'If I could see him...'

'Of course—look'ee, Ramage, I'll arrange it for this afternoon. That'll head off the deputation, too. I'll send word— maybe you'd like to go up to see him—lovely house on the other side of the lagoon?'

'At four o'clock then, sir? And transport?'

'Of course, of course...'

The house of Mr Rondin was large and spacious as became a leading businessman of Grenada and cool with high ceilings. But there was too much Silver, too much ornate china-ware, too many cut-glass decanters on display to indicate anything but that the Rondin's were nouveaux riches. And Rondin greeted Ramage with a curious obsequiousness in a large, octagonal drawing-room which had windows on five sides. A tall, angular man with white hair smoothed unfashionably flat on his scalp, his face equally unfashionably tanned by the sun, he bowed a greeting:

'My Lord, I am John Rondin.'

Since he never used his tide in the Service, for a moment Ramage was startled: then he realized Colonel Wilson must have emphasized it, probably making the most of what the Admiral had sent him. A lieutenant and a small brig was not much of a hand to deal; but shuffling in that the lieutenant was a lord and heir to one of the country's oldest earldoms —well, it might take one trick, or at least divert some attention from the smallness of his ship.

As he shook hands, Ramage sensed Rondin's grey eyes were missing nothing—yet there was no impression of prying. As soon as they were seated in comfortable cane armchairs and the coloured butler was pouring them drinks, Rondin said:

'Does the Admiral intend sending more ships to reinforce you, my Lord?' ( Ramage inclined his head towards the butler. Rondin nodded almost imperceptibly and promptly changed the subject: 'You had a pleasant voyage from England?"

'Yes—good weather most of the time, apart from the usual blows in the Bay of Biscay.'

'Ah—the underwriters' nightmare! I wonder how much that Bay's cost them in claims for total losses...'

Ramage laughed. 'Not enough to make them refuse to cover that part of the voyage.'

'True—they grumble, they increase premiums, but they rarely go bankrupt'

'The essence of underwriting. Rather like being a bookmaker—always hedge your bets.'

'And that's just what it is,' Rondin said, motioning the butler to leave.

As soon as the door was closed he continued: 'You were quite right, my Lord: that man has been with me twenty years, but walls can have ears.'

Realizing his caution had reflected on Rondin's employees, Ramage began to apologize but Rondin waved his hand.

'You were quite right. I think I can guess what's in your mind, but I'll know in good time. Now tell me, do you expect reinforcements?'

'No.' Ramage said bluntly. 'That doesn't mean the Admiral isn't very worried, but he hasn't any other ships to spare.' Ramage considered the lie was justifiable. 'Yet I begin to wonder if a dozen frigates would help. However,' he added warily, 'I'd be glad of your views.'

Rondin lifted his glass and held it against the light, looking questioningly at the rich brown liquid. 'I should have thought a dozen frigates would be just about enough—but forgive me, I'm not a naval man, merely a poor ship-owner becoming even poorer as the weeks go by...'

'Perhaps I've misunderstood the situation, sir,' Ramage said innocently. 'Surely the schooners are being lost between here and Martinique?'

The ship-owner nodded.

'And to privateers which—as far as anyone knows— materialize out of thin air, make their capture, and vanish with the schooner?'

Again Rondin nodded, and Ramage searched for a simile.

'Then surely, it's rather like a farmer losing cattle between the farmyard and the meadow. He sees them leave the farmyard, watches them part of the way to the meadow—and they don't come back at milking time.'

Rondin said: 'Yes—somewhat simplified, mat's the position.' , 'Yet with only 160 miles to sail to Martinique and two frigates patrolling the route, the schooners were still captured, even though they were almost in sight of a frigate most of the time.'

'Yes—in daylight, anyway, but don't forget they make part of the passage at night.'

'No, I wasn't forgetting; that's why a dozen frigates are either not enough or too many. On a moonless night, visibility is about half a mile, so to cover the night passage you'd need a frigate at least every mile. Ten hours of dark ness at say five knots—fifty frigates...'

Rondin twiddled his glass and said nothing for a full two minutes, his eyes focused on the tip of Ramage's sword scabbard. Ramage waited, wondering if the idea would come to Rondin: it would be easier if the ship-owner thought of it: there'd be a lot more collaboration if Rondin thought he was nourishing his own plan.

Finally the man began talking, as if to himself.

The wolf is hiding in a wood very near to the farmhouse ... Perhaps somewhere so near that no one thinks of looking there ... He has powerful ears, eyes, nose... Or maybe his mate is even nearer and warns him...'

Ramage was thankful that Rondin was shrewd; but how near the farmyard would he accept as feasible? It was worth letting the idea mature a while before going into detail. So Ramage asked 'Can I have some facts now, Mr Rondin; details of how many ships have been lost, dates, cargoes, nationalities of their masters, where bound—that kind of thing?'

Rondin walked over to a desk. 'I have most of the answers here: I recently wrote a report to the Governor listing the schooners lost and the dates they sailed.'

Taking out four or five sheets of paper, he glanced at them and gave them to Ramage, who asked:

'Are schooners bound for Martinique the only ones lost?'

'Yes.'

'Never those for St Lucia or St Vincent?'

Tew go to either island. Cargoes are transhipped at Martinique: that's where the home trade assembles to wait for a convoy."

'Is mere any pattern to the losses? Any particular cargoes or particular owners?'

'No—I've looked already.'

'And the sequence of losses—three schooners lost one after the other, say, then two get through safely?'

Rondin shook his head.

'What about those that get through to Martinique—have any been captured on the return voyage?'

Rondin's face suddenly became animated.

'That's strange—and I hadn't thought about it! No, not one that readied Martinique has ever been captured on the way back—when it was sailing empty in other words. Surely that's very significant?"

Ramage shook his head. 'Only in showing a laden schooner is valuable and one in ballast isn't. Privateersmen are interested in cargoes, not hulls. No profit in a hull—they can't sell a schooner as a prize.'

'What do you think they do with them?'

'I don't know—perhaps sink them or sail them down to the Spanish Main. That's a possibility, but it means using a lot of men as prize crews—and getting them back again.'

'And you don't think it's likely?'

'For the moment, no,' Ramage said. 'But before I ask my next question, let's go over again the facts we know. Although some schooners leaving here bound for Martinique never arrive at Fort Royal, there's no indication they pass it. Therefore they're captured between here and somewhere south of Martinique. Yet all the islands between Grenada and Martinique are British owned, and only St Vincent and St Lucia are of any size. No French or Spanish islands to leeward—unless you count the Spanish Main. And the privateersmen want the cargoes, not the hulls ...'

Rondin said quietly, 'I think I can guess that next question of yours. If I'd thought of it earlier, we might have solved all this business long ago, Instead it takes a young naval lieutenant who hasn't been in Grenada for more than a few hours!'

Ramage smiled. 'I think you'd better hear the question first and make sure it's the same.'