`I would not expect you to, sir.' Bolitho's eyes were hard grey, like the sea beyond the harbour.

`I know. That is why I held the command for you.' There was a murmur of voices beyond the door and Bolitho knew the audience was nearly over. The admiral added, `I have a nephew aboard the Phalarope, he is one of your young gentlemen. His name is Charles Farquhar, and he might yet make a good officer. But do him no favours for my sake, Bolitho.' He sighed and handed over the envelope. `The ship is ready to sail, so take advantage of this southerly wind.' He held Bolitho's hand and studied his face intently. `We may not meet again, Bolitho, for I fear my days are numbered.' He waved down the other man's protest. `I have a responsibility, and I have certain rewards for my duty. But youth I cannot have.'

Bolithod hitched up his sword and tucked his hat under his arm once more. `Then I will take my leave, sir.' There was nothing more he could say.

Almost blindly he walked through the door and past the little group of whispering officers awaiting their admiral's pleasure.

One officer stood apart, a captain of about his own age. There the similarity ended. He had pale, protruding eyes and a small, petulant mouth. He was tapping his fingers on his sword and staring at the door, and Bolitho guessed him to be the man who had been taken from the Phalarope. But he seemed unworried, merely irritated. He probably had influence at Court, or in Parliament, Bolitho thought grimly. Even so, he would need more than that to face Sir Henry.

As he crossed to the stairway the other captain met his stare. The pale eyes were empty of expression yet vaguely hostile. Then he looked away, and Bolitho reached the foot of the stairs where a marine orderly waited with his cloak.