Allday nodded and then slowly turned his head, to look at Onslow. He was standing a bit apart from the others, his legs relaxed, his brown arms hanging loosely at his sides. But there was an air of animal watchfulness about the man, betrayed in the flat hardness of his eyes and the excited dilation of his nostrils. Allday released his breath very slowly. In his own mind he had no doubt as to where the finger of accusation would point.

Old Strachan muttered, “Looks bad, don’t it? I got a feelin’ that we’re in for another squall!”

There was a sudden burst of activity from the quarterdeck, and as every head turned aft Captain Rennie’s marines trooped up the ladders and formed a solid scarlet barrier athwart the deck. Sergeant Garwood dressed the ranks and then took his place beside the small drummer. Captain Rennie stood coolly ahead of his men, one hand resting on his sword hilt, his face empty of expression.

From the side of his mouth the sergeant rasped, “Fix bayonets!” Every hand moved as one, the blades rippling along the swaying front rank before clicking into place on the long muskets.

On deck the tension was almost unbearable. Every man watched transfixed, afraid to speak or turn his head for fear of missing some part of this new drama. Here and there a hand moved to dash away the sweat, and somewhere in the packed throng a man began to cough nervously.

Allday saw the captain speaking with Lieutenant Herrick and the boatswain, and watched as Bolitho shook his head at something one of them had said. It might have been anger or disbelief. It was impossible to tell.

Vibart had realised that the search was over, and moved slowly aft, his hands pushing the silent men aside like reeds, his redrimmed eyes fixed on the little group behind the marines.

Pochin whispered, “We’ll soon know now!”

Allday darted another glance at Onslow. For a moment he felt something like pity for him. He had been so long penned up in a ship he had known no other life but the ceaseless battle of the lower deck.

Captain Bolitho’s voice broke into his thoughts, and when he looked aft again he saw him at the quarterdeck rail, his hands resting on the starboard carronade as he stared down at the assembled seamen.

“As most of you know by now, Mr Evans, the purser, is dead. He was killed in his cabin a short while ago, without pity, and without reason.” He broke off as Herrick descended one of the ladders to speak to the first lieutenant. Then he continued in the same even tone, “Every man will stand fast until the culprit has been taken!”

Pochin’s scarred face was streaming with sweat. He said in a hoarse voice, “ ’E’s got some ’opes! Every bastard in the ship ’ated the bloody purser!”

But no one responded or even gave him a glance. Every eye was on Vibart as he moved purposefully along the main deck with Brock at his back.