speaking with Vibart. He touched his hat and waited until Bolitho turned to face him.
`Well, Mr. Herrick?' Bolitho's smile of welcome faded. 'Is it more trouble?'
Herrick looked quickly around him. 'Mr. Evans has been murdered, sir.' He spoke in a tight, clipped voice which he no longer recognised. 'Maynard found' him a few minutes ago.' He ran his hand across his face. It was still cold, like the mark of death.
Bolitho said slowly, `What have you done so far, Mr. Herrick?' There was nothing in his 'question to betray what he must be feeling, and his features were composed in an impassive mask. `Take your time. Just tell me whgt you saw.'
Herrick moved closer to the rail, his eyes on the glittering water. In a slow, flat voice he described the events from the moment Maynard had appeared on deck to the actual second of realisation.
Bolitho listened in complete silence, and at Herrick's side Vibart stood swaying with the ship, his hands opening and closing from either anger or shock at Maynard's discovery.
Herrick concluded heavily, `He had not been dead long, sir.' He found himself repeating the midshipman's words. 'He has been cut to pieces!'
Captain Rennie marched across the deck and said crisply, `I have put some men on guard, sir.' He saw Bolitho looking at his boots and bent quickly to wipe a bright stain from the polished leather. He added calmly, `I've had a good look round, sir. Evans' pistols are missing. Stolen most likely.'
Bolitho eyed him thoughtfully. `Thank you, gentlemen. You have both behaved very well.'
Vibart said vehemently, `What did I tell you, sir? Softness with these scum is no use! They only understand a hard hand!'
Bolitho said, `His pistols, you say?'
Rennie nodded. `He had two small weapons. He was very proud of them. Gold-mounted and quite valuable, I believe. He said he got them in Spain.' He fell silent, as if he, like the others, was thinking of the dead man as he had once been. One of the most disliked men in the ship. A man with grudges and hates more than most. It was not difficult to understand that he would have an equal number of enemies.
Proby climbed the ladder and touched his hat. `May I dismiss the watch below, sir?' He seemed to realise that he was intruding and muttered, 'Beggin' your pardon, sir!'
Bolitho said, `Have the hands stay at their stations, Mr. Proby.' They all looked at him. There was a new coldness in Bolitho's voice and an unfamiliar hardness in his eyes. To Rennie he continued, `Post sentries at every hatch. Nobody will go below.'
Vibart murmured, `So you'll see it my way, sir?'
Bolitho swung round. `Someone is guilty, Mr. Vibart But not the whole ship! I don't want this man to escape, or his actions to contaminate the rest of our people!' In a calmer tone he said, 'Mr. Herrick, you will take the berth deck with Mr. Farquhar and the boatswain. Captain Rennie will search the rest of the ship with his own men.' He looked down at the waiting seamen on the decks and gangways. 'Mr. Vibart, you will take the upperdeck yourself with Mr. Brock. Look in every locker and beneath each gun, and be as quick as you can!'
He watched them troop down the ladder and then returned his attention to the crowded maindeck. Every sailor was now fully aware that something was wrong. He saw one nudge his companion, and another fell back fearfully as Vibart and the gunner pushed through the watching men.
Perhaps Vibart was right after all? He gripped his bands together behind him with such force that the pain helped to control his whirling mind. No, he must not think like that. Without faith there was nothing. Nothing at all.
As the minutes dragged on a growing wave of apprehension moved across the crowded maindeck like smoke from an uncontrollable fire. The seamen at the foot of the mainmast parted to allow Vibart and the gunner to move through and then shuffled together as if for mutual support.
Pochin rubbed his tarry hands on his trousers and glared angrily after Vibart's bulky figure. `What the hell's happenin'?' He reached out as a boatswain's mate made to pass him. 'Do you know, Mr. Josling?'
Josling darted a quick glance at the quarterdeck. 'The purser. 'E's dead!'
A new ripple of uneasiness broke over the waiting men, and Pochin stared across at Allday who was leaning watchfully against the mast. 'Did you hear that, man?
Allday nodded and then slowly turned his head to look at Onslow… He was standing a bit apart from the others, his legs relaxed, his brown arms hanging loosely at his sides. But there was an air of animal watchfulness about the man, betrayed in the flat hardness of his eyes and the excited dilation of his nostrils. Allday released his breath very slowly. In his own mind he had no doubt as,to where the finger of accusation would point.
Old Strachan muttered, 'Looks bad, don't it? I got a feelin' that we're in for another squall!'
There was a sudden burst of activity from the quarterdeck, and as every head turned aft Captain Rennie's marines trooped up the ladders and formed a solid scarlet barrier athwart the deck. Sergeant Garwood dressed the ranks and then took his place beside the small drummer. Captain Rennie stood coolly ahead of his men, one hand resting on his sword hilt, his face empty of expression.
From the side of his mouth the sergeant rasped, 'Fix bayonets!' Every hand moved as one, the blades rippling along. the swaying front rank before clicking into place on the long muskets.
On deck the tension was almost unbearable. Every man watched transfixed, afraid to speak or turn his head for fear of missing some part of this new drama. Here and there a hand moved to dash away the sweat, and somewhere in the packed throng a man began to cough nervously.
Allday saw the captain speaking with Lieutenant Herrick and the boatswain, and watched as Bolitho shook his head at something one of them had said. It might have been anger or disbelief. It was impossible to tell.
Vibart had realised that the search was over, and moved slowly aft, his hands pushing the silent men aside like reeds, his red-rimmed eyes fixed on the little group behind the marines.
Pochin whispered, `We'll soon know now!'
Allday darted another glance at Onslow. For a moment he felt something like pity for him. He had been so long penned up in a ship he had known no other life but the ceaseless battle of the lower deck.
Captain Bolitho's voice broke into his thoughts, and when he looked aft again he saw him at the quarterdeck rail, his hands resting on the starboard carronade as he stared down at the assembled seamen.
'As most of you know by now, Mr. Evans the purser is dead. He was killed in his cabin a short while ago, without pity, and without reason.' He broke off as Herrick descended one of the ladders to speak to the first lieutenant. Then he continued in the same even tone, 'Every man will stand fast until the culprit has been taken!'
Pochin's scarred face was streaming with sweat. He said in a hoarse voice, ' 'E's got some 'opes! Every bastard in the ship 'ated the bloody purser!'
But no one responded or even gave him a glance. Every eye was on Vibart as he moved purposefully along the maindeck with Brock at his back.
Even the sound of sea and canvas seemed stilled, and as Vibart halted below the mainyard Allday could hear his heavy breathing and the squeak of his sword belt.
For a few seconds longer the awful 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 curl'
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 mel '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, tool'
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
