He thought suddenly of Bolitho’s words and grimaced. A top-sail yard or a rough backstay, he could manage either. Even a reluctant woman was not too much trouble. But a horse! He rubbed his buttocks. By the time they reached the Drake’s Head he would have need for more than a tankard, he thought gloomily.

* * *

They left the house before dusk, but by the time they had crossed the river at a small ford, well clear of Falmouth, it was getting dark rapidly. But Bolitho knew the countryside like the back of his hand, and with Allday trotting uncomfortably behind him kept up a good pace until he had found the narrow twisting lane which led to Veryan. In places it was very steep, with the trees almost touching overhead, the thick brush alive with squeaks and startled rustlings as they passed by.

Then a sharp curve and for a few more minutes he saw the edge of the headland itself, with a writhing pattern of surf far below where the rocks lay like black teeth at the foot of the high cliffs.

Allday gasped, “My God, Captain, this horse has no respect for my rump!”

“Hold your noise, damn you!” Bolitho reined his horse at the top of yet another steep slope and strained his eyes towards a darker line of tangled bushes.

The cliff edge had moved inwards again and probably came to within yards of the bushes. Beyond he could see the sea shining dully in the gloom, flat and unruffled, like pewter. But the bay was in deeper shadow, there might not be a ship there at all. Equally there could be half a dozen.

He shivered slightly and was glad he had allowed Mrs. Ferguson to have her way over the boat-cloak. It was cold up here, and the air felt damp. There would be another sea mist in before dawn.

He heard Allday breathing heavily beside him and said, “Not much farther now. The inn is about half a mile from here.”

Allday grunted. “I don’t like it, Captain.”

“You do not have to like it.” Bolitho looked at him. He had told Allday the bones of what was happening and nothing more. Just enough to clear himself if anything went wrong. “Surely you’ve not forgotten . . .”

He broke off and gripped his arm. “What was that?”

Allday stood up on his stirrups. “A hare maybe?”

The shout, when it came, was with the suddenness of a shot.

“Keep still and raise yer ’ands in the air where we can see ’em!”

Allday groped for his cutlass. “By God, it’s a bloody ambush!”

“Belay that, Allday!” Bolitho wheeled his horse against him and knocked his hand away from the weapon. “It is what I expected, man.”

The voice said, “Easy, Cap’n! We don’t want to cut you down but . . .”

Another voice, more insistent and hard with tension, snapped, “We can do without wasting time, just you go an’ disarm ’em, and lively with it!”