This time, Sir Ramsey demanded deposits and bonds and assets in trust. This time, Sir Ramsey said, he wanted to protect himself. And protect himself he did.

But only until delivery, when he read in the London Times that Skouratis was not going to accept delivery. The stock plunged to slightly more than a pound a share. Creditors in sudden panic descended on the old and reputable firm like crazed sailors reaching for lifeboats. All the assets in trust for the atomic engines could not delay the onslaught. And then Sir Ramsey discovered, when the stock hit bottom, that Skouratis had bought it and owned a majority share of the company. With a bit of deft juggling, he then sold the assets in trust back to himself, sold the giant ship to himself at the original scandalously low price, collected Attington because he was the banker behind the loan, sold Frawl yards to a dummy company that declared public bankruptcy and, for an added kick, picked up Frawl stock for mere shillings and turned it over to the luckless people who had bought it from him when he sold short at 150 pounds a share.

It was a maneuver that could make a toad gloat.

It left Sir Ramsey with three choices: kill himself with a gun, kill himself with a rope, or kill himself with a chemical. He wanted a private leaving of the world, something near his ancestors. So one chilly October day, five years after the Greek shipping magnate had offered him that splendid opportunity to test Frawl shipbuilding skills, he drove up to Attington for the last time in a dark Rolls-Royce. He said good-bye to his chauffeur and apologized for not being able to give him the security of retirement, which had been implicit in his hiring, and gave the man a gold watch fob that was somewhat recent, having been in the family for only 210 years.