Bolitho entered his cabin where all the other captains had been summoned within an hour of anchoring. They looked tired and strained after the voyage, and the swift pattern of events which had followed their arrival at Gibraltar had left none of them much time for rest.

Needless to say, it was Rattray of the Zeus who was the first to speak.

“Who is this fellow with the admiral? Does anyone know him, eh?”

Captain Furneaux of the Valorous took a glass of wine from the cabin servant and eyed it critically.

“Don’t look much of a diplomat, if you ask me.” He turned his haughty face towards Bolitho. “In war we seem to attract the oddest sort of advisers, what?”

Bolitho smiled and nodded to the others and then walked to the open stern windows. On the far side of the bay, quivering and misty in haze, was Algeciras, where already many telescopes would be trained on the British squadron, and messengers riding to carry the news inland to the garrisons.

The visitor aboard the flagship, the man whose sudden and unheralded appearance was causing such speculation, was certainly unusual. He had come offshore in the Governor’s launch and had swarmed up through the entry port almost before the side party had got into position to receive him.

Dressed in well cut and expensive coat and breeches, he had snapped, “No need for all this sort of thing. No damn time to waste!”

His name was Sir Hugo Draffen, and in spite of his dress and title he looked like a man who was more accustomed to hard activity and physical effort rather than one of more leisurely pursuits. Thickset, even squat, his face was very tanned, his eyes surrounded with tiny wrinkles as if well used to the sun and more severe climates than Whitehall.

Broughton, called hastily from his quarters where he had spent most of the remainder of the voyage, had been strangely quiet, even subservient towards his guest, and Bolitho imagined there was far more to Draffen than anyone of them yet realised.

Captain Gillmor of the frigate Coquette, sent on ahead of the squadron in search of fresh information, said gloomily, “He came aboard my ship when I anchored.” He was a lanky, even ungainly young man, and his long face was frowning as he relived the meeting with Draffen. “When I suggested I should return and contact the squadron he told me not to bother.” He shuddered. “And when I asked him why, he told me to mind my own damn business!”

Falcon of the Tanais put down his glass and said grimly, “At least you were spared seeing Auriga’s disgrace.”

The others looked at him and at each other. It was the first time it had been mentioned.

Bolitho said, “I doubt that we will be in suspense much longer.” He wondered briefly if the others had noticed his exclusion from the talk now going on in Broughton’s cabin beneath his feet. It was unusual, but then, so it appeared, was Draffen.