"How dare you," Chamberlain yelped. "Calling me a spy! Why, I'll-"

"I'm not calling you a spy: I am asking you."

"I don't mind telling you I have been here for seven years, and I have been a faithful servant of the Post Office for nineteen altogether. I-"

"Please!" Ramage said wearily, "we'll accept your word for it that you are an honest clerk, and you'll have to take my word for it that I have special orders concerning the whole operation of the foreign mails. Just tell me, yes or no, whether you will make sure that when I send my report from the packet, it is forwarded directly to London."

"From the packet? You mean the Lady Arabella?"

"Yes, of course."

"You mean you are going back on board?"

"Naturally."

"But she's a French prize! They'll -"

"We are on parole, Mr Chamberlain!"

"But no one would expect you-"

"No one, Mr Chamberlain? Neither Mr Yorke nor myself is interested in what other people expect. We've given our word."

"But ... I warn you, I shall make a full report to Lombard Street!"

"Please do," Ramage said heavily, "it would help me if Lord Auckland could read your own description of your behaviour. Now, please make sure that when the reply comes from London it is sent out to me immediately. May we have the use of your carriage to return to the quay?"

Neither man spoke as the Agent's carriage took them to where the Lady Arabella's boat, with the privateer crew, was waiting.

Kerguelen met them as they climbed back on board.

"You had a successful visit?"

Ramage nodded. "The regular packet leaves for England tomorrow. I have to write a letter and have it delivered to the Post Office Agent. If I could have paper, pen and ink..."

"Of course."

Kerguelen seemed about to say something else, and Ramage waited.

The Frenchman said, in a rush, "It seems silly to keep you on board while we are here at anchor waiting for the money. But" - he waved towards the skyline of Lisbon - "if you broke your parole...."

Ramage could see the man's dilemma: the Frenchman might well think he'd just arranged for a boat to hang around tonight to pick them up if they manage to escape and leap overboard! Kerguelen needed to be convinced. Ramage knew the Admiralty had no time for an officer-prisoner who escaped by breaking parole, but in this case they might be equally harsh with him for not breaking it to make sure the information now in his possession reached Whitehall as swiftly as possible.

Well, he thought to himself, the Admiralty will have to be satisfied that so far I've staved off a French prison. He had already given Kerguelen his word, and that was the end of it; whatever the Admiralty might say, keeping his word concerned no one but himself. But, having given his word, Ramage found himself getting impatient with a man who hesitated about how to treat it. So he grinned at the Frenchman and pointed to the two British frigates anchored farther up the Tagus.

"We could have arranged for boats to drop down on the ebb tonight and cut your anchor cable and board you as soon as you get out to sea."

"But this is a neutral port," Kerguelen protested.

"And who is to say your cable didn't chafe through? That it wasn't worn and parted with the strain?"

"But... but you gave your word!"

"Exactly." Ramage laughed. "I gave my word. You and I have to trust each other: we've no choice. You have to trust me to get the money; I have to trust you to free us when the money arrives. I could hand over the money and have you just cut our throats and sail..."

Kerguelen held out his hand and Ramage shook it.

When Yorke and Ramage went down below they found that Much had gone to the cabin he shared with Wilson and Southwick was back, playing chess with Bowen. Both men looked up expectantly as they came in.

"Did you have any success, sir?" Bowen asked.

Yorke stood by the open door, guarding against eavesdroppers, as Ramage described their meeting with Chamberlain, and when he told them about the new Act of Parliament, both men groaned. "So we have to call it off, sir?" Southwick asked.

"If the Admiralty won't allow it."

"But you'll be able to pass the word to Their Lordships about - about the matter that Much told us?"

"I hope so; it depends -"

Yorke gestured from the door and a minute later Kerguelen came in, handing Ramage paper, pen and ink.

"A moment," he said and put his hand in his pocket. He brought out a stick of wax. "When you want to seal the letter, one of my men will bring a lighted candle. It's not that I don't trust you," he said hastily. "It is just that I have a great fear of fire. I was once in a ship that burned..."

The other four men murmured sympathetically: fire, not storms or reefs, was the greatest danger that a ship faced every day of the year, whether at sea or at anchor.

"Write a persuasive letter," Kerguelen said with a grin, and left the cabin.

Ramage turned to Southwick and Bowen: "Since our parole gives us the run of the ship, why don't you two take a turn on deck and give Yorke and me room enough to compose an ode to the First Lord? Tell Wilson what's going on, and Much, too."

When they had gone, Yorke said, "Supposing your report gets intercepted by the French? Stolen from Chamberlain's house, perhaps, or the Falmouth packet is caught and the mails opened? Is it safe to give Lord Spencer all the details?"

Ramage inspected the pen and smoothed the feather of the quill. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about: I was wondering the same thing."

"Then you'd better just give the broad outline and tell him the details when you get to London."

"But will he believe the story and persuade the Cabinet to pay the 'ransom' without the details? Without names and facts and dates?"

Yorke shrugged his shoulders. "Write it down and see how it reads!"

An hour later Ramage put down his pen, gathered up seven sheets of paper that he had covered with his first draft, and sat on the bunk to read it. When he had finished he looked up at Yorke and shook his head. "He'll never believe it."

"Why not?" Yorke demanded.

"It sounds bizarre; he'll never believe the ventures part."

"Nonsense," Yorke said brusquely.

He sat in the opposite bunk and scanned the draft, occasionally turning back a page and reading it again. Then he put it down on the table.

"You've met Lord Spencer. Is he shrewd? - I have an idea he is."

"He's shrewd enough!"

"Then he won't find it bizarre. He'll send a copy to the Post Office and they'll pay up!"

"It'd need an Act of Parliament!"

"Small price to pay for finding out what's happening to the mails!"

"But will they believe it? I'm really asking them to pay up before they get all the details."

"You are exasperating at times," Yorke said patiently. "Can't you see they already have most of the facts in their possession this minute without realizing it - mostly Falmouth-bound packets lost, the men carrying ventures, and so on? It won't take long to check up on the insurance frauds. Your report shows how all the facts fit together into this - well, this conspiracy. You've just withheld the details of how you found out - and you've explained why you're doing that."

"I suppose so," Ramage muttered lamely. "But even if they believe me, I can't see them either putting up the money to pay Kerguelen, or allowing us to use our own. It's a new Act; to make an exception almost immediately..."

"You're a miserable fellow," Yorke said. "If you don't have anything to worry about, you very soon manufacture something. Come now, we want a fair copy of the draft. Do you want me to sign as well?"

Ramage shook his head. "But I'll add a line saying you concur with my report, if you're agreeable."