“I’m not moving anywhere,” Greg said, still tight-lipped, “until I’ve had Wilson’s petrel.”

And he sat there on the port side grim and silent, his eyes and his attention focused on the sea.

The others drifted onto deck and huddled against the gusting west wind in big coats and jerseys. Most were quiet and pale, suffering from too little sleep and seasickness. Only Roger Pym was loud and healthy, complaining because Jane had been ill in the night and kept him up, and irritating them by his demands for breakfast. They crowded at the stern of the boat watching the rubby dubby bag bouncing over the waves scattering shreds of herring behind it.

As the first rays of the sun broke through the thin cloud, a group of petrels began to follow the boat, attracted by the fish. They were storm petrels, common in Britain, but reassuring. Anything now seemed possible.

“Wilson’s petrel!”

The sound burst from Greg Franks and was so loud and joyful that no one realised at first who had shouted. Molly had been concerned because he seemed so ill. She still felt that they were responsible for him and should deliver him back to his mother safe and intact. Now his recovery seemed miraculous. He was standing at the deck rail pointing out the bird to the others, his face flushed with excitement. To Molly the bird seemed indistinguishable from the storm petrels which were still following the boat, but the others were convinced by the identification. Look at the size! they said. Look at the length of the leg! The bird circled the boat, then pattered behind it with the storm petrels before flying away.

With the arrival of the bird there was an immediate release of tension. This was what they had paid a fortune for and travelled to Cornwall to see. Only Rob Earl and Roger Pym had seen Wilson’s petrel before; the others felt the aquisitive euphoria of a new bird. They gathered around Greg.

“What a brilliant piece of identification!” George said. “ How could you tell at that distance that the bird was a Wilson’s?”

“Well,” Greg said, “once I’d got my eye in, it wasn’t that difficult.”

The others joined in the congratulations, but Molly, standing as always apart and observant, thought they were disappointed it was Greg who had found the bird. They would have preferred it to be someone else.

“I’m going to lie down now,” Greg said. “I still don’t feel well.”

“Where will you be?” Rob asked. “In case we need to call you. In your cabin?”

“No, it’s too stuffy below. I’ll just crash out on deck. Don’t call me unless it’s a tick.”

“We won’t know whether or not it’s a tick,” Roger Pym said quickly. “ We haven’t seen your list.”

“It won’t be a tick,” Greg said grandly, “unless it’s a first for Britain.”