He heard voices outside the front door and heavy boots clumping up the carriageway from the gate. Impatient at the long wait for the Admiral, he walked to the window and looked out. Five Marines armed with muskets, one of them a corporal, were standing sweltering in the sun, and the pimply lieutenant was whispering to the corporal.
Ramage sat down again, and a moment later the lieutenant, perspiring freely, came in to say abruptly: "Follow me: the Admiral will see you now."
The room was large and heavily shaded by partly closed shutters. A large desk stood in front of the windows and beyond it, where the breeze cooled him, the Admiral was lounging back on a settee.
He looked as hot, uncomfortable and petulant as he had when Ramage first saw him at the convoy conference with the pimply Lieutenant passing him fresh handkerchiefs. Now his face was slack and drawn, as though heat and worry were making it difficult for him to sleep through the sweltering Jamaica nights. He looked, Ramage thought, like a rich nabob fearful that someone is about to tell him he is bankrupt, that his wife has cuckolded him, or perhaps both.
Ramage stood stiffly, holding his sword scabbard with his left hand, hat tucked under his left arm, and grasping the canvas pouch in his right hand.
"Good afternoon, sir."
Goddard just stared at him.
The room was silent except for the distant high-pitched laughter of Negroes and a faint ticking somewhere, showing that a death watch beetle was at work. The settee creaked as Goddard moved slightly, and in spite of the open door and window, the room smelled musty, like a family vault.
Ramage stared at a point a foot above Goddard's head and listened to his heavy breathing; the man was far too fat for the Tropics.
"Where have you been?" the Admiral inquired finally, in a tone of voice that suggested that he would have preferred to ask: "Why have you come back from the dead?"
"The Triton went on a reef, sir."
"I'm not surprised. Some strange and unexpected current, no doubt, that swept you onto a reef not shown on any charts? The standard excuse."
"Yes, sir."
"You admit it, eh?"
"Yes, sir."
"By God!"
The Admiral was dumbfounded. His questions had been hopes put into words. This was what he hoped to prove against Ramage and now Ramage was admitting it.
"You're under close arrest, Ramage."
"Yes, sir."
"Damnation, is that all you have to say? A bloody parrot!"
"Yes, sir."
"Are you being insolent?"
"Oh no, sir!"
"Don't you want to know the charges?"
"If you wish, sir."
Of course he wanted to know the charges but he would be damned if he'd give Goddard the satisfaction of knowing it.
Not attempting to keep the note of triumph out of his voice the Admiral said: "Articles ten, twelve and seventeen. To which will now be added number twenty-six."
"Ten, twelve, seventeen and now twenty-six, sir," Ramage repeated calmly.
"So far. There may be more after I've read your report. You have it ready?"
"Yes, sir."
"Give it to Hobson as you go out."
Ramage flushed. "Yes, sir. May I send a message out to the former master of the Triton on board the little schooner we came here in?"
Goddard was not interested. "Of course," he said, and waved his hand in dismissal.
Lieutenant Hobson was outside the door.
"Your escort is waiting," he said triumphantly.
Ramage put his hat down on a chair and opened the pouch. He looked through his reports and took out the top one.
"For the Admiral."
Hobson took it as though snatching a hot chestnut out of the fire.
Ramage undipped the scabbard of his sword and handed it to Hobson. "You'd better have this. And pass the word that the Admiral's given permission for me to send a message out to my ship." With that he picked up his hat and walked swiftly to the front door. "Come, corporal, let's not hang about in the sun!"
Ramage strode down towards the gate, squinting in the bright sun, and it was several moments before he heard shouted orders and the hurried thumping of boots, and then the corporal's voice pleading: " 'Old 'ard, sir! Yer'll get us inter trouble if the h'Admiral sees!"
Ramage slowed down to let the Marines form up round him. "Step out, corporal, it's a lovely day."
The corporal was clutching Ramage's sword.
Ramage put the pen down and screwed the cap on the inkwell. He folded the sheet of paper and cursed himself for not asking for wax. He decided to enclose it in another blank sheet folded into an envelope and trust that if whoever delivered it was nosy he wouldn't understand the significance of what was written.
Although addressed to Southwick, the letter was meant for Yorke, and knowing he wouldn't seal it Ramage had written with deliberate ambiguity:
"I have been put under close arrest on charges presumably arising from the Peacock's attack on the Topaz - Articles ten, twelve and seventeen. More charges are likely, relating to the loss of the Triton. I have not yet received the precise charges nor been told the date of the trial. Unless it is necessary I'd prefer nothing went on shore yet from La Perla, particularly talk, but if you happen to call on me at the Marine barracks, bring my razor and fresh clothing."
Yorke and St Brieuc would realize that Ramage wanted them to stay out of sight. Southwick would understand that the treasure must stay on board under guard and under conditions of secrecy.
Ramage got up from the table in his small and hot room - the quarters intended for a Marine subaltern - and banged on the door.
The Marine corporal, a red-faced, plump and cheerful Londoner, unlocked it and came in.
"Can you see this is delivered to La Perla schooner - the Spanish prize that came in earlier today?"
"Yes, sir! Saw you come in, sir!"
"What ship?"
"Lion, sir."
"You came in with the convoy?"
"Yessir!"
"How was the hurricane?"
"Cor!" The corporal rolled his eyes and kicked the door shut with his heel. "Confidenshurally, sir, it was 'orrible."
"Windy, eh?"
"The wind warn't too bad," the corporal said ambiguously, dropping his voice. "T'was storm aft, sir."
Ramage looked puzzled and the corporal winked, repeating "Aft, sir."
"Two hands at the wheel?"
It was the best Ramage could do on the spur of the moment. The corporal, for reasons Ramage could not guess, was friendly, and the way gossip spread he probably knew even more than Ramage himself about the circumstances leading up to the arrest. If the corporal wanted to pass on information, it was up to Ramage to make it easy for him.
"Two hands at the wheel?" The corporal thought a moment and then nodded his head vigorously. "And hauling in different directions, sir!"
Ramage nodded sympathetically. "That's how masts go by the board."
"Indeed they do! Killed eleven men. The mizen mast did for the master, two midshipmen and eight of the afterguard."
"The Captain wasn't hurt?"
"No, thank Gawd! We'd have drarnded if 'e'd gorn. 'Mazing sir, 'ow it took 'im."
"What took him?"
"Losin' the masts. He was a noo man. Ordered -" he broke off, paused and then plunged on, using emphasis to make his meaning clear. "Ordered everyone off the quarterdeck who wasn't on watch. Everyone," he repeated. That included the Rear-Admiral. "Then 'e did what 'e wanted, an' that's 'ow we got 'ere. Later we met a frigate orf the Morant Cays an' she towed us in."