He followed Eustin, heavily laden with the documents, out of the door and heard the key turn in the lock behind him. Eustin stumbled and a sheaf of papers fell to the companionway floor.

“Steady, man,” Mason said. “No, leave them, I’ll pick them up. Go ahead.”

Macfarland was waiting at the Mail Room door, his face drawn and white.

“It’s locked!”

“Bang on it, you idiot!” He thrust the papers he was carrying into the other man’s arm and hammered on the door with his fist, stepped back when it opened.

“Why Mr. Mason — what is it?” The door was opened by an elderly man with white mutton-chop whiskers, his face tanned by a lifetime at sea.

“Yankees, sir. They have fired at this ship, stopped her, sir.”

“But — why?”

“It is their expressed desire to makes us their prisoners, to seize us against our will, clap us in irons and carry us off to some foul cell. And perhaps even worse. But you can help us.”

The officer’s face tightened in grim anger. “Of course — but what can I do? If you hide — ”

“That would be cowardly, and we would be found.” Mason seized a handful of papers and held them out. “It is not our fate that can be altered. But here are our credentials, our documents, our secrets. It would be disaster if the Yankees seized them. Would you preserve them for us?”

“Of course. Bring them inside.”

He led the way across the room to a massive safe, took a key from his pocket and unlocked it.

“Put them in here, with the government post and specie.”

When this was done, the safe door swung shut and was locked. The Mail Officer returned the key to his pocket and patted it.

“Gentlemen, though I am retired now I have never turned from my duty as a naval officer. I am now a bulldog in your defense. Threats of death will not sway me. I will keep this key in my pocket and it will not come out until we are in safe harbor in England. They must pass over my body before they enter this room. Your papers are as safe as the letters of the Royal Mail.”