The Wicked Trade

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The two men, Yorke and Warren, were talking in comfort the evening they were taken, when they'd thought at last that they could see an end in sight.  Their mission had been long and arduous, their need for secrecy a constant strain.  But earlier that day, on the shores of Fareham Creek, they had met a man and made an offer, and backed it with a string of names.  They were venturers, they said, and they wished to join the trade.  They had information that they'd gathered in dire secrecy, and they used it as a lure.  Now, feet into the fireplace, Mrs.  Cullen preparing them a meal, they were contented.  

"He said his name was Saunders," said Charles Warren, musingly.  "But it is not, it is George Felton, his home is in Cowplain.  But Saunders is a name I know from Kent, one of the eastern crews.  I wonder what significance there is in that?"  

Charles Yorke was comfortably amused.  He selected a new clay from the table rack, and began to pack it, for after dinner.  Mrs.  Cullen had provided them with fresh tobacco, in a box, and boasted, with fetching naivety, that it was 'from the trade'.  Whatever, it was good tobacco, lately cured.  

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