"The good Broadbridge is not with you?"

  Harry shook his head. If he was going to say anything, it would be Bartholomew who'd get the information first. The surgeon seemed to realize that Harry would say no more and he lapsed into silence, nursing his cup. But that didn't suit Harry Ludlow.

  "They're off on another cruise, you say?"

  Fairhairn nodded. Bart has a rendezvous to keep, I hear."

  Coffee, fresh bread, and more of the strong smelling sausage were placed before them, and after the exertions of the night they set to with a will. But Harry was trying to place this new information in the context of his intentions. He'd yet to see the material that he had to hand, so he might, after all, need Bartholomew's help. He had fully intended to string the man along. James had been right. Bartholomew had been toying with an invitation to join the syndicate the other night. Whoever came to the door had told him about the gold they were carrying. Broadbridge was a liability, and the man sitting in his room had come not only with money, but bearing a successful reputation. As long as he saw Harry as a potential investor in the syndicate he would be well disposed towards him.

  Fairhairn watched him silently. Harry, sick of being examined, looked directly at him, forcing the surgeon to avert his eyes. In the daylight, with the sun streaming through the tavern windows, the. dry grey colour of his skin was apparent. The stubble on his chin looked grey as well, rather than fair in the manner of his thin lanky hair. The lips, set in such a colourless face, formed a slash of red which glistened, for he was forever licking them, a sure indication of the nature of his habit. His eyes were red too, not just the rims, but the whites, and with the pale blue of his pupils he would have looked like a corpse if it was not for the constant small involuntary movements that racked his body.

  Fairhairn was looking past Harry again, avoiding his eye. You went out to join Captain Broadbridge, I believe."

  The surgeon paused slightly before continuing: Crosby tells me that you are in contention for the same ship. Said you were in a high old temper when you found out that Captain Broadbridge was aboard."

  "If you go listening to Crosby, you're a fool."

  Fairhairn stiffened, then pointed to the huge bloodstain on Harry's jacket. I am a surgeon, Mr. Ludlow. In the course of my duties I have often found that my clothes take on that colour. It is the bane of a medical man's existence."

  Harry responded sharply. I must say that I find the drift of your remarks impertinent."

  Fairhairn flushed. Harry wiped his mouth and threw down his napkin.

  "And now, if you will forgive me, I must find hot water and a razor. It may seem fitting to you, sir, to appear at breakfast as you are. But I am accustomed to more careful society."

  Fairhairn smiled, unaffected by that remark. He long since given up caring about his appearance. Harry stood up. He didn't leave the table as his eyes were still locked with those of the surgeon. Pender raised himself, breaking the spell, and with his servant still munching a mouthful of bread, they made their way towards the rear of the tap-room, to the door that led to Ma Thomas's domain.

  "Hot water, Pender, if you please, he cried, proceeding up the stairs three at a time. Ma Thomas may have run a bawdy house, but it was nevertheless an efficient one. The water arrived in less than five minutes. Pender produced Harry's shaving kit, with soap and combs, hazel twigs for his teeth, and dusting powder for the wig he never wore, all together in a mahogany box inlaid with brass. Harry opened it, peering at himself in the mirror affixed to the lid.

  No wonder Fairhairn had been curious. Besides the state of his coat, his face was covered in tiny abrasions from last night. He sat down in the chair while Pender worked up a lather, brushing it on to his chin when he was satisfied. Harry winced slightly as the hot soapy water found its way into the broken skin.

  Pender had, up until now, kept his peace, aware that Harry would do what he wanted regardless of his opinion. But he could contain himself no longer. What happens now about buying that ship, your honour?"

  Harry could have declined to answer that, since it really wasn't Pender's place to ask. Yet their relationship fell outside of that which normally existed between master and servant.

  "I'll buy her if I can. And I'll crew her with the late Captain Broadbridge's men. And then we shall be off to sea again. It was with an impish delight that he saw Pender's face fall at his next remark. Perhaps in the company of Gideon Bartholomew."

  Pender, not really knowing how his captain felt about Bartholomew, refused to be drawn, taking refuge in a generalized criticism.

  "Don't give his hands much time ashore. Worse than the bleedin Navy."

  Harry laughed, narrowly avoiding a mouth full of soap as Pender jabbed the brush in his direction. It was beautifully done, for you could never say it was deliberate. Never fear, Pender. Bartholomew's not my sort either. A rendezvous, Fairhairn said. I wonder where that is? He seems to have some golden touch when it comes to the taking of prizes. That can only mean one thing."

  "He must know where to look, said Pender.

  "I'll say. He was looking in the right place when those sailing out of Leghorn were writing to Admiral Hotham complaining of lack of income. If the Navy managed to drive them into penury, how have the men here done so well? They're spending money like water."

  "So you don't plan that we should join your brother?"

  Harry, who had lain back with his eyes closed, looked up at his servant. He'd been mistaken about the man's mood. The usual cheerful smile was missing. Pender was worried, that much was clear. Harry reasoned that he must be rattled by the unfamiliarity of the place. Harry, more accustomed to the perils of ports all over the world, even with what had already happened, felt less threatened.

  Then he felt a slight pang of guilt as another ploy slipped unbidden into his mind. He'd sent James away with the excuse that he wanted to keep him out of harm's way. But he knew that James wasn't fooled. Nothing would convince him more of Harry's peaceable intentions than if he sent Pender away as well. He would, after all, have Broadbridge's crew to protect him. Best to find out that was possible before making a final decision.

  "There are too many things need doing for that, he said, finally answering the question. I may send you back with him. He'll need his sea-chest anyway, and I'll want you to take it aboard. He'll require a deal of care for some time yet. Mr. Williams I trust, but not Barnes and the rest of the officers. If I decide against the Principessa, then I can rejoin you both aboard the next ship that comes into victual. That will be here in a few days."

  "You don't reckon that's a mite dangerous, bein here on your own?"

  "A few days will make little difference."

  Pender's face was now positively miserable. That depends on whether you take account how long we've been in Genoa, your honour. After what we've been through the last two days, it could prove mortal."

  Harry decided to ignore his drift. He couldn't leave on this afternoon's tide, and that had nothing to do with plans to attack the

  French or pretend to apply to join the syndicate. There was, quite simply, too much ~o occupy him. Besides, too many people knew that they'd been aboard the Principessa. If he went off now it would be taken as a tacit admission of guilt once the bodies of those two seamen were discovered. To cap it all, he'd had enough of that pessimism from James for one day. He returned the conversation to Bartholomew, his ships, and their success.

  "They must be covering some specific routes that the French merchantmen sail. Perhaps they have secret information about that. It's a pity we never really got a chance to talk with Broadbridge. I feel that in his cups he might have let something slip. I wonder if Sutton knows anything?"

  "He might, for he's sharp, said Pender, smiling again. You might say he has the nose of a good thief."

  "He'll be aboard the Dido."

  "Aye, said Pender. He was only ashore cause they'd been out all night. His lot can't afford to stay ashore. They ain't got the price of a drink."

  Having towelled his face dry, he handed Harry a fresh shirt, and then laid out a clean coat. While he was changing, Pender waved his set of picks, and nodded in the direction of Captain Broadbridge's sea-chest. Harry thought for a moment, then nodded. The man was dead in mysterious circumstances. It would make no difference to him, and there might be something in there that would answer some questions. His servant had the chest open in a few seconds. He lifted the lid and stood back. Harry stepped forward and started to rummage through the contents.

  What was revealed came something of a surprise. Firstly the items you would expect to find. An oilskin pouch holding some papers relating the ownership of the Dido. These were wrapped round a heavy decorated latch-key, which fell out and lodged in the small amount of clothes the chest contained. Harry flicked it over, giving it a cursory glance, noting that it had some form of heraldic device on the grip. Then he turned his attention to Broadbridge's clothes. These included the late captain's best coat and a pair of rather worn pistols. But underneath these lay a mass of elaborately scripted documents: bonds relating to a variety of enterprises, from mining concessions to shares in a scheme to promote a flying contraption,

  and finally, most numerous, share certificates for participation in an corporation set to dig a navigation canal. He selected one or two and passed them to Pender, standing behind him.

  "What the devil's all this?"

  Harry was leafing through the rest of the papers. They were all new, with the portion for the name of the certificate holder left blank. Harry thought back to the way Broadbridge had dunned them for a hundred guineas. I'm not sure. Pender. But I would say that there's more to Captain Broadbridge than meets the eye. I had half wondered if we'd find some money, but there's not even a brass farthing in here."

  Apart from all the papers the good captain had been a man of few possessions, and fewer pleasures, apparently, save the bottle.

  "He was hard up and no mistake."

  "You saw James and I advance him a hundred guineas. There's no sign of that either."

  "Perhaps he had it about his person, Captain. Or maybe it's aboard his ship."

  "That's possible. Mind, only a fool would be parted from their valuables around these parts."

  Harry closed the chest and asked Pender to relock it while he finished dressing. His buff coat was too heavy for the climate, but it was all he had. Another look in the mirror confirmed that he had once more returned to decent society.

  "Happen it's at the bottom of the harbour, said Pender.

  "I searched him before we wrapped him in those flags. He may well have had the money with him when he set out."

  "What now?"

  "Get my brother's things together. I shall go and call on Bartholomew. See if you can locate Crosby. I want a word with him. Then we'll go aboard the Dido. Once we've done that you can carry on to Sw~fisure. I want you to afford me a proper introduction to Sutton. We can then find out if he knows anything."

  Harry banged on Bartholomew's door, perhaps a shade too heavily in his impatience. But there was no response. He went back down to the side entrance and reluctantly sought out Ma Thomas. Daylight did nothing for her appearance or her temper, and she coldly informed him that other people's movements were none of her affair. This was followed by a few more imprecations at the nature of captains conspiring to impoverish her, leaving Harry no wiser. He was half-way back to the room to fetch Pender, when he ran into Bartholomew coming down.

  "Why, Captain Bartholomew. I have just been looking to find you."

  Bartholomew favoured him with a half-smile. Then you have achieved your purpose, Ludlow."

  "I wonder if we could return to your rooms; I would like to speak with you alone?"

  The other man nodded, and turned round to make his way back up the stairs. Harry followed, his nose wrinkling as he was engulfed in the odour of Bartholomew's freshly scented body. He'd obviously been at his toilet when Harry knocked. As he opened the door, Harry recalled his heavy banging, and apologized for it. Bartholomew turned quickly and looked at him, causing Harry to pull up sharply. But no words followed the look, and Harry was left wondering why he had the impression that he had alarmed Bartholomew, rather than angered him. He was shutting the door behind them when Harry spoke, and the words made him freeze with his hand still on the doorhandle.

  "Broadbridge is dead; ' Bartholomew turned slowly, looking at the ground. He said nothing for a few seconds, then lifted his hooded eyes to meet those of his guest. Dead?"

  "Murdered, along with a couple of local sailors."

  "Where?"

  "Aboard a ship called the Principessa. She's moored outside the harbour."

  Bartholomew said nothing, so Harry kept talking, outlining how he had found the body, and the subsequent attack on them in the cabin, his discovery of the two local sailors, and his continued suspicions of French involvement. Bartholomew didn't move throughout. Nor did he interrupt. He just stood, one hand on his chin, his eyes focused on a point behind Harry, listening.

  "If my suspicions are correct, you must ask yourself, Captain Bartholomew, what action they will take next."

  "I can see that it's a matter of some concern. Does anyone else know of this?

  Harry shook his head, curious at the man's detachment. Not yet. I thought that you ought to be the first to be informed."

  That mocking half-smile came back on his face. It was as though he had dismissed the matter from his mind. Is telling me first in any way connected with the conversation we had the other night?"

  Harry didn't blink. The lack of feeling for the death of one of his partners was telling. They looked at each other in silence for a few moments, as Harry waited for any further response. Bartholomew seemed in no mood to give anything away. Harry knew that it would be wise to adopt the same tone. Yet he felt he ought to register some disapproval of the lack of even the faintest sign of grief.

  "I was rather hoping to discuss with you what action to take against Captain Broadbridge's murderers before discussing business matters."

  Bartholomew's smile widened, for to him, Harry's words spoke volumes. I just wondered if you'd thought on it."

  The frown that appeared on Harry's face did nothing to dent his smile. If you are waiting for expressions of remorse, Ludlow, I will not play the hypocrite and oblige. You may have seen Broadbridge as a rescuer. Indeed you may have esteemed the fellow. I saw him as a liability."

  "The man is dead, said Harry coldly.

  For the first time the other man's voice betrayed a hint of emotion. As he spoke he rubbed his fingers gently across his brow, as though troubled by an unwanted thought. And I am sorry for it. I would wish him still alive, but out of my way."

  "Yet you agreed to advance him the money to buy that ship."

  Bartholomew was genuinely surprised. He shook his head slowly, looking Harry in the eye, as he thought about what to say next. Sit down, Ludlow, and stop frowning at me so."

  Harry paused, then turned round and sat in one of the deep armchairs. It faced the open door of the bedroom, dominated by a great four-poster of dark carved oak, the made-up bed covered in a lace counterpane. That room was panelled as well, heightening the atmosphere of life in an earlier age. He noted also that the suite was clear of any signs of habitation. Obviously his host, pacing up and down before him, was a man who liked his rooms cleaned early.

  Bartholomew didn't speak for a while, marshalling his thoughts.

  "When Broadbridge first arrived he led me, and my compatriots, to believe that he was a real tyro. He had money in his pocket, and a tall tale of exploits he'd undertaken in half the oceans of the world. And he'd heard about us. The man was afire to join, and prepared to pay good money to buy his way in."

  "Is it that simple?"

  "We are in a strange business. Care must be exercised to ensure that we're dealing with the right sort. Anyway, Broadbridge kept on at us. Said he'd settle for a share of the inn, and a chance to prove his mettle when the time came. So after some discussion, we agreed."

  "We? I have been told that you decide."

  Harry hadn't meant to sound disapproving, but he must have given that impression, for Bartholomew bristled slightly. Lovers of Classical Greece speak of the benefits of democracy, Ludlow. But if you've commanded a ship, you'll know that such notions are useless."

  "Forgive me. I thought we were talking about a syndicate of businessmen."

  "We are, but their assets float. Bartholomew smiled at his own pun. Let's say I'm the senior officer. Broadbridge showed right away that he was useless. The plan was for one of us, once we'd got him the right to sail out of here, to take him on a short cruise, to see what he was made of. We were out of the port for near six weeks. Despite my instructions to wait, he set off on his own, telling all and sundry, it seems, that he was going to return with his fortune made."

  "But it wasn't a success."

  "And no wonder, Ludlow. The man could barely read a chart, and he would brook no interference from anyone aboard, even though some of his hands have spent their lives at sea. And what did he do? He sailed right in the direction of a fleet of the King's ships, and that with half his crew deserters from the very same. Only a fool's luck saved him from losing the lot to the Navy."

  Bartholomew stopped, and shook his head slowly, wearing the smile of a parent amused at some childish misdemeanour. He sailed right through them in the dark, you know. And he was so drunk he held his course, singing at the top of his voice, and forcing even the biggest warships to sheer off."

  "Then why advance him to the money to buy the Principessa?"

  Bartholomew sat down, and looked Harry right in the eye. But I didn't. I point-blank refused to do so."

  "Did you mention your offer to me?"

  "I think it was somewhat less than an offer, Ludlow."

  "But it is that now?"

  Bartholomew shrugged. It's not that simple. First off there needs to be a vacancy. And before you mention Broadbridge, let me say he doesn't count."

  "And if there was a vacancy?"

  Bartholomew made a dismissive gesture with his hands. There are terms."