'No, no, Mr Grockleton,' she cut in. 'I speak of Bath as a model for Lymington, but I have no wish to live there. Bath is already taken. Whatever our fortune, we should be nobody in Bath. Whereas here, with our many dear friends ...'

'Our friends here', he gently suggested, 'may not be quite as close as you think.'

'They are as good', she retorted sharply, with one of those flashes of brutal realism that could be so disconcerting, 'as any that you and I are likely to get.'

'Well, my dear,' he said in a conciliatory tone, 'there is no need for us to consider the matter now, I dare say, for perhaps my cousin Balthazar will leave me nothing at all.'

But if he thought this would do, he was sorely mistaken, for by now his wife's hackles were up. 'I am quite persuaded to stay here, Mr Grockleton,' she said, with a deliberateness that struck a chill into his heart. 'Quite.' She looked at him solemnly. 'I will not be moved.'

For a fleeting moment Mr Grockleton imagined himself alone with his fortune in London, without Mrs Grockleton, and a wistful look passed across his face. Then he corrected himself. 'Whatever you wish, my dear,' he replied, and prepared to leave for the Customs house. 'Do you really think', he asked, to change the conversation, 'that Mr Martell is so taken with Louisa Totton?'

'I saw them together in the High Street just the day before he left,' she replied, 'and I observed his manner towards her. He likes her very much. And she means to marry him, you may depend upon it. She is a clever and determined young woman.'

'Do determined women always get their way?' he asked with genuine curiosity.

'Yes, Mr Grockleton,' she answered quietly. 'They do.'

Isaac Seagull was very seldom taken by surprise.

The August sun was shining pleasantly on the High Street. As usual, he was standing by the entrance of the Angel Inn, surveying the scene. There was a particular reason why Mr Seagull liked to be where he was and it had nothing to do with the street scene before him. It pleased him to stand there not because of what was in front of him, but because of what lay under his feet.

A tunnel. It ran from under the Angel, across the street to the smaller inn opposite. Then it proceeded down the hill all the way to the water. There were other tunnels and chambers leading off it. By this means, Seagull knew, he could move goods from his boats to inns and hiding places all over Lymington without anything being seen. When he stood where he did, therefore, and thoughtfully tapped his foot on the ground, he could feel like the master of some ancient labyrinth filled with secret treasure.