'Mr. Mount is to come too.' 'Very well, sir.' 'Damn this fog.'

'Aye, sir. We were not expecting you so soon.'

'So I perceived,' Drinkwater said drily, 'but the t'gallant masts are clear above the fog from the ramparts of Varberg castle.' He reached beneath his boat-cloak and fished in the tail pocket of his coat. 'I took the precaution of taking this.'

Fraser looked down at the folded vanes of Drinkwater's pocket compass.

'I see, sir.'

With a dull knock of oar looms on thole pins the guard-boat swung clear of the bow and pulled down Antigone's starboard side.

Drinkwater nodded his satisfaction. 'A wise precaution, Mr. Fraser,' he said and made for the ladder below, leaving the second lieutenant expelling a long breath of relief. Fraser turned to the boatswain standing beside him, the silver call still in his hand.

'I'm indebted to ye, Mr. Comley, for your prompt arrival,' Fraser muttered in a low voice.

'Wouldn't like to see 'ee caught atween two fires, Mr. Fraser, sir,' said Comley, staring after the young Scotsman as he went off on the captain's errand. Then he turned and put the call back to his lips. Its shrill note brought silent expectation to the upper deck again.

'Man the yard and stay tackles there! Prepare to 'oist in the barge!'

Captain Nathaniel Drinkwater took off the boat-cloak and unwound the muffler from his neck. He handed them, with his hat, to his steward, Mullender.

'A glass of something, Mullender, if you please.'

'Blackstrap, sir?'

'Capital.' Drinkwater's tone was abstracted as he stared astern through the windows at the pearly vapour that seemed oddly substantial as it swathed the ship. He rubbed his hands and eased his damaged shoulder as the chill dampness penetrated the cabin.