Herrick nodded, at last understanding the full reason for Bolitho’s apprehension. “He has troops and guns. He can occupy any territory he chooses to take.”

“Quite so. The men and stores we dealt with at Mola Island were just a part of his strength. He had hoped to tie down the fleet while he drove on to Jamaica unimpeded. Now he knows we are alerted. His urgency will be all the keener.”

He stopped in his tracks and stared fixedly at the naked horizon. “If only we knew! If only we could go and find out for ourselves!” Then he seemed to realise that he was showing his own despair and he added briefly, “You may return to your watch, Mr Herrick. I have some thinking to do.”

Herrick walked back to the rail, but as the sun beat down on the tinder-dry decks, he was constantly aware of Bolitho’s shadow. Back and forth, up and down.

When Herrick had been a midshipman he had dreamed of the time when he might attain the impossible heights of a lieutenant. From then on he had watched the slow path to promotion, gauging his own progress by the experience or the incompetence of his superiors. And all the time, nursed in the back in his mind like some precious jewel, was the idea that one day he might at last hold a command of his own.

But now, as he watched Bolitho’s restless shadow and imagined the fretting thoughts which kept it company, he was not so sure.

* * *

Halfway through the forenoon the pipes shrilled, “Stand easy!” With varying degrees of relief the frigate’s seamen threw themselves into patches of shade to make the most of the short break in routine.

Allday stayed where he had been working, with his legs astride the larboard cathead, his bronzed body sheltered from the sun by the jib sail. In the foremost part of the ship he had been engaged in cleaning and scraping one of the great anchors, and as he squatted comfortably above the small bow wave he rested one foot on the anchor’s massive stock, feeling its warmth against the bare skin. At his back the other members of the working party lounged in various stages of abandon, while above their heads the air was tinged with a slow-moving vapour of smoke from their long pipes.

Old Ben Strachan picked up a new rope and examined the eye-splice which one of the ship’s boys had just completed. “Not bad, youngster. Not bad at all.” He sucked noisily at his pipe and peered aft the length of the Phalarope’s deck. “Is that the cap’n pacin’ up an’ down?”

Pochin, who was lying with his head cradled on his thick arms, muttered, “Course it is! Must be mad to be in this ’eat when ’e could be down in ’is cabin!”

Allday swung one leg and stared thoughtfully at the clear water below him. Pochin was still worried about Onslow’s words in the cutter. He was edgy, as if he realised his own guilt. Just listening to such talk made a man liable to be labelled a conspirator.