Bolitho replied calmly, 'Fog.'

Cairns stared at him. 'Is this one of your Celtic fantasies,

man?'

Bolitho smiled. 'The master said fog.'

The first lieutenant sighed. 'Then fog it will be. Though in

this half gale I see no chance of it!'

'Deck there!'

They looked up, caught off guard after so much isolation

Bolitho saw the shortened figure of the mainmast look-out, a tiny shape against the low clouds. It made him dizzy just to watch.

'Sail on th' weather beam, sir!'

The two lieutenants snatched telescopes and climbed into the shrouds. But there was nothing. just the wavecrests, angrier and steeper in the searching lens, and the hard, relentless glare.

'Shall I inform the captain, sir?'

Bolitho watched Cairns ' face as he returned to the deck. He could almost see his mind working. A sail. What did it mean? Unlikely to be friendly. Even a lost and confused ship's master would not fail to understand the dangers hereabouts.

'Not yet.' Cairns glanced meaningly towards the poop. 'He'll have heard the masthead anyway. He'll not fuss until we're

ready.'

Bolitho thought about it. Another view of Captain Pears which he had not considered. But it was true. He never did rush on deck like some captains, afraid for their ships, or impatient for answers to unanswerable questions.

He looked at Cairns ' quiet face again. It was also true that Cairns inspired such trust.

Bolitho asked, 'Shall I go aloft and see for myself?'

Cairns shook his head. 'No. I will. The captain will doubtless want a full report.'

Bolitho watched the first lieutenant hurrying up the shrouds, the telescope slung over his shoulders like a musket. Up and up, around the futtock shrouds and past the hooded swivel gun there to the topmast and further still towards the look-out who sat so calmly on the crosstrees, as if he was on a comfortable village bench.