallant Brandelaar must have found a very effective means of persuasion, for in less than ten minutes he was able to inform Edith that Van dem Bosch was ready to risk the journey on the terms offered.  He said nothing more about the danger of the undertaking, as if he were afraid of frightening the young Englishwoman from her plan, so profitable to himself.  From this moment nothing more was said about the matter.  It was not far to the place where the cutter lay at anchor, and Edith struggled on bravely between the two men, who silently walked along by her side, in the face of the hurricane from the north, roaring in fitful gusts from the sea.  They rowed across to the vessel in a yawl, and when Brandelaar returned to the quay he had his fifty pounds all right in his pocket.

“If the Herr major asks after me, you may tell him the whole truth with confidence,” Edith had said to him.  “And greet him from me—­greet him heartily.  Don’t forget that, Brandelaar.”

. . . . . . .

The skipper’s two men, who had been lying fast asleep below deck in the cutter, were considerably astonished and certainly far from pleased at the idea of the nocturnal passage.  But a few words from the skipper in a language unintelligible to Edith speedily removed their discontent.  They now readily set to work to set sail and weigh anchor.  The skipper’s powerful hands grasped the helm; the small, strongly-built vessel tacked a little and then, heeling over, shot out into the darkness.