'Ah, Templeton, about time you brought candles.'

'My apologies, Captain, I was delayed in the copy room ...'

'Scuttlebutt, I suppose.'

'I wish it were only gossip, sir, but I fear the worst.' Templeton's words were so full of foreboding that Drinkwater was compelled to look up. Templeton's head was bent askew in such a way that, though he stood, his eyes must of necessity look under his brow so that his whole demeanour bespoke grave concern.

'Which touches me, Mr Templeton?'

'Indeed, sir, I fear so.' A brief smirk passed across Templeton's features, the merest hint of satisfaction at having conveyed the full import of his meaning with such admirable economy. It would have passed a less intuitive man than Drinkwater unnoticed.

'Is this a secret of state, or merely one which is denied the Secret Department, Mr Templeton?' Drinkwater asked with heavy irony.

'The latter, Captain Drinkwater,' Templeton replied, the corners of his thin mouth creeping outwards in a smile, hinting at the possession of superior knowledge.

'Well, then, I am waiting. What is this gossip in the clerks' office?'

'I am afraid, sir, 'tis said this department is to be discontinued.'

A feeling of something akin to relief flooded through Drinkwater. There were times in a man's life when to submit to the inevitable meant avoiding disagreeable concomitances. He could never have explained to Elizabeth how constricted his soul was, cooped up in this tiny Admiralty office. He had accepted his appointment, half out of loyalty to his late predecessor, Lord Dungarth, half out of a sense of necessity.