A discriminating man with a taste for blades would appreciate that the hanger was a Gill's and, when drawn, was nearly straight on the back edge, the first eight inches honed razor-sharp, while the lower edge was upswept to the point, so that it gave the impression of a curved-blade hanger.

A discriminating gentleman would have further "Ah-hummed" over the cut-steel square links of the officer's watch chain and fob, deeming him a man of good taste, too.

With the officer's beaver cocked hat doffed, an outsider would have seen a full head of hair atop his pate, still thick and all his own, of a middle, almost light brown, a tad wavy at his temples, over his ears, and loosely gathered into a trim nautical sprig of a queue atop his coat collar, bound with a bow-knotted black silk ribbon.

The officer was much too sun- or wind-burned for Fashion in the better sorts' salons, though. Not completely a gentleman, perhaps, the lofty observer would have sniffed; too much the "sea dog" after all!

The salute done, Lewrie clapped his hat back on his head and smiled at his First Officer, his darkly, romantically handsome Mr. Anthony Langlie. "Everything's in order, Mister Langlie?" he asked. "Nothing gone smash since I left the ship?" he gently teased.

"No, sir, praise God," Lt. Langlie reported. "The working sail set hung slack and allowed to dry, wood and watering done, and Mister Coote's requirements stowed below, sir. Did you, ah… find out…"

"I'll be below and aft, Mr. Langlie," Capt. Lewrie told him in a mystifying way. "Give me ten minutes, then do attend me, and I shall tell you all I have learned. Dismiss the hands back to their seeming drowsiness for now, sir."

"Aye, aye, sir," Lt. Langlie crisply replied, with a hand to his hat and a short sketch of a bow from the waist as Capt. Lewrie went down the starboard ladderway to the gun-deck, then aft past the bulkhead door and the Marine sentry, to his great-cabins.