He halted as Midshipman Maynard appeared below the quarterdeck and leaned heavily on a twelve-pounder. Beneath his tan his thin features were as pale as death, and his legs looked as if they were near collapse.

Herrick crossed to his side. “What is it, lad? Are you ill?”

Maynard turned and stared at him, his eyes opaque with fear. For a moment he could not speak, then the words poured from his dry lips in a flood.

“I’ve just come from below, sir.” He screwed up his face. “I was sent down to the orlop to fetch Mr Evans.” He swallowed hard and tried to speak coherently. “I found him in his cabin, sir.” He retched and swayed against the gun.

Herrick gripped his arm and whispered fiercely, “Go on, lad! What the hell is wrong?”

“Dead!” The word was wrung from his lips. “My God, sir! He’s been cut to pieces!” He stared at Herrick’s grim features, reliving the nightmare of his discovery. He repeated faintly, “Cut to pieces.”

“Keep your voice down!” Herrick struggled to control his shocked thoughts. In a calmer tone he called, “Mr Quintal! Take Mr Maynard aft and see that he is kept alone!”

The boatswain, caught in the act of reprimanding a seaman, stared from one to the other. He touched his forehead and said gruffly, “Aye, aye, sir.” Then he asked quietly, “Is somethin’ up, sir?”

Herrick looked at Quintal’s broad, competent face and answered flatly, “It seems that the purser is dead. Mr Quintal!” He saw the quick start of alarm in the man’s eyes and added, “Show no sign! This ship is like a tinderbox as it is.”

Herrick watched the boatswain leading the young midshipman into the shadow of the quarterdeck and then glanced quickly around him. Everything looked as it had two minutes earlier.

Lieutenant Okes had the watch and was standing at the quarterdeck rail, his eyes up at the topsails. Further aft Herrick could see the captain in conversation with Vibart and Rennie, while at the wheel the two helmsmen looked as if they had been at their posts since time began.

Herrick walked slowly towards the lower cabin hatch. He made himself move calmly, but his heart felt as if it was in his throat.

With all hands employed trimming sails the lower deck was deserted and strangely alien. A few lanterns swung on their hooks, and as he began to climb down the second and last ladder Herrick could sense an air of menace and danger. Even so, he was totally unprepared for the sight in the purser’s tiny cabin.

Deep in the hull of the ship the stillness was all the more apparent, and the solitary lantern on the low deckhead cast a steady circle of light on a scene which made Herrick’s throat choke with bile. Evans, the purser, must have been secreting a bag of flour for his own private uses when his assailant had struck him down. He lay spread-eagled on the upended sack, his eyes bright in the lamplight, while from his severed throat a great torrent of dark blood seeped and congealed in the scattered flour. There was blood everywhere, and as Herrick stared with fixed horror at the corpse at his feet he saw that Evans had been stabbed and slashed as if by some crazed beast.