Martin, the man of the hour, shook hands with his officers, accepted the measurements they gave him for his log, and went below deck, while all around the main deck long lines formed for rations, the sailors talking excitedly amongst themselves. Pettegree looked red with exertion. The officers themselves seemed happy too, even Mitchell grinning. The ship belonged to them again, it would seem.
He noticed that only Carrow still looked unhappy, unmoved, after witnessing the effect the captain’s speech had had on the sailors. It was a small thing, but Lenox filed it in his mind to ponder later.
Now he sought out Pettegree, who was overseeing the boisterous reception of double grog by each bluejacket. A small cupful of his soul seemed to pour out with each extra ration that was disbursed, and his agonized chatter—“Not so much, that’s easily double, don’t give them triple, man!”—made clear the cause of his turmoil.
Though Lenox had been planning to ask the purser about his inventory of the stores, and whether anything had been missing, he decided to wait. Instead he went below deck and knocked on the captain’s door.
Martin was writing in his log again, and once he had offered Lenox a drink ordered his steward out to begin making him something to eat.
“Is this about the case?”
“It is, but I can’t say that I have anything concrete to tell you.”
Martin threw down his pen. “I don’t know why I asked for food—I’ve no desire to eat.” He sighed. “Well, tell me of your progress.”
Lenox described his various conversations, told the captain of the medallion and the penknife, and began to wonder aloud about the plausibility of each officer as the suspect.
Martin cut him off. “You believe an officer did it, then?”
“I think it most likely.”
“Hellfire.”
“Who would you have suspected among them?’
“That’s not a game I like.”
Lenox waited, silent.
“I suppose I know Lee the least of them all. Mitchell has the hottest temper. But honestly I cannot believe it was either of them. Lee’s record in the navy is unimpeachable, and Mitchell has been a fine lieutenant.”
“If it were a sailor—while the men were asleep in their messes, how easily might one of them have slipped away from his hammock without drawing attention to himself, do you think?”
“I would call it next to impossible.”
“We should speak to the mess captains then, to see if any of their messmates absented themselves for a while without explanation on that first night of the voyage.”
“It’s a good idea—I should have thought of it myself. The difficulty is that men regularly leave their hammocks to attend to their—well, their various bodily functions, or even just for air. It gets very close, stifling at times, where they sleep.”
“You’ll speak to the mess captains? For obvious reasons I would prefer that the officers themselves not do it.”
Reluctantly, Martin nodded. “Very well. Mind you, a sailor hates nothing more than tattling.”
“That might be less of a problem if one of their number doesn’t quite fit in—someone perhaps who is even a suspect. They all liked Halifax, I’ve been told.”
“Yes, true.”
The steward returned with a plate full of sandwiches. At the captain’s prompting Lenox took one. Martin himself took one up and then, having nearly taken a bite, tossed it through an open porthole.
“I keep thinking of that service, for Halifax. He was a fine chap. Would have made a fine captain, if he had a strict first lieutenant to keep the men in line.”
“Have you written to his parents?”
“I’ve tried.” He gestured his helplessness. “Difficult to know what to say until you’ve done your job.”
“My job,” Lenox said.
“Yes.”
He considered this reproach for a moment in silence, then said, “Hopefully it won’t be long, anyhow. Some sort of idea is forming in my mind. I just don’t know what it is yet.”
“Be as quick as you can.”
“Nothing you say can hasten me, Captain. I did like Halifax—you’ll recall, perhaps, that I met him twice.”
“I had forgotten.”
Lenox rose. “Incidentally, what is Follow the Leader?”
Martin smiled, some incipient anger gone. “I suggest you be on deck at half-past six, if you want a seat for the start at seven. You’ll see then. It’s a treat, I can promise you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The sun was still in the sky, though sinking, at around the time Lenox came up on deck. It had been a beautiful day, mild, clear, and warm enough that the gentle breeze had felt welcome upon the skin. Now the sails were slack, the ship all but still, as overhead a calm, whitish blue filled the sky. The constant sound of the water seemed to lessen slightly, and the rock of the ship became gentle.
On the quarterdeck were rows of chairs, brought up from the wardroom. About a dozen in all. McEwan was sitting in one, eating a piece of candied ginger. “Here, Mr. Lenox!” he said, after gulping a bit down. “I’ve got you a seat, here in the first row!”
Now here was impressive loyalty. “Splendid. Thank you.”
“I hoped to make a request, too, sir.”
“Go on.”
“If you could release me from my duties for the evening, I’ve been nominated by the other stewards to compete.”
“In Follow the Leader?”
“Yes, sir.”
So it was some sort of eating contest. “Well, of course.”
“Are you quite sure, sir? You might want a glass of wine during the show.”
“No, I’d rather keep a clear head. If you could fetch me up a cloak you can be on your own. It’s cooler than I had expected here.”
“Very good, sir. And, sir, have ten bob on me, if you like a flutter. I reckon you’ll get decent odds, too.”
“I’ll put ten bob on you for each of us,” said Lenox. “Who makes the book?”
“Thank you, sir! Just talk to Mr. Mercer, sir.”
This was Pimples, who was taking bets from all sides, presumably with the tacit approval of his superiors. Lenox found him and placed the two bets.
The midshipman frowned. “McEwan, Mr. Lenox? Are you sure of that? I don’t want you to lose your money, after you treated us to that bread and ham and champagne and all.” He said the word
“My finances can just about stand the loss, should McEwan let me down,” Lenox said, trying to keep the corners of his mouth down.
Pimples nodded gravely. “If you feel sure, sir. The odds will be nineteen to three. Already set, wish I could give you better.”
“As you please.”
Lenox, a full smile on his face now, resumed his seat, the cloak he had asked for laid across it. The deck was filling. A group of men had lofted paper lanterns up along the rigging, which cast a lovely soft yellow color over the whole ship.
“We’ll have to pray there aren’t pirates, or Frenchies,” muttered the person next to Lenox. It was Carrow, he saw.
“Why?”
