'Yessir.' Gimlett shuffled from one foot to the other. `He was a fine master to me, sir. Very considerate indeed.'

Bolitho smiled slightly. 'I take it you're a Devon man?'

'Aye, sir. I was chief ostler at the Golden Lion at Plymouth but came away with Cap'n Turner to serve my country the better.' His eyes suddenly fell on the pile of papers on Bolitho's desk and he added hastily, 'Well, I was in a bit of trouble with one of the chambermaids, sir. It seemed the best thing to do all round.'

Bolitho smiled more broadly. Gimlett was apparently under the impression that his late master might have left some written record of his real reason for quitting the land. He said, 'So you were only with Captain Turner while the ship was in the Indies? You did not actually go ashore to his home?' The last question was an effort to clear the look of complete incomprehension from the man's worried features.

'That's right, sir.' He looked around the wide cabin. 'This was his home, sir. He had no family. Just the ship.' He swallowed again, as if afraid he had said too much. 'Can I clear away, sir?'

Bolitho nodded thoughtfully and walked back to the windows. That was the best explanation so far. Under Turner the ship had become a home, a way of life rather than a ship of war. And her company, away from England for three years with neither combat nor hardship to trouble them, would have become equally unprepared for the challenge of blockade and war.

Twice during the day Quarme, the first lieutenant, had visited Bolitho to report on progress. Under Bolitho's casual questioning he too had more or less admitted that Turner was a fair captin but unimaginative, even lethargic.

But it was hard to, assess Quarme's true feelings. He was twenty-eight years old, with calm but uncompromising features, and gave the impression of a man who was just biding his time for better things.