person in attendance who was not a flag officer was Henry Prickett, Esquire. The advocate sat, as episcopal in demeanor as always, at the long gleaming mahogany, among persons who clearly perceived him as a colleague and an equal.
An admiral unknown to Hoare leaned over to whisper in Mr. Prickett's ear. The latter shook his head.
'Too soon, sir, in my opinion. The right choice, yes, but far too soon.'
'It's obvious, my lord,' the First Sea Lord declared dismissively. 'Hardcastle's the man.'
'Oh, but my lord,' the First Lord said, 'while I quite understand
… after all, though, Sir George is a mere… a mere'-he bent his ear to his secretary's urgent, whispered prompting-'a mere, as I was saying, rear admiral. Of the blue,' he added in obvious repetition, his demeanor making it clear he was uncertain what the matter of an admiral's color had to do with the matter of settling upon Sir Hugh's successor.
Lord Manymead is interfering, Hoare mused as the First Lord droned on, in matters that he does not understand. The phrase reminded him of something he knew he had put into that mental commonplace book of his. What was it, now? Ah, he had it. It had been in connection with Miss Jane Austen, that interfering lady, who had so adroitly played matchmaking juggler with the hearts of Miss Anne Gladden and Harvey Clay. With the horrible example of this First Lord at hand, he could now improve upon the trope he had then begun. 'And while the House of Peers withholds… its legislative hand, and noble statesmen do not itch… to interfere in matters which… they do not understand. ' Very good.
But he must pay attention. The First Lord was still droning away.
'Besides, there is Admiral Deere to be considered.'
Richard Deere was a recent creation known to Hoare, by reputation only, as a conniving, toad-eating vindictive man with a bilious digestion and an over-accommodating wife.
At this, Mr. Henry Prickett steepled his hands.
'If a mere layman may introduce his sentiments, First Lord,' he said modestly, 'the interests of the service would appear in this case to override the individual personal interests of the parties involved. In these perilous days, the nation faces an insidious, deadly enemy, one whose servants-be they in his pay or merely self-deluded-have just assassinated the head of the navy's intelligence operation.
'With all due respect, my lords, I must urge the selection in his stead of the best man for the job, one who has already demonstrated courage, wisdom, and energy in a position very similar to the one which is vacant. That man is unquestionably Rear Admiral Sir George Hardcastle.'
'If we were to appoint Hardcastle,' the First Lord said, 'Deere would be insulted and consternated. He might even resign.'*
'A consternation devoutly to be wished,' came a powerful voice from the far end of the table. There was a murmur of agreement. Seeing that he had fated to lose this battle with the admirals, the First Lord conceded, and, mentally, at least, withdrew from the conference. In such company, he was not a very strong man.
'There, Captain Hoare,' Mr. Prickett said as the room emptied of chattering dignitaries, 'Upon my soul, I do believe I just struck a blow for England.'
'I do believe you are right, sir,' Hoare replied. 'And without even getting out of your chair. Pray accept my hand, sir.'
'So, Hoare, you persist in your efforts to rise up the ladder of promotion, even if it means killing off the flag officers of the navy, one by one. As if you were a French marksman in a main top, with a rifle.'
By this, Hoare knew, Admiral Sir George Hardcastle intended him to understand he was jesting. Sir George knew quite well how Hoare had come to lose his voice.
'Sir,' he whispered, with a properly obsequious smile. Sir George had made himself quite at home in the spot his vast predecessor had chosen; behind the vast desk, tailored for Sir Hugh's tun of a body, Hardcastle's spare, square form looked almost like a child's except for the short, coarse, white Brutus-cut hair. Hoare was still accustomed to seeing a figure there that, in bulk though not in competence, minimized the present occupant. Mr. Clay would be pleased to see the change, he supposed, then chastised himself for a lack of charity toward the afflicted.
'Tell me about your discussions with Sir Hugh. I have not time for you to write a report for me, nor to read it. So you must whisper away as best you can. I'll order shrub, if it will help you along.'
At Hoare's nod, the admiral did as he had suggested. Hoare took a sip of the bland stuff, and commenced. Physically, it was hard work, but he found the intellectual part advanced by the recency of his repeated interrogations, not only by Mr. Goldthwait and Mr. Prickett but also by his late commander himself. Nonetheless, the morning was well advanced before he came to a close. Hoare barely stopped himself from mopping his forehead- instead, he refreshed himself with a sip of shrub and sat back to take his medicine.
'So,' Sir George declared, 'above and beyond the certainty that this office has been penetrated and its confidentiality broken, Sir Hugh believed that at least one party is engaged in a deeper, broader conspiracy against the Crown. Two, perhaps, if there are two, they may be working in concert, or they may not. The 'who's' and the 'how's' are blanks, it seems. Am I correct?'
Hoare could only nod; the dregs of the shrub filled his mouth.
'Well then, sir, since you are already underway, maintain your course. Keep me informed as necessary; avoid rocks and shoals. Now be off with you, sir; I have much to do and no time in which to do it. Hammersmith!'
As the flag secretary opened the door to let Hoare pass and enter himself, Sir George halted Hoare in place.
'Oh, and by the way, Hoare, I shall have no need for those seamen ye borrowed from me so long ago and never thought to return. Stone, I think, and Bold. You may keep 'em, with my compliments.'
Since Hoare had intended to do just that, with or without permission, he merely bowed and took his leave.
Chapter X
I don't understand you, Saul. What have you against Hoare? I hate the bastard myself, I admit, but what do you gain by capturing him and toying with him the way you say you want to do?'
'I choose to do so, sir. It's as simple as that. He has defeated my people, opposed me. I do not brook opposition. I shall break him…. Break him, do ye hear? Break him, let him remain in place, and make a tool of his shards.'
The tracks of hoofs and wheels marked the thin snow cover, black against the moonlit white. That was odd; Hoare had passed neither cart nor carriage on his way home from Royal Duke, and there were more hoofprints than even a chaise and pair could explain. As far as he could tell-for, unlike Thoday, he was no tracker-the hoofprints went in both directions. Had there been visitors at Dirty Mill, come and gone?
Out of the moon-shadow of a spinney, a horseman rushed upon Hoare pell-mell. Hoare's cob shied, swerved, bucked, tossing last week's frozen snow in a hard spray about its hoofs. Hoare was nearly unseated and saved himself only by a strong heave on the reins. He forced his animal about so that it faced the attacker. To his astonishment, the man swung a saber at him; awkwardly wielded, it gleamed silver in the moonlight. His sparse teeth gleamed likewise, in a determined grin.
Why he was being attacked in this fashion, Hoare had neither a notion nor the time to consider. This was no swordsman, he realized as he backed the cob to gain time, nor was he a highwayman. Highwaymen these days commonly stood off and aimed a pair of barkers at their prey; they did not go in for escrime. Had they both been afoot, Hoare would have had no trouble in drawing his own weapon and disarming the silly ass. As it was, though, he had never in his born days played hussar, and he felt uncertain of the outcome. Hastily and awkwardly, he grappled and drew. Before he could parry, he must duck a wild slash, and his hat flew off. Instead of taking off Hoare's head, the attacker's blade cropped the cob's left ear.
The poor beast screamed and reared, and Hoare lost a stirrup. He gripped with his thighs as tightly as he would have gripped the mizzen when a-slide deckward from the crosstrees, and began to jab-jab-jab with his own
