Bolitho eyed him thoughtfully. “Thank you, gentlemen. You have both behaved very well.”

Vibart said vehemently, “What did I tell you, sir? Softness with these scum is no use! They only understand a hard hand!”

Bolitho said, “His pistols, you say?”

Rennie nodded. “He had two small weapons. He was very proud of them. Gold-mounted and quite valuable, I believe. He said he got them in Spain.” He fell silent, as if he, like the others, was thinking of the dead man as he had once been. One of the most disliked men in the ship. A man with grudges and hates more than most. It was not difficult to understand that he would have an equal number of enemies.

Proby climbed the ladder and touched his hat. “May I dismiss the watch below, sir?” He seemed to realise that he was intruding and muttered, “Beggin’ your pardon, sir!”

Bolitho said, “Have the hands stay at their stations, Mr Proby.” They all looked at him. There was a new coldness in Bolitho’s voice and an unfamiliar hardness in his eyes. To Rennie he continued, “Post sentries at every hatch. Nobody will go below.”

Vibart murmured, “So you’ll see it my way, sir?”

Bolitho swung round. “Someone is guilty, Mr Vibart. But not the whole ship! I don’t want this man to escape, or his actions to contaminate the rest of our people!” In a calmer tone he said, “Mr Herrick, you will take the berth deck with Mr Farquhar and the boatswain. Captain Rennie will search the rest of the ship with his own men.” He looked down at the waiting seamen on the decks and gangways. “Mr Vibart, you will take the upper-deck yourself with Mr Brock. Look in every locker and beneath each gun, and be as quick as you can!”

He watched them troop down the ladder and then returned his attention to the crowded main deck. Every sailor was now fully aware that something was wrong. He saw one nudge his companion, and another fell back fearfully as Vibart and the gunner pushed through the watching men.

Perhaps Vibart was right after all? He gripped his hands together behind him with such force that the pain helped to control his whirling mind. No, he must not think like that. Without faith there was nothing. Nothing at all.

* * *

As the minutes dragged on a growing wave of apprehension moved across the crowded main deck like smoke from an uncontrollable fire. The seamen at the foot of the mainmast parted to allow Vibart and the gunner to move through and then shuffled together as if for mutual support.

Pochin rubbed his tarry hands on his trousers and glared angrily after Vibart’s bulky figure. “What the hell’s happenin’?” He reached out as a boatswain’s mate made to pass him. “Do you know, Mr Josling?”

Josling darted a quick glance at the quarterdeck. “The purser. ’E’s dead!”

A new ripple of uneasiness broke over the waiting men, and Pochin stared across at Allday who was leaning watchfully against the mast. “Did you hear that, man?”