Ramage and the Freebooters

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The shout of a sentry roused Ramage before daylight. A few moments later, with more shouted challenges—apparently to an approaching boat—and the sound of men running along the deck, he was wide awake, leaping out of his cot and grabbing a pair of pistols. He flung open the cabin door just as the Marine sentry outside shouted 'Captain, sir!' and reached the quarterdeck in time to meet Jackson running aft to report.

'It's Mr Appleby, sir: he's just arrived from Carriacou!'

A few minutes later the boat, a half-decked fishing drogher, was anchored to leeward of the Triton and Appleby was coming up the side. Then Southwick appeared, still half asleep, and the Corporal of Marines with four of his men stood round with lanterns, uncertain what to do.

Appleby reached the deck, saw Ramage in the lantern light and saluted.

'Good morning, Appleby! What brings you back? Something interesting to report?'

Appleby grinned uncertainly, as if he was having second thoughts.

'Good morning, sir: yes—at least, I hope you'll think so.'

'Very well—you haven't eaten, I suppose? No? Steward— tea at once, and breakfast in ten minutes!'

In the cabin Ramage paced up and down, shoulders hunched to avoid bumping his head on the low beams, while Appleby sat nervously at the table. It had taken Ramage two or three minutes to get him started off on his story—he'd suddenly become nervous, apparently afraid at the last minute that Ramage would think his report ridiculous and blame him for leaving Carriacou.

'We were keeping a sharp watch on the islands and the north end of Grenada, just as you told us, sir. Then last night at 8.42 exactly we saw a bonfire suddenly light up on a hill above Levera—that's on the north-east side of Grenada.'

'I know it,' Ramage said. 'Could you make out how big?'

'Through the "bring 'em near" it looked much more than a bonfire: as if several big trees were burning.'

'And then?'

'Well, I wouldn't have thought much about it—after all, sir, it could have started accidentally—but about ten minutes later another bonfire started on the north side of Kick 'em Jenny. That wasn't so big but easy to see because it was much nearer.'

'The Levera bonfire—could you have seen that easily from Carriacou without a telescope?'

'It'd have been chancy, sir. Probably missed it if there'd been a bit of haze, rain squall—even a bright moonlit night.'

'But the one on Kick 'em Jenny?'

'Could see that plain as anything, sir, without the glass.'

Ramage nodded as he tried to recall some of the events of the previous evening at Government House.

'Then the drum started, sir,' he added, almost as an afterthought.

'The what?' Ramage almost shouted.

'The drum sir—tom-tom, I mean. At the south end of Carriacou. It was about five minutes after the bonfire started at Kick 'em Jenny that this tom-tom started—well tom-tomming. As soon as it stopped another one started about six miles away—I reckon it was somewhere in the middle of the island. Seemed to beat the same sort of tune. When that one finished we thought we heard a third one at the north end, but none of us was sure.'

'No bonfires to the north?'

'Well, sir, that's what bothered me. It was the first thing I thought of when I realized these tom-toms might be passing a message across the island, so we dashed up the hill and looked. We saw a red glow—just a reflection really at the north end of Carriacou, that's for sure.

'Then about five minutes after that I thought I could see the reflection of another bonfire on the north side of Union Island—you remember sir,' he continued, 'that's the one between Carriacou and Bequia. But to be honest, I'm not absolutely sure. We'd all got a bit excited by then and I might have been imagining it. The men weren't sure, either. Afraid we let you down there, sir.'

Ramage shook his head. 'Don't worry about that: I'd sooner know you weren't absolutely sure than have you tell me you were when you weren't. Go on, then.'

'Well, we got a boat and sailed for here.'

The steward knocked and brought in two mugs of tea. 'Breakfast's ready now, sir.'

'Very well—ask Mr Southwick to join us.'

As soon as the Master came down, he told Appleby to repeat his story and, sipping the tea, Ramage reviewed his evening's activities at Government House with a mixture of shame, anger and irritation. Instead of using every minute of the time he was at the Governor's Ball to watch and listen, he'd spent most of the time flirting with a woman—more than flirting, he thought, growing hot with the memory—just like some sailor given a night's shore leave. Trying to dismiss the memory he pictured the scene from the balcony and suddenly remembered the schooner.

'Did you pass a schooner going north as you came down?' he interrupted the master's mate.

'Yes sir, about two o'clock this morning we passed one off Kick 'em Jenny.'

'The wind?'

'Stiff breeze from the east, sir—though the island blanketed us once we were in the lee.'

Moodily Ramage < resumed sipping his tea, picturing the scenes on each of the islands during the night. While he'd danced at Government House, men had watched for a bonfire on their neighbour to the south, and as soon as they spotted it, got out tom-toms and passed the news northwards across their own island to other men waiting on the north side ready to light another signal fire. No wonder news travelled so fast!

He continued thinking as breakfast was served and South-wick, seeing him occasionally rubbing the scar on his brow, kept silent. When he'd finished the meal Ramage glanced up and said, 'No doubt you'll want to wash and shave, Appleby?'

The master's mate took the bint, thanked Ramage and left the cabin.

As soon as the door shut Southwick asked. 'What do you make of it, sir?'

'It's pretty obvious, isn't it?'

Unperturbed by Ramage's surly tone, Southwick persisted.

'It's obvious until me news gets to the north end of St Vincent, sir. But from there it's a long way across to St Lucia— twenty-four miles. Have to be a big bonfire for anyone in St Lucia to see it!'

'Needn't be a bonfire. It took Appleby five hours to get here from Carriacou in his fishing boat. That's nearly six knots. There's nothing to stop a fishing boat leaving St Vincent and crossing the channel to St Lucia in four or five Hours. Then the tom-toms pass the message the length of St Lucia. In the meantime the schooner's hardly reached Bequia.'

But Ramage knew he was still ignoring the vital question, and it probably hadn't even occurred to Southwick yet. Briefly he told the Master about his previous evening's conversations with the Governor, and the schooner-owner's determination that his vessel should sail.

'He deserves to have her captured,' Southwick growled. 'Underwriters'd never pay up if they knew.'

'They'll get to know eventually.'

'Do you suspect him, sir? Some sort of fraud with the insurance?'

Ramage shook his head.

'It wouldn't make sense. Just think what's shipped out of Grenada in a year—about 12,000 tons of sugar, more than a million gallons of rum, 200 tons of cotton, 100,000 gallons of molasses... with freight rates so high a schooner-owner makes an enormous profit—more in six months, I should imagine, than he could claim on the insurance for a total loss.'

'But they're not making profits because the schooners are being lost,' Southwick pointed out.

'Yes, but they'd sooner make the profits. That's what convinces' me there's no fraud.'

'Then where the devil do the privateers hang out?' Southwick exclaimed bluntly. 'Until we find their nest I don't see we can do much.'

'Our next job is to discover how the spy found out when the schooner was going to sail.'

Southwick shrugged his shoulders. 'Anyone could have seen her leaving.'

'At ten o'clock, yes!' Ramage snapped. 'But Appleby's already told us that the first signal he saw was at 8.42. So the spy knew beforehand. Why, they knew in St Vincent by nine o'clock.'

'I still don't see it matters, sir,' Southwick said doggedly. 'If only we can catch the privateers the spy's out of business.'

'Yes,' Ramage said patiently, 'but we don't know where they're based and no one's ever seen them!'

'True,' the Master admitted, scratching his head, 'but I still------'

'I don't either at the moment. But you're looking through the wrong end of the telescope.'

Southwick looked startled. 'How do you mean?'

'Well, the spy's given himself away.'

The Master grunted his disbelief.

'Of course he has. Why didn't he wait until the schooner sailed before passing the signal?'

'Can't see it matters, sir.'

'Nor can I—and that's the clue. He passed the signal soon after eight o'clock last night and the schooner sailed at ten, so he gained two hours. But two hours can't matter to the privateers.'

'I still don't------'

'Exactly! Those two hours don't matter. So why didn't the spy wait?'

Southwick shook his head but said nothing.

'Because he was too confident. He didn't think we'd ever guess the trick. He and privateersmen have been getting away with it for months. Tom-toms and bonfires—and no one's ever noticed them!'

Southwick nodded, then said questioningly: 'I can see that, sir; but I can't see he's given himself away—that's what you just said—by making the signal before the schooner sailed.'

'You weren't listening properly when I told you what happened at Government House.'

It was an unfair thing to say and Ramage knew it, because he'd only realized the full significance of the timing a few minutes ago.

'What did I miss then?' The Master's voice was almost truculent.

'You missed me saying that only four people knew the schooner was going to sail.'

'Only four? Why, it'll be easy------'

'No it won't,' Ramage interrupted bitterly. 'Those four people are the Governor, Colonel Wilson, the schooner's owner and, later on, the schooner's master. Four people. Which one would you suspect?'

'Phew! The Governor, the Colonel, the owner... Well, we're almost back where we started!'

'Almost. We take ten steps forward and slide back nine.'

'The schooner-owner: must be him It's an insurance fraud.'

Again Ramage shook his head. 'No—if it was, the owners of all the schooners lost so far would be in it. And they're the losers because soon there won't be any schooners left. Apart from that this owner signed a document taking full responsibility. That alone rules out insurance because the underwriters could refuse to pay. It means he wants the profits from the freight—and is prepared to gamble.'

'I suppose so,' Southwick said grudgingly. 'But surely you don't suspect the Governor or Colonel Wilson?'

'Hardly. That's what I meant about slipping nine steps back.'

Idly he tapped the table with a knife. The sky through the skylight overhead was turning from black to grey. An idea was floating round in his brain, the details for the moment blurred.

'By the way, I gave Maxton leave yesterday afternoon. Jackson told you?'

'Yes sir: he's due back at dawn, I believe.'

Ramage nodded.

'It'll be interesting to see if he deserts,' Southwick added.

'You think he will?'

'No, I'm sure he won't. I hope not, anyway.'

The idea was beginning to take shape and he started rubbing his brow. Southwick misunderstood the reason and said: 'It'd be disappointing, after all he went through with you in the Kathleen.' 1 wasn't thinking of that. Listen, Southwick—those damned tom-toms talk. But who can read what they say? I wonder if Maxton can.'

'Is it important? Surely we can guess. Last night they said the schooner was sailing!'

Ramage grinned. 'Ever thought hard about a tom-tom, Southwick?'

The Master looked puzzled. 'Not really. It's a sort of drum, and these fellows use it to signal with, like shouting a long distance.'

'Yes, but with this difference. You can recognize a man's voice when he shouts. Can you recognize a tom-tom? Recognize whether one particular man's beating it or another, even though the message is the same?'

Southwick shrugged his shoulders. 'They all sound alike to me.'

'Exactly. And I'm wondering if they sound alike to the natives.'

'By Jove,' Southwick exclaimed, banging the table with his fist. 'You mean, we could get a native to pass some false signals? Throw the whole system into confusion? Why, we could drive this spy mad! Just think of him listening to us drumming out false information about a schooner sailing. He has to get his drummer to thump out "Annul previous signal"; then we follow up with another "Annul..."'

He roared with laughter at the thought, thumping the table to simulate a tom-tom, but then his face fell. 'Still doesn't find the privateers, though!'

'No, but it's a good idea: we may be able to use it—if we can find someone who talks the language of the drums. Send Maxton down to me as soon as he comes back on board: he might know something.'

*

As the sky lightened and the Triton's ship's company were busy scrubbing the decks, polishing brasswork and going through the dozens of jobs carried out at daybreak on board every British ship of war, Ramage slowly shaved himself, deliberately taking his time, trying to find a flaw in his conclusions. They were simple enough to worry him.

First, the spy was so sure his tom-tom and bonfire method would never be discovered that he revealed his knowledge by passing the signal before the schooner sailed. Very well, that probably wasn't over-confidence on his part—tom-toms were beating most nights, and the two frigates didn't spot the bonfires.

Secondly, suppose the spy was caught. He might be doing it for money—the privateers would pay well for information. Or he might be French and doing it to further the Revolution —Grenada was only just recovering from Fedon's Revolt. Once captured, could the spy be forced to reveal where the privateers were based? It was possible. But would it help that much, with only the Triton to tackle them? These privateers would be among the fastest vessels in the islands. Going to windward they could sail rings round the Triton. Yet—he ran his hand along his jaw: the razor was blunt— perhaps they could be trapped in their base. The fact that it was well-hidden might also mean it was hard to get out of: maybe the privateers had to use boats to tow themselves out...

There was a knock on the door and Southwick called, 'Maxton's here, sir.'

'Send him in.'

Ramage made the last few strokes with the razor, wiped off the remaining soap, and looked at his face. His eyes were more sunken than usual; his cheeks too. That meant he was worrying more than he realized; a few late nights didn't do that. He must have lost six or eight pounds in weight. Yet he wasn't conscious of worrying overmuch.

He walked into the day cabin and saw Maxton standing just inside the door, obviously overawed at his first visit to the Captain's quarters.

'How were the family, Maxton?'

'Glad to see me, sah.'

'Your parents alive?'

'Yes sah! My father's a freed slave.'

'Brothers and sisters?'

'Four brothers, three sisters, sah. And twenty-seven nephews and nieces.'

'Congratulations,' Ramage said, smiling as he tried to average it out. If all seven had wives or husbands, it was nearly four children each. He brushed the irrelevance aside: his approach to the seaman was going to be unorthodox.

'Ah—Maxton, I need your help.'

'Yes sah?'

'You heard the tom-toms last night?'

Maxton's eyes seemed suddenly to become opaque before he looked away.

'No sah, I didn't hear no drums.'

Interesting—he called them 'drums'.

'Nothing? You heard nothing?'

'Nothin', sah.'

The man moistened his thick lips; his hands wrestled with each other. Perspiration was beading his upper lip and brow, and he looked down at the deck.

'Well, someone was beating them last night, Maxton.'

'If you say so, sah.'

'And the drums were talking, Maxton.'

'Yes, sah.'

'But you didn't hear them?'

'No sah, I heard nothin'.'

'Well, I heard them, Maxton. Shall I tell you what they said?'

Maxton's eyes flickered at Ramage for an instant before looking down again. He was terror-stricken: that much was clear, though Ramage could think of no reason nor guess the man's thoughts.

'They were passing a signal, Maxton. They said that a schooner was sailing from St George for Martinique.'

Ramage thought for a moment, suddenly realizing something he had not thought of before—an ordinary bonfire could only signal one fact, unless someone hid the light for a moment or two and showed it again, as the Red Indians did. But Appleby had reported that several trees were burning to make the bonfire, so obviously that was impossible. But hold on—did it mean the bonfires were lit a certain time before the schooner sailed?( Two hours before? Was that the prearranged signal? It was worth trying.

'The drums also said the schooner would sail at ten o'clock, Maxton. And you heard it and you knew what it said.'

'No sah,' the man exclaimed, his hands held out as if imploring Ramage to believe him. 'No sah, I didn't hear nothin'.'

'You heard the drum, you knew what it said, and why it was saying it, yet you didn't warn me. You knew that drum was helping the enemy, Maxton. An enemy you know we're trying to stop capturing the schooners. The same enemy who tried to kill us several times when we served in the Kathleen? Then he added as an afterthought: 'An enemy who is trying to kill me now, Maxton.'

'Oh no he's not, sah: he's just tryin' to capture the schooners. You see, the freebooters------'

He broke off, realizing he'd just given himself away.

'Maxton,' Ramage warned quietly, 'I won't bother to warn you about the Articles of War: you know the penalties for helping the enemy by not passing on information to the officers. I'm just sad that you care so little about me and the rest of your shipmates that you'd let us all get killed by walking into a trap.'

For a minute or two Maxton just stood trembling, his eyes large, perspiration running down his face, lips quivering; a man in the grip of a great, perhaps nameless fear. Suddenly he seemed to get control of himself and with an enormous effort of will he said:

'If I said anythin' about the message sah, they'd kill all my family and me too.'

'Who would?'

'Why, the loogaroos sah,' he exclaimed, as if surprised Ramage did not know.

The loupgarou, the vampire: Ramage remembered the natives' twin fears, jumbies and loupgarous. Of the two, jumbies were less fearsome—evil spirits that could be kept at bay with jumbie beads, which were talismen or lucky charms. Jumbies could be bought off with offerings of money and other things and were mischievous rather than dangerous.

But not loupgarous. They came out only at night, flying around unseen in the darkness to attack unsuspecting people and drink their blood, leaving them maimed or dead. And no one knew who they were, for they were really human beings whose spirits emerged from their sleeping bodies and changed into vampires.

They spent the night going about their dreadful business and before dawn returned to the sleeping bodies so that these particular men never knew that, as they slept, they turned into loupgarous. And only the witch doctor could summon up the loupgarous; only a witch doctor could order them to attack a particular person. More important though, Ramage realized, no white man could ever persuade a coloured man they did not exist; that they were a lot of nonsense invented by witch doctors. Oh, what was the use, he thought: this was voodoo; black magic practised in Africa for centuries and then transported to the West Indies. It'd be as impossible to persuade a West Indian that loupgarous did not exist as to convince a Scots Calvinist that Christ never existed.

But for all that, Ramage knew he needed the information; he needed it so desperately that he had to use questionable methods to get it.

'Maxton, you believe the witch doctor can order the loupgarous to kill you and your family, so naturally you're frightened of him.'

The West Indian nodded. Suddenly Ramage snapped:

'Are you frightened of me?'

The man shook his head vigorously, surprise showing on his face. 'No sah!'

'Why not? I too can kill you—you've broken one of the Articles of War and I can have you hanged. And the Governor can hang your family for abetting you in treason.'

To Ramage's amazement the West Indian suddenly dropped to his knees, muttering—gabbling, almost—a prayer in what Ramage recognized was crudely-pronounced Latin: a Catholic prayer.

Then sickened by what he was doing and what he had to do, he realized Maxton's terrible predicament. The Catholic priest had, in his childhood, made Maxton a Christian and frightened him to death with visions of Hell's fire and eternal damnation; at the same time the witch doctors had been busy with equally horrifying voodoo threats; of loupgarous and jumbies and nameless evils of darkness and ignorance, the extent of which Ramage could only guess.

Maxton's predicament was in fact worse than Ramage guessed: soon after he had heard the drum and realized what it was saying he had been approached by the witch doctor, who heard he was from the Triton and warned him to be silent. But Maxton had earlier planned to go to the white priest that night for a routine confession. It was to have been a long confession—the first for two years. There were many sins for which he sought absolution and which to Maxton seemed grave: killing men, although they were the enemy; swearing, blaspheming and drunkenness. To the priest, a worldly man, when Maxton visited him late at night, they had seemed minor compared with the almost daily stories of knifings, wife-beating, murder and theft.

Maxton had overcome his fears enough to finish his confession with an account of the witch doctor's visit earlier that night, admitting he was too frightened to warn his captain of the drums' message. But the priest, not knowing the actual significance of the message and too sleepy to ask, took little notice: he was more concerned at Maxton's admission that he had not regularly said his prayers and that he had blasphemed with a monotonous regularity for more than two years.

So, his ears ringing with admonitions, Maxton had left the priest's house no wiser than when he entered, except that the priest had almost brushed aside the drums' message while the witch doctor threatened him with death over it. And he'd arrived back home to find the witch doctor had been back in his absence and reduced the whole family to a state of terror; so much so that one brother and two sisters swore they'd already seen two loupgarous flying among the trees, watching and obviously waiting for them to go to sleep before they began their bloody work.

But none of the others, priest, witch doctor, mother, father, brother or sister, thought of the third factor. Maxton feared the God of the priest; he did what the priest told him because the alternative was Hell fire and damnation. And he also feared the gods of the witch doctor.

Ramage, as he watched Maxton, saw the direct conflict between the priest's orders and the witch doctor's and guessed Maxton would obey the witch doctor for the very practical reason that whereas the priest only threatened eternal damnation after death (but without any threats of instant death) the witch doctor's threats were very much more positive and immediate: he promised prompt death at the hands of a loupgarou, not only for Maxton but for the whole family.

Yet neither witch doctor nor priest—and least of all Ramage—knew that there was this third factor in Maxton's life; almost a third god, a man whose orders he obeyed not because they were accompanied with terrible threats, but because he wanted to.

And that man was Lieutenant Ramage.

So now, on his knees in the Captain's cabin, his mind a whirl of conflicting fears and loyalties, Maxton was terrified. Not for himself, he now realized, but for his family and for his Captain, both threatened by the same dreadful powers.

Ramage looked down at the man and, recalling how Max ton bad grinned at the approach of the Spanish Fleet at the Battle of Cape St Vincent and watched Ramage steer the little cutter Kathleen straight for the San Nicolas with the same grin, knew that whatever terrified the West Indian was now beyond the comprehension of a white man.

'Maxton,' he said gently, but speaking slowly and dearly, 'there's a way out of this which can save us all. Tell me honestly, can you read the drums?'

Maxton nodded dumbly.

'Very well: is it difficult to learn the language they talk?'

The man shook his head.

'Could Jackson learn enough to send a particular message —not read one—in an afternoon?'

The head nodded.

'The witch doctor didn't say you couldn't teach Jackson, did he?'

'No sah.'

'Will you, then? And show him how to make one of these drums?'

Maxton scrambled to his feet: the fear had gone and in its place was enthusiasm. With the speed of a Caribbean thunderstorm clearing to reveal bright blue skies, Maxton had stopped trembling and was eager to help.

'Yes sah!' he exclaimed eagerly. 'But the witch------'

'The witch doctor will never know—or guess. And rest assured, Maxton, my ju-ju is stronger than his: that I promise you. Now, you'd better report to Mr Southwick.'

After making sure that Maxton was provided with the barrel he needed to make the drum, and that he and Jackson were down in the orlop where the American could begin his first lesson in complete secrecy, using the Marine drummer's drum, Ramage had gone on shore to visit Fort George.

The Colonel was in his office and greeted Ramage with as much enthusiasm as a considerable thick head from too much rum would allow.

Ramage had given a lot of thought to how he would tackle the task of finding the spy. He'd also thought a lot about Wilson. The Colonel had been very free in his talk about the Governor—but was that because he was an old gossip or because be was shrewed enough to realize Ramage needed to know all about Sir Jason if he was to be able to handle him? Ramage had decided it was the latter.

And for that reason his first call was on the old soldier who looked askance at Ramage's first request—that one of his most trusted soldiers should, as secretly as possible, buy a cured goatskin.

Maxton had specified the size and quality needed for the drum and Ramage passed them on to the Colonel, but to preserve secrecy offered no explanation for the strange request. Wilson asked no questions, sent for an aged corporal and despatched him on the errand, explaining the man had a native wife.

'Well,' he said to Ramage, 'now we've sent the best man in my little army on the trail of goatskin, what's the Navy doing this fine morning—apart from not sleeping off the after-effects of the Governor's Ball?'

'The Navy's brought bad news: the privateers will capture that schooner within the next twelve hours.'

'Will they, by Jove! And why can't you stop 'em?'

'Because they've a head start of a couple of dozen tomtoms, a dozen bonfires—and a spy who was probably a fellow-guest at last night's ball,' Ramage said flatly.

Wilson looked up calmly at Ramage to make sure he was not joking and saw the brown eyes were alight with what might have been anger or excitement, but was certainly not amusement.

'Hmmm. Well, I've spent enough years out here not to let anything surprise me; but the King's enemies have recruited some damned odd allies, I must say!'

It took Ramage less than five minutes to tell Wilson how he'd heard the tom-tom while the Governor's guests danced, followed by Appleby's arrival from Carriacou before dawn reporting the signal bonfires.

Ramage, concentrating on his story, did not look up at Wilson until he'd finished, and was startled at the change in the man's face: the puffy look had vanished; the watery eyes were now sharp. His face was different—and so was his posture. The whole air of flabbiness had vanished: Wilson was once again a soldier, mentally and physically alert. And his first few words were spoken with a new briskness.

'Glad the Admiral sent you, m'boy. Misjudged you at first —I admit it. Admiral's son and all that: thought you'd got your command through "interest"—not unknown, you know!'

He grinned with an affection Ramage did not notice and continued:

'Now m'eyes are opened. You were quick enough to spot the tom-toms—and you had the wit to leave lookouts at Carriacou. Never occurred to me—nor to those two nitwit frigate captains the Admiral sent earlier.'

He took a quill, knife, bottle of ink and sheets of paper from a drawer and put them on the desk. He spent a few moments sharpening the quill—not because it was blunt, but because he obviously wanted time to think. Dipping the quill in the ink and squaring up the loose pages, he wrote several words one beneath the other and then read them aloud:

'Colonel Wilson ... Lieutenant Ramage ... Sir Jason Fisher... Edward Privett... and the schooner's master. Now, who else knew you'd given permission for the schooner to sail at ten o'clock?'

'No one, if Edward Privett's the schooner-owner. But that document I asked Sir Jason to draw up for him to sign: I wonder if Sir Jason wrote it, or if a clerk made a fair copy?'

Wilson's brow furrowed. 'No, I was in the study all the time. Just me, Sir Jason and Privett. Sit Jason—yes, he sat down at the desk and wrote it himself, then read it out aloud. Privett took the pen and signed it. The door was shut. No, only the three of us heard—or saw.

'The signed document?'

'Sir Jason locked it in his desk.'

'What did Privett do after that?'

Wilson scratched his nose with the tip of the quill.

'We talked for a few minutes; then Privett wrote a note to his captain telling him he was to sail at ten but impressing the need for secrecy. He read the note aloud and sealed it I had it sent down to the schooner by one of my officers.'

'The officer?'

'One of my A.D.Cs. Knew nothing about it. Just called him in and told him to deliver it into the captain's hands and get a receipt Came back half an hour later, reported he'd done so, gave me the receipt'

'Half an hour?'

'Yes—takes fifteen minutes to the careenage by carriage.'

Ramage rubbed his brow. 'That means the schooner captain's definitely cleared.'

'How so?'

'The tom-tom was sounding less than ten minutes after you and the Governor left me and went to the study. We allow ten minutes for signing the document and writing the note—more perhaps? Plus fifteen for your officer to deliver it. That means the tom-tom couldn't have started until at least twenty-five or thirty minutes after you left me on the balcony...'

'So we're back again at Government House,' Wilson said.

'What did Privett do after you'd sent the officer away with the note?'

'I was just thinking about that. Now—the three of us in the study, the document signed and toe note written. Then I rang for the butler to fetch my A.D.C. He came in, I gave him the note and off he went. Privett started making a flowery speech of thanks; then the Governor rang again for drinks. Yes, by Jove—we talked there for at least fifteen minutes. More like twenty-five.'

'What about?'

'You,' Wilson said blandly. 'Privett expressed a doubt about your abilities—based on your youth. We dispelled them. Don't blush; neither of us perjured ourselves on your behalf.'

Ramage gave a mock bow.

Wilson nodded slowly and, looking directly at Ramage, said: 'Think seriously about this. I trust you because it's your plan that's gone astray and you've got to account to the Admiral. But Ramage, make no mistake—it's your duty to satisfy yourself that both me Governor and myself arc trustworthy.'

'I've already done that, sir.' Ramage said dryly.

'You have, by Jove?'

'I can check your story with the Governor, and you know that. And with Privett, for that matter. And all three of you hadn't left the study before the drum began. So obviously all three of you are beyond suspicion. You couldn't have done anything even if you'd wanted to!'

Wilson sat back in his chair and roared with laughter.

'You don't miss much, Ramage! But'—his face became serious again—'where does that leave us?'

He glanced down at his list, and wrote in another name.

'I've put down my A.D.C. I'd trust him with my life— indeed, have. He could have opened the letter. But,' he added as an afterthought, 'your timetable already cleared him.'

Ramage nodded. 'Yes, if he'd opened the letter as soon as he'd left you he couldn't have given the information to the spy before me drum started.'

Both men sat alone with their thoughts. Wilson watched the young Lieutenant rubbing his brow gently and staring at the table. The lad looked drawn, but that was hardly surprising. This sort of thing smacked of ju-ju and voodoo. How else could secret information get out of a closed room? And soon Ramage would have to send a report to his Admiral— a report which said that a schooner he'd allowed to sail had been captured, because Wilson had no doubt Ramage's forecast would prove correct. And an Admiral sitting in Barbados was unlikely to be very sympathetic, particularly, as Wilson had guessed earlier, if the Admiral was obviously using him to cover the two frigate captains who'd already failed.

But in fact Ramage was not thinking of the Admiral, nor particularly of his own responsibility for the schooner sailing: he'd deliberately agreed to let her sail because it suited him to use her as bait. Very well, the bait had been taken, which surely meant that somewhere during last night's ball there must be just one due which would lead to the privateers?

And he'd met enough difficult situations in his life to know that an answer rarely came when you sat down at a desk and tried to think; it was more likely to emerge as you walked along a street, or reached across the table for a sugar dredge.

But anyway it was comfortably cool in this room. So just run through the evening's events once again. At about eight o'clock he was talking on the balcony to Cla—to Miss de Giraud. Then Wilson came out and said the Governor was looking for him and almost at once Sir Jason joined them. Miss de Giraud had discreetly moved away; he'd told the Governor the conditions under which one schooner could sail at ten o'clock. Sir Jason and Wilson had then gone to the study.

Was anyone lurking on the balcony? No, there'd been only himself and Claire. After the two men had gone he'd begun talking to Claire again—after she'd returned from powdering her nose, or whatever had taken her away for a few minutes.

Suddenly he stood up. 'May I borrow a carriage, sir?'

Wilson, startled by Ramage's white face and blazing eyes, agreed and shouted to an orderly.

'Anything wrong, Ramage? Look as though you've seen a ghost! Don't say you've got one of these damned fevers?'

Numbly Ramage shook his head and turned to the door.