Even the sound of sea and canvas seemed stilled, and as Vibart halted below the main-yard Allday could hear his heavy breathing and the squeak of his sword belt.

For a few seconds longer the aweful suspense continued. Then, as Vibart ran his eye slowly around the watching faces, Brock stepped forward and lifted his cane.

“That’s him, sir! That’s the murderous cur!”

The cane fell in a tight arc, and Allday reeled back, half stunned from the blow.

The weeks and months dropped away, and he was back on the cliff road with Brock lashing out at his face with the same cane while the other members of the press gang crowded round to watch. He could feel the blood stinging the corner of his mouth, and there seemed to be a great roaring in his ears. Voices were calling and shouting all around him, yet he felt unable to move or defend himself as Brock struck him once more across the neck with his cane. Vibart was staring at him, his eyes almost hidden by his brows as he watched Brock pull him from the mast and away from the other men.

Old Strachan croaked, “ ’E was with me! ’E never done it, Mr Vibart!”

At last Vibart seemed to find his voice. But his words were strangled, as if his body was so taut with insane anger that he could hardly get himself to speak. “Silence, you stupid old fool!” He thrust the man aside. “Or I will take you, too!”

Some of the men had recovered from the first shock and now surged forward, pressed on by those at the rear. Instantly there was a barked command from the quarterdeck, and a line of muskets rose above the rail. There was no doubting their intent, or the gleam in Sergeant Garwood’s eyes.

Bolitho was still at one side of the rail, his figure dark against the pale sky. “Bring that man aft, Mr Vibart!”

Old Strachan was muttering vaguely, “ ’E was with me, I swear it!”

Brock pushed Allday towards the quarterdeck and snapped. “Were you, Strachan? All the time?”

Strachan was confused. “Well, all but a minute, Mr Brock!”

Brock’s voice was harsh. “It only takes a minute to kill a man!”

Allday made another effort to clear his dazed mind as he was pushed up a ladder and past the grim-faced marines. He felt like another person, someone on the outside untouched by the cruel reality of events. Even his limbs felt numb and beyond his control, and the cuts from Brock’s cane had neither pain nor meaning. He saw Lieutenant Herrick watching him like a stranger, and beyond him Proby, the master, looked away, as if he could not bear to meet his eye.

Captain Bolitho seemed to appear from nowhere, and as they faced each other across three feet of deck Allday heard him say, “John Allday, do you have anything to say?”

He had to move his numb lips several times before the words would come. “No, sir.” An insane voice seemed to cry from the depths of his soul. Tell him! Tell him! He tried again. “It wasn’t me, sir.”