Certainly he had listened when Sir Pilcher Skinner had described how dispatches from admirals, generals and governors were being lost along with the Government's orders for new and secret operations. But with an almost frightening detachment he realized that it was not until this very moment, as he watched the distant packet coming in under all plain sail, that he fully appreciated how one continent was cut off from another by the packet losses.

Previously it was a fascinating problem in which he was closely involved. Now he seemed to be standing back aloof, looking at an invisible barrier, like a cheval de frise, running north and south down the centre of the Western Ocean and cutting it in half. A barrier with gaps here and there, since occasional packets got through, but still a massive barrier.

The Government in London was like an admiral on board a flagship unable to signal to his Fleet; a regimental sergeant major struck dumb on a parade ground. The Prime Minister in Downing Street, the War Minister at the Horse Guards, the First Lord at the Admiralty, the Foreign Secretary also in Downing Street - and not one of them certain he could pass even the most trifling order beyond the shores of Britain...

As the packet drew closer, the long days of waiting began to recede. Southwick, Bowen, Wilson and Much came up on deck and Kerguelen joined them. Soon the brig was near enough for them to see a crowd of people on her deck, but clearly her captain was not going to get too close to the Arabella.

"Carrying a lot of passengers," Southwick commented.

Ramage stared moodily at the packet. Locked up in a drawer on board that ship was the letter which was going to tell him if he was a free man with a future or a discredited lieutenant doomed to spend the next few years in a French prison. The next couple of hours were going to be worse than the past month...

Almost exactly two hours after the packet had gone alongside the quay, a boat came out to the Lady Arabella and Kerguelen sent for Ramage. In the boat was a messenger from the Post Office Agent who, after making sure it was indeed Lieutenant Ramage to whom he was speaking, handed over a heavily sealed letter. He would wait for the reply, he said.

As Ramage turned to go down to his cabin he saw that every privateersman was on deck watching him. Kerguelen glanced away to avoid Ramage's eye. Every one of those men, Ramage realized, knew that the letter he was holding might represent a great deal of money; money to be handed over to Kerguelen and shared out among them.

Yorke was sprawled on one of the bunks, ostentatiously reading a book; Bowen was demonstrating some complicated chess defence to an obviously bewildered Southwick. All three were making a great effort to avoid showing any curiosity about the letter.

He broke the brittle green wax of the seals and found it contained not a letter from Lord Spencer but a note from the Agent. "My Lord," Chamberlain had written, "I have this moment received an urgent communication from Lord Auckland concerning the Lady Arabella packet, and with it is a letter from the Admiralty addressed to you which I dare not risk having delivered to you on board the prize. I shall be at my house if you can leave the ship; otherwise would you be kind enough to give written and sealed instructions which the messenger will bring to me without delay."

Hmm ... Mr Chamberlain's attitude has undergone a lot of modification, Ramage thought wryly, but there is no mention of the ransom money. What did "concerning the Lady Arabella packet" mean? Was Chamberlain being discreet, afraid the letter might fall into the wrong hands?

"From Chamberlain," he told them. "He wants me to go and see him."

"Kerguelen will agree," Yorke said. "May I come?"

Ramage nodded, and Yorke swung himself from the bunk and reached for his hat and cloak.

Southwick still looked worried, and Ramage said, "I'm afraid I don't know what's been decided; the Agent doesn't give a hint."

Yorke followed him up on deck, where Kerguelen was pacing up and down, head bowed, hands clasped behind his back. The Frenchman walked over to Ramage and asked abruptly, "The money - it is arranged?"

"The Post Office Agent wants me to go to his house: he has dispatches from London." Ramage held out the letter for him to read, but Kerguelen waved it aside with a gesture showing he accepted Ramage's word. "You'd better use our boat - the messenger can dismiss his." He shouted orders to a group of seamen.

"You think everything will be all right?" he asked, once he made sure the men were working quickly.

Ramage gave the best imitation of a Gallic shrug that he could muster, and waved the letter. "The Agent makes no mention of difficulties."

Suddenly he wanted Kerguelen to come with him to see the Agent. The Frenchman had behaved honourably so far: he had agreed to the bargain, accepted their parole, and done his best to make their stay on board the Lady Arabella as comfortable as possible.

But, Ramage thought sourly, all of them had now passed well beyond the point where the word of honour of honest men necessarily influenced what would happen: they were now in the shadowy world of politics. What Lord Auckland - the Cabinet, rather, since it was obviously involved - decided might well be based on political expediency: ministers always had a wary eye fixed on Parliament and a highly sensitive ear cocked which could detect a rumble, let alone a howl, from the Opposition Front Bench. If Lieutenant Ramage's word of honour or freedom had to be sacrificed to quieten that rumble ...

Yes, Ramage decided, Kerguelen deserved not only to know exactly what was happening, but to be present while it was happening. "I hope you will allow Mr Yorke to come with me."

"Of course."

"And yourself."

"Me? Pourquoi?" Kerguelen did not try to hide his astonishment.

"I would prefer it," Ramage said simply.

Kerguelen seemed to sense that whatever reason Ramage had was straightforward but not to be explained or debated. "Give me a minute to change," he said.

When the three men arrived at Chamberlain's house they were met by a Portuguese manservant who, after taking their hats and cloaks, gestured towards chairs in the large hall. Ramage looked gloomily at Yorke and made a face. The Agent was playing the childish game, so beloved by petty officials and minor diplomats, of keeping visitors waiting as the only way of proving - to themselves, if no one else - their importance. So childish, Ramage reflected; so unnecessary, since it revealed the man's unimportance. And, perhaps the most unforgivable thing of all, so predictable and obvious: it had all the subtlety of a caulker's maul.

After twenty minutes, the manservant returned and indicated that they should follow him into the large cool room the Agent used as an office. Chamberlain, sitting at his desk, kept his head bent over some papers in front of him until Ramage was halfway across the room. Then he gave a carefully timed start, glanced up, arranged a thin smile on his face and came round the desk with his hand outstretched.

"Ah, Lieutenant, I'm glad to see you. And you, Mr Yorke..."

His voice tailed off as he saw Kerguelen.

Ramage took the Agent's arm and said in a deceptively quiet voice, "You must meet Captain Kerguelen, the prizemaster of the Lady Arabella. Captain - this is the Post Office Agent, Mr Chamberlain."

The Frenchman bowed but the Agent looked dumbfounded. "Lieutenant! I can't allow-"

"Let's resume our talk out in the street then," Ramage said, his voice ominously quiet. "Then we'll be on neutral ground."

"But I..."

"I want you to tell us if you are ready to pay the money to Captain Kerguelen."

"Indeed I am not!" Chamberlain exclaimed. "I will neither provide the money nor allow you and Mr Yorke to pay it."