The gray elf, typically in the background for such incidences, decides at this point to speak up, in a matter-of-fact voice--apparently noticing Safiyeh's eyes, but looking to be with more curiosity than alarm...
"I see no problem with the plan whatsoever. I personally have had the feelings that our, for the lack of a better word, 'goals,' may be closer to each other than any of us have potentially comprehended. It would be in a mutual best interest for us to cooperate, at least for the time being, in order to at least prevent interference from each other, amongst other benefits clearly gathered from such a union."
Driscoll was no fool--if nothing else, the stories Orson and Safiyeh had used were clearly similar to each other...it's easy enough to at least venture a guess that those people weren't out in particular to make a business deal with "Penkus," especially not armed in such a way that the two thugs--as well as clearly Orson and Gillet--were. In effect, people with similar objectives with a different target; assuming they were not one and the same.
Of course, there could be a possibility that they're telling the truth; although the woman looked out of place in a trading party, the least brutish-looking man of the group had the look as if he had money to spare and spend, and the thugs look like they'd be good enough bodyguards. However, it's common sense that such claims would not be thrown out in the open; to do so was the pinnacle of idiocy, and defeats the point of arranged meetings to hidden smugglers' tunnels below small, otherwise uninhabited, and previously wiped-out islands. Needless to say, the mage felt that these people were trustworthy for the time being.
"Trapdoor." It appears as if Gillet's had another bout of usefulness. Most likely to be followed up by a stroke of complete and absolute idiocy that only he is capable of coming up with sometime later in the day.
Then the redcoated man happened to introduce himself to the group--he came off as, amongst other things, a bit eccentric...but that may be one of many things; a bluff, the willingness to lighten the mood, or simply a good or bad form of eccentricy. Needless to say, it would be suitable enough to at least respond.
"Well met, Redford. I am Driscoll Kalzeheln," he replied, with a head nod accentuating the greeting, "I would not find myself averse to a boat trip, or brandy, but I will have to decline on the offer of the cigars. I personally do not possess a taste for such things, and find no interest in developing one," he replied, while pulling one of his gloves back on his hand. It always irritated him when a glove left too much slack; the feeling is just too clumsy, and it's a pain to try to do anything requiring even a mite quantity of dexterity with such a condition.
He then turned to the gnome, "Yes, lead the way," he ordered, back in his more matter-of-fact way of speaking. "Orson, you go after him." It was--at least in his mind--clear as to what he was going to do. No need to waste words announcing one's own actions in such a manner, after all...