beekeepers as men who had dangerous creatures in their power. But even in the countryside he made exceptions for poachers, tinkers, and gypsies.
During one of his snooping expeditions, he explained, he had encountered Jom York, king of the beachcombers, in a slimy little shebeen. Later, Hoare made a friend of the man when he slipped one of his royal henchmen out from the grip of the press. Jom York kept every longshoreman and mudlark, as well as his beachcombers, well under his eye and his large, horny thumb. He extracted his dues of information from all, and from their receivers and fences as well.
It was a long tale, made longer by Hoare's need to use his exhausting emergency whisper toward the end.
'He smells horrible, but he has his uses,' Hoare concluded. By now, the two were dissecting a grilled turbot.
'But what about the Marine uniform?'
'As you observed this morning, it is unheard of for a captain to allow his cabin door to go unguarded. The captains right here at Spithead in '97 learned that to their cost, as did Bligh of the Bounty.'
'And Hermione's beast of a captain, as well,' added Gladden.
'Exactly. And from what we have learned of Captain Hay, he was no man to skimp on proper routine. So I believe that, as Sergeant Doyle avows, a Marine guard was posted and that the murderer either enticed him away from his post or did away with him in some way. Or-more likely-the murderer was the Lobster himself.
'And Vantage's sergeant of Marines admits the head count he took that night may have been off by one or even two. And he reports a missing uniform.'
Chapter VI
Wednesday afternoon, a frightened, fetid wharf rat brought a soggy parcel to the Swallowed Anchor's snug. Susan the pink girl brought both rat and parcel to Hoare and Gladden. Mr. Prickett, who now would let no one detach him from his mute lieutenant, looked with wide, delighted eyes at the smelly things. Both objects, wrapped in oatmeal-colored shoddy, oozed and stank of harbor mud. As between the courier and the packet, only one was the object of Hoare's interest. He dismissed the other with a shilling, and the creature poured gratefully away, carrying its stench with it and singing Hoare's praises discordantly.
Hoare drew his sheath knife and cut the cord binding the parcel. A waterlogged red garment slipped to the floor. He smiled at it as if it were cloth of gold.
Hoare brought the coat's collar up to his nose and sniffed. Then he did the same, first with one of the folded-back cuffs, then with the other. He took a huge white kerchief out of his own coattails and wiped it across the inside of the coat collar where it would have rubbed against the wearer's neck, and then across the cuffs. He nodded to himself and handed the coat to the little mid.
'Take it away, Mr. Prickett,' he whispered, 'and label it 'Coat found in Portsmouth Harbor.' Put today's date on it. Oh, and take this, too, please.'
He handed Mr. Prickett the kerchief. 'Label it 'kerchief, with matter removed from Marine uniform found in Portsmouth Harbor, this date.' So, Gladden. We can be practically certain this coat was not last worn by one of Vantage's Marines.'
'How can you say that?' asked Gladden.
'Work it out, sir. Work it out.'
That afternoon Mr. Gladden escorted Hoare to the place where his brother lay in durance.
Fortunately, the durance faced south, and the afternoon sun poured into it through a small barred window set high in the rough stone walls. There was no need to light the tallow candles flanking the pitcher and basin on the deal table.
In looks, the brothers shared only their wavy corn-yellow hair. Where Peter was shorter than Hoare, Arthur Gladden would have looked him in the eye when he rose to greet them, but for his stooped, scholarly posture. Instead of a bright cornflower blue, his eyes looked faded. Where his brother's face was robust and ruddy, Arthur was lantern-jawed and pallid. He wore clean breeches at last, but the odor of his lapse lingered faintly about him. It was reinforced by the reek of the untended chamber pot in one corner.
'What news do you bring, Brother?' Arthur Gladden asked anxiously in a tense tenor, before Peter could even introduce Hoare.
'None good yet, lad, none bad,' Peter Gladden said. 'But I have enlisted a wizard on your behalf. Let me make you known to Lieutenant Bartholomew Hoare of Admiral Hardcastle's staff, who has agreed to serve you as counsel on Thursday.'
'But I thought you were going to stand for me!'
'I am, dear boy, but you know quite well how little I know about all the pettifogging details of court-martial proceedings. Mr. Hoare will back me up with all his experience.'
'Hoare. Is that your real name?' asked Arthur Gladden with what sounded like genuine interest.
'Yes,' whispered Hoare.
'Oh, you needn't whisper here,' said Arthur. 'Nobody bothers to listen. In fact, I believe I could walk right out of this place without anybody's stopping me.' He paused, as if thinking the idea over, and brightened. 'But then they'd catch me, and they'd be sure I was guilty.' He sighed.
'Are you guilty?' asked Hoare. 'And I do not whisper for secrecy's sake but because I cannot speak in any other way. It is a nuisance, I know, but one has to make the best of it.'
'No, sir, I am not guilty. I admit Captain Hay's outburst made me tremble with anger, which is why I spoke up to him. I realize I never should have done that. But he was so angry that he turned purple and laid hands on me, forcibly. That is why I-'
'Fled,' said Hoare. 'Have you any way of proving what you say, that you grappled with the captain only in order to escape him?'
'No, but I would suppose the Marine guard would speak up for me,' Arthur replied.
'Then there was a Marine guard at the cabin door?'
'Of course there was, Mr. Hoare.' The prisoner's voice was stiff. 'Have you ever known the captain's cabin in any of His Majesty's ships not to be guarded?'
For the first time, Hoare thought, the man sounds like a naval officer.
'Who was he, do you know?' he asked.
'A Marine, just a Marine,' Arthur replied. 'Truly, I don't think anyone can tell one Lobster from another-except perhaps another Lobster. They're all statues in red coats and heavy boots. Don't you think so?'
Hoare looked at Peter Gladden as if to say, 'I told you so.'
'As I said,' Arthur went on, 'there was a Marine on guard when I reported to Captain Hay's cabin. In fact, he opened the door and announced me, just as they always do. Frankly, I did not notice him as I left, since I was pressed by an urgency.'
The morning dawned bright, clear, and busy on the day of Lt. Arthur Gladdens court-martial on charges of having murdered his captain, Adam Hay. Flotillas of watercraft made their way across the sparkling harbor to converge on Defiant, 74, the venue selected by Charles Wright, her captain and president of the court-martial.
Vantage's own vacant cabin would have been the proper place for the court-martial of one of her officers. But both the prominent and the curious were expected; rumor had reached Portsmouth that even royalty might appear. On these grounds and Mr. Bennett's advice, Captain Wright allowed his own life to be disrupted and his own cabin in Defiant to be taken over.
On the table behind which the members of the court were to sit, among the quills, inkwells, and sand, lay Arthur Gladden's sword. It was placed athwartships. If the court arrived at a 'guilty' verdict, the blade of the sword would face him on his return to the cabin after the court's deliberations.
'Make way!' called a Marine. As the members filed into the cabin along the way cleared for them, the audience rose almost to a man. One guest, a massive figure in admiral's gold braid and the vivid blue Garter ribbon,
