“I know,” Shen Huai said. “That’s why I’m not here to collect a debt.”
Van Buren blinked. “Then what are you here for?”
Shen Huai lowered his voice. “The Continental Army is going to raid a British supply depot in three days. If your salt beef ‘happens’ to arrive on time, then once the Continental Army captures the depot, you can have half the British supplies inside.”
Van Buren’s eyes lit up. But he was an old fox, and not so easily hooked. “Why should I believe you?”
“Because I’m standing right in front of you, with my life in your hands.” Shen Huai met his gaze. “If I’m lying, you can hand me over to the British anytime. But if it’s true... just think about it. Half the British supplies would feed you for ten years.”
Van Buren watched him for a long time, then took paper and a pen from his desk. “Write it down.”
Shen Huai took the pen and wrote a promise with his left hand. Van Buren noticed nothing amiss. He read it carefully, tucked it into his coat, and put on a broad smile again. “The salt beef will be there in three days.”
Shen Huai nodded and turned to leave.
Outside the trading house, he turned into a narrow alley and made several twists and turns before entering a secluded little tavern. Its back door opened onto an even more remote alley, where a shadowy figure was already waiting.
“Where is it?”
