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“We are one of His Majesty’s ships,” he said stiffly. “You are under the jurisdiction of the navy, Captain. And you will nottake this man.”
The man, Stoughton, drew breath at this, and left off looking quite so terrified.
“He’s right, you know.” Captain Hanson, crammed into the tiny cabin with Grey, Jones, and Stoughton, had been listening to all the arguments and counterarguments, an expression of bemused absorption on his face. “His authority on his own vessel is absolute—save a senior naval officer should come aboard.”
“Well, bloody hell! Are you not a senior officer, then?” Jones cried. His eyes were bloodshot, he was soaked with river water, and his hair was standing on end.
“Well, yes,” Hanson said mildly. “But the gentleman who wrote that letter is a good deal more senior still.” He nodded at the open letter on the desk, the sheet of paper that Stoughton had been carrying in his bosom.
It was crumpled and damp, but clearly legible. It was signed by a vice-admiral, and it gave one Howard Stoughton safe passage upon any of His Majesty’s ships.
“But the man is a fucking traitor!” Jones was still holding his cutlass. He tightened his fist upon it and glared at the hapless Stoughton, who recoiled a little but stood his ground.
“I am not!” he said, sticking out his chin. “’Twasn’t treason, whatever else you like to call it.”
The two sea captains glanced at each other, and Grey felt something unseen pass between them.
“A word with you, sir?” Hanson asked politely. “If you will perhaps excuse us, gentlemen…”
Grey and Jones were obliged to leave, the Ronson’s mate escorting them up on deck and out of earshot.
“I don’t frigging believe it. How can he…”
Grey wasn’t listening. He went to the rail and leaned over, to see Stapleton engaged in argument with the gig’s bosun, apparently over the portmanteau. The bosun had the case between his feet, and appeared to be resisting Stapleton’s efforts to open it.
“What do you think is in there, Mr. Stapleton?” he called.
Neil looked up, face still flushed, and Grey caught the gleam of his teeth as he shouted back.
“Gold,” he said. “Maybe papers. Maybe a name. I hope so.”
Grey nodded, then caught the bosun’s eye.
“Don’t let him open it,” he called, and turned away. Occam’s razor said Stoughton had acted alone—all other things being equal. But someone had exerted considerable force upon the navy to produce that letter. And he did not think Stoughton possessed anything like that sort of influence.
Grey smelt a rat; a large one.
If he hadn’tacted alone, Grey wanted the name of his confederate. And he had no faith at all that that name would ever come to light, once Hubert Bowles got his hands on it. Particularly not if that name had anything to do with His Majesty’s navy.
The sound of the cabin door opening presaged the appearance on deck of Captain Hanson, who jerked his chin to summon Grey aside. He looked bemused.
“Right,” he said. “I have thirty seconds, and this is between you and me. He is who you think he is, and he’s done what you think he’s done—and he’s going to France in the Ronson.I’m sorry.”
Grey took a long, deep breath, and wiped a flying strand of hair out of his face.
“I see,” he said, calmly under the circumstances. “He sold the copper to the navy.”
Hanson had the grace to look embarrassed.
“It is wartime,” he said. “The lives of our men—”
“Is the life of a sailor worth more than that of a soldier?”
Hanson’s lips set in a grimace, but he didn’t reply.
Grey realized that his nails were cutting into the palms of his hands, and consciously unclenched his fists, breathing. Hanson was stirring, preparing to go.
“One thing,” Grey said, holding Hanson’s eye.
The captain made a brief motion of the head, not quite agreement, but willingness to listen.
“One minute alone with that portmanteau. The price of the gu
Hanson’s jaw worked for a moment.
“Not alone,” he said finally. “With me.”
“Done,” said Grey.
It was nearly sunset when he emerged from Captain Hanson’s cabin. Jones was sitting on a gun case by the rail. He had passed the point of apoplexy long since, and merely regarded Grey with a suspicious, bloodshot eye.
“Got it, did you?” he said.
Grey nodded.
“And you aren’t going to tell me, are you?” Jones sounded bitter, but resigned.
Grey reached into his pocket, brought out the small lump of the leopard’s head, cold and hard, and dropped it into Jones’s open palm.
“You have the proof you sought. You and Gormley were right; the ca
Seeing Jones’s brow knit, he hardened his voice.
“That, Captain, is an order from a superior officer. Assuming you would prefer that your colonel continues in ignorance of your association with Mr. Bowles, I suggest you follow it.”
Jones made a small rumbling noise in his throat, but nodded reluctantly.
“Yes, all right. But that the bugger should escape altogether…and now you’re going to let the other bugger escape, too, aren’t you? The man who brokered this infernal transaction? I tell you, Major, it drives me mad!”
“I don’t blame you.” Grey sat down beside him, suddenly exhausted. “War may be a brutal occupation, but politics is far more so.”
They sat in silence for a moment, watching the sailors. Appledore was bellowing for the gig to be brought alongside. Hearing this, Jones sat bolt upright once more.
“But poor little Herbert Gormley—what of him? Tell me at least that you made Stoughton tell you what he did with Gormley! Is he dead?”
Fatigue of a not unpleasant sort blanketed Grey’s limbs. He was tired, but not drained. And what was another hour or two, between him and the delightful prospect of supper and bed? The London end of the business could wait until tomorrow.
“No, he’s in the hulks,” Grey said, nodding upriver at the distant prison ships. “We’re going to go and get him now.”
The navy was in it up to their necks!” Quarry said. “Goddamned bloody sods!”
Grey had seldom seen Quarry so angry. The scar on his cheek stood out white and the eye on that side was pulled nearly shut.
“Not all of them.” He rubbed a hand across his face, still surprised to find it smooth. He felt seedy and grimy—but Tom Byrd had insisted upon shaving him before letting him go to the Beefsteak.
“Hanson didn’t know; if he had, he would never have agreed to board the Ronson.And he was very angry at discovering that his bosun’s mate—that was Appledore, the apelike fellow I told you of—was involved in such adventures without his knowledge. Had it not been for his indignation at being so practiced upon—his authority usurped without his knowledge or consent—I doubt he would have told me anything. As it was…”
As it was, the matter had become clear to Grey sometime before Hanson himself had realized the degree of the navy’s involvement. For Appledore to have abducted Gormley—taking all the men he could find who matched Gormley’s description—obviously at Stoughton’s instigation, but without the knowledge of his own captain…
“That argued the existence of someone inthe navy, involved in the matter, whose authority superseded Hanson’s. And when I saw the letter from the…gentleman of whom we spoke—” They were alone in the Beefsteak’s smoking room, but there were people in the hallway, and discretion forbade his speaking the vice-admiral’s name aloud in any case.