The Bomb Vessel

who considered himself clever when he was not. He was, therefore, a dangerous person to thwart, and Drinkwater had crossed him.

Mr Jex's stupidity now led him to believe that certain facts that had come his way were a providential sign that his new, Quakerish philosophy had divine approval, and that his deductive powers used in reaching his conclusion merely proved that he was a man of equal intellect with the surgeon, hence the familiar contraction of the old cognomen, 'Sawbones'.

It was unfortunate that a mind skilled in feathering its own nest and dividing the rations of unfortunate seamen to an eighth part (for himself) was a mind that delighted in nosing into the affairs of others. He had nursed a grievance against Lieutenant Drinkwater since he had been out-manoeuvred in the matter of his appointment. Drinkwater had intimidated him as well as humiliated him in his own eyes. Jex had not expected fate to be so kind as to put into his hands such weapons as he now possessed, but now that he had them it seemed that it was one more confirmation of his superior abilities.

It had started when he had been turned from his cot at one in the morning by an angry Mr Trussel. The gunner had brought a new recruit and Jex had let the dripping wretch know exactly what he thought of being roused to attend to the wants of waterborne scum. So vehement had he become that he had shoved his lantern in the face of the newcomer. Jex was incapable of analysing the precise nature of the expression he found there, but the man was not afraid as he should have been, only cold and shivering. Jex's suspicions were roused because the man did not quail before him.

Jex had seen the man immediately he came aboard, before his hair was cut and he had lost weight, while he was still dressed in a gentlemen's breeches. At that moment Jex did not recognise Edward, merely took note of him. And because Jex had taken note of him he continued to observe 'Waters'. Rogers had quartered Edward Drinkwater among the 'firemen', an action station for the most inept and inexperienced waisters whose duty was to pump water into the firehoses deployed by the purser.

There might have been no more to it had Jex not gone ashore for cabin stores at Yarmouth shortly before the order to sail. Being idly curious he had bought a newspaper, an extravagance he was well able to afford. Had he not purchased the paper he might never have made the connection between the new 'landsman volunteer' and the man he had seen in the Blue Fox, a man who had come into the taproom immediately Lieutenant Drinkwater had left the Inn.

The Yarmouth Courier reported: 'A foul double murder, which heinous crime had lately been perpetrated upon an emigrant French nobleman, the Marquis de la Roche-Jagu, and his pretty young mistress, Mlle Pascale Eugenie Vrignaud. The despicable act had been carried out in the marquis's lodgings at Newmarket. He had died from a sword cut in the right side of the neck which severed the trapezius muscle, the carotid artery and the jugular vein. Mlle Vrignaud had been despatched by a cut on the left temple which had rendered her instantly senseless and resulted in severe haemorrhage into the cranial cavity. Doctor Ezekiel Cotton of Newmarket was of the opinion that a single blow had killed both parties…'

Jex rightly concluded that the two lovers had been taken in the sexual act and that the murderer had struck a single impassioned blow. But it was the last paragraph that filled Mr Jex's heart with righteous indignation: 'A certain Edward Drinkwater had earlier been in the company of Mile Vrignaud and has since disappeared. He is described as a man of middle height and thick figure, having a florid complexion and wearing his own brown hair, unpow-dered.'

Mr Jex had embraced this news with interest, his curiosity and cunning were aroused and he remembered the man in the Blue Fox.

'I tell you I am right,' Jex repeated.

Lettsom looked up from the opened cask. 'There is nothing wrong with this sauerkraut, it always smells foul when new opened.'

Lettsom straightened up.

'To save 'em from scurvy

Our captain did shout,

You shall feed 'em fresh cabbage

And old sauerkraut.

'Make 'em eat it, Mr Jex, Mr Drinkwater's right…'

'No, no, Mr Lettsom. Damme but you haven't been listening. I mean this report in the paper here.' He thrust the Yarmouth Courier under Lettsom's nose. Lettsom took it impatiently and beckoned the lantern closer. When he had finished he looked up at the purser. Jex's porcine eyes glittered.

'You are linking our commander with the reported missing man?'

'Exactly. You see my point, then.'

'No, I do not. Do you think I am some kind of hierophant that I read men's minds.'

Jex was undeterred by the uncomprehended snub.

'Suppose that the murderer…'

'Even that scurrilous rag does not allege that the missing man actually carried out murder.' The legal nicety was lost on Jex.

'Well suppose that he was the murderer, and was related to the captain.'

'Good heavens Mr Jex, I had no idea you had such a lively imagination.' Lettsom made to leave but Jex held him.

'And suppose that the captain got him aboard here under cover of night…'

'What precisely do you mean?' Lettsom looked again at the sly features of the purser.

'Why else would Lieutenant Drinkwater turn his own brother forrard? Eh? I'm telling you that the man Edward Waters is the man wanted for this murder at Newmarket.' He slapped the paper with the back of his hand. Lettsom was silent for a while and Jex pressed his advantage. Lettsom did not know that Drinkwater's acquisition of Jex's funds had poisoned the purser against his commander. Jex had writhed under this extortion, ignoring the fact that his own perquisites were equally immoral.

'Well, will you help me, then?' asked Jex revealing to Lettsom the reason for this trip into the hold and the extent of Jex's stupid-ity.

'I? No sir, I will not.' Lettsom was indignant. He made again to leave the hold and again Jex restrained him.

'If I am right and you have refused to help me you would have obstructed the course of justice…'

'Jex, listen to me very carefully,' said Lettsom, 'if you plot against the captain of a ship of war you are guilty of mutiny for which you will surely hang.'

Lettsom retired to his cabin and pulled out his flute. He had not played it for many weeks and instantly regretted his lack of practice. His was not a great talent and he rarely played in any company other than that of his wife. He essayed a scale or two before launching into a low air of his own composition, during which his mind was able to concentrate upon its present preoccupation.

Mr Lettsom was a man of superficial frivolity and apparent indifference which he had adopted early in his naval life as a rampart against the cruelty in the service. He had found it kept people at a distance and, with the exceptions of his wife and three daughters, he liked it that way. The experience of living as a surgeon's mate through the American War had strangled any inherent feeling he had for the sufferings of humanity. In the main he had found his mess mates ignorant, bigotted and insufferably self-seeking; his superiors proud, haughty and incompetent and his inferiors bru-talised into similar sub-divisions according to their own internal hierarchy.

To his patients Lettsom had applied the dispassionate results of his growing experience. He was known as a good surgeon because he had an average success rate and did not drink to excess. His frivolous indifference did not encourage deep friendship and he was usually left to his own devices, although his versifying brought him popular acclaim at mess dinners. He had rarely made any friends, most of his professional relationships were of the kind he presently enjoyed with Rogers, a kind of mutual regard based on respect overlaying dislike.

But Mr Lettsom's true nature was something else. His deeper passions were known only to his family. His wife well understood his own despair at the total inadequacy of his abilities, his resentment at the inferiority of surgery to 'medicine', his fury at the quackery of socially superior physicians. A long observation of humanity's conceit had taught him of its real ignorance.

In a sense his was a simple mind. He believed that humanity was essentially good, that it was merely the