'You make your point most damnably, Philip. As for Captain Drinkwater, I am sure he is not interested in our hagglings…'

The allusion to Drinkwater's junior rank, though intended to suppress the stranger, cut Drinkwater to the quick. He rose, having no more business with the admiral and having securely lodged his empty glass against the flagship's roll. 'I would not have you think, Sir William, that I am anxious to avoid any station or duty to which their Lordships wished to assign me.'

Cornwallis dismissed Drinkwater's concern. 'Of course not, Captain. We are all the victims of circumstance. It is just that I feel the want of frigates acutely. The Inshore Squadron is worked mercilessly and some relief would be most welcome there, but if Lord Keith has given you your orders we had better not detain you. What force does his Lordship command now?'

'Four of the line, Sir William, five old fifties, nine frigates, a dozen sloops, a dozen bombs and ten gun-brigs, plus the usual hired cutters and luggers.'

'Very well. And he is as anxious as myself over cruisers I doubt not.'

'Indeed, sir.'

Drinkwater moved towards the door as Cornwallis's eyes fell again to the papers. These actions seemed to precipitate an outburst of forced coughing from the stranger. Cornwallis looked up at once.

'Ah, Philip, forgive me… most remiss and I beg your pardon. Captain Drinkwater, forgive me, I am apt to think we are all acquainted here. May I introduce Captain Philip D'Auvergne, Due de Bouillon.'

Drinkwater was curious at this grandiose title. D'Auvergne was grinning at his discomfiture.

'Sir William does me more honour than I deserve, Captain Drinkwater. I am no more than a post-captain like yourself, but unlike yourself I do not have even a gun-brig to command.'