"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."
The corporal looked at Ramage.
"You don't remember me, do you, sir?"
"I thought your face was familiar."
"The Belette, sir. 'Afore I got promoted. When you was wounded. My proudest day, sir. You was wonderful, sir; I'll never forget 'ow you took command. Cor, yer looked dreffel wiv that cut on yer 'ead!"
The corporal's eyes widened. "Why, sir, yer got two scars there nar!"
"St Vincent," Ramage said briefly. "The French seem to like my head!"
Satisfying though it was to know the corporal was friendly, and grateful as he was for the information about Captain Croucher's troubles with the Admiral, he wanted his letter delivered to La Perla.
The corporal took it. "Mr Hobson passed the word, sir. I'll send my best man out wiv it. Oh - it ain't sealed, sir."
"I've no wax. Can you get any?"
"Aye, sir, no trouble at all."
"Just seal it and give it to your man."
"Leave it ter me, sir," the corporal said, flattered at Ramage's trust in him. He returned in a few minutes to report the letter sealed and on its way to La Perla, and apologizing for having to shut and lock the door.
An hour later there was a peremptory rap on the door which flew open to admit a shrivelled little man who strutted like a bantam cock and wore tiny, steel-rimmed spectacles that stuck on his nose like a price label.
"The deputy judge advocate!" he announced in a high-pitched voice that fitted the body like a squeak would a rusty hinge.
Ramage remained seated, eyed the man and said: "What about him?"
"I am the deputy judge advocate."
"Your manners are certainly familiar; what's your name?"
"Harold Syme," he said, oblivious of Ramage's snub. "I have come to serve you with the charges."
Ramage held out his hand for the papers. Puzzled at Ramage's silence, he began fumbling in the leather bag which had been tucked under his arm.
"The charges are exhibited by Rear-Admiral Goddard. They are capital charges."
Ramage gestured impatiently with his hand.
"Deliver any documents necessary, please. I am busy."
"Busy? Why-"
"I will let you have the names of my witnesses in due course," Ramage said. "The documents?"
The man burrowed into his case, took out several papers and handed them to Ramage as if they were delicate, breakable objects. Ramage tossed them carelessly on the table.
"I have to read the 'Letter to the prisoner' to you."
"I can read," Ramage said. "Please have some wax sent in."
"What do you want wax for?"
Ramage gestured to the writing materials on the table. "To seal my letters from prying eyes."
"Really! Do you suppose I would-"
"The thought occurred to you, not me. Good day to you, sir," Ramage said, and began unscrewing the inkwell.
"Mr Ramage, how-"
"I'm preparing my defence. Do you want it said you deliberately hindered me?"