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The massive walls rose out of
the water, broad at the base and narrowing upward
to the frowning turrets. How strong, how
threatening they had seemed to him a few hours
ago! And now----
He laughed softly as he lay in the bottom of the
boat.
"Hold your noise," the sailor whispered, "and
keep your head covered! We're close to the
custom house."
Arthur drew the clothes over his head. A few
yards further on the boat stopped before a row of
masts chained together, which lay across the surface
of the canal, blocking the narrow waterway
between the custom house and the fortress wall.
A sleepy official came out yawning and bent over
the water's edge with a lantern in his hand.
"Passports, please."
The sailor handed up his official papers.
Arthur, half stifled under the clothes, held his
breath, listening.
"A nice time of night to come back to your
ship!" grumbled the customs official. "Been out
on the spree, I suppose. What's in your boat?"
"Old clothes. Got them cheap.


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