As soon as the door closed, Ramage asked Yorke, "Am I being too hard on him?"

Yorke sniffed. "I could wring his neck. But what if he can't persuade Kerguelen?"

"We'd better brush up our French. But if he reads him extracts from that letter, it might do the trick."

"D'you really think so?"

"The letter and perhaps some help from us - if he trusts us an inch, which I doubt. Still, he'll see what a state Chamberlain is in; he's no fool."

No fool, Ramage reflected. The £2,500 they had offered him must have represented a substantial profit for the Frenchman; a profit without risk. At this moment he was probably trying to balance the unknown risk of staying for £2,500 in sterling against the known risk of making a bolt for France.

The door opened and a worried and perspiring Chamberlain hurried in. "He wants to speak to you."

"Bring him in, then."

Kerguelen came in and Ramage gestured him to sit at Chamberlain's desk. The Frenchman looked bewildered but not suspicious.

"I'm sorry about this," Ramage said. "I hope Mr Chamberlain has explained."

Kerguelen nodded. “This Lord Auckland..."

"You've seen the letter?"

"This man read from it. Extracts."

"Very well. Lord Auckland is one of the two Ministers in charge of the Post Office. He has written that after passing an Act of Parliament, the Government will pay the money, and —"

"But when we first arrived here this man" - Kerguelen pointed at Chamberlain - "said he would not pay."

"This man," Ramage said contemptuously, "is a clerk who has exceeded his authority and was trying to curry favour with the Minister. He will probably be punished. He misled me, too, until I insisted on seeing Lord Auckland's letter to him. That showed me what this man had done. If you wish to read Lord Auckland's letter, you may do so. Chamberlain, put it on the desk."

The Agent put it in front of Kerguelen, who pushed it to one side. "Mr Ramage," he said quietly, "will you give me your word that you truly believe the money will come and I'll be paid without any traps being set?"

"I give you my word," Ramage said, and gestured to Yorke.

"You have mine, too," Yorke said.

"And mine," Chamberlain added eagerly. "In writing, if you wish."

No one spoke, and Chamberlain flushed.

Ramage stood up. "If we may renew our parole, perhaps we could dine out before returning to the ship. Would you be our guest, Captain?"

"It would be a pity to ignore the delights of Lisbon, but until your new Act of Parliament is passed, I think you'd better be my guests!"

Chamberlain said hurriedly: "Please make use of my carriage. Keep it for the day, if you wish to see the sights of Lisbon..."

Back in his cabin on board the Lady Arabella Ramage sat on the bunk and finally opened the letter from the Admiralty. All through dinner, and for an hour's drive round the city, he was so conscious of the unopened letter in his pocket that it might have been a piece of red-hot shot, but he had been determined not to read it until he was on board again. A childish test of willpower, he told himself, but whether he read it then or a week later it would still say the same thing. As far as the ship and their freedom was concerned, the Postmaster-General's letter to the Agent was the only one that mattered.

As he read he found he had denied himself very little. The letter was, of course, signed by the Secretary to the Board of Admiralty, Evan Nepean, who began with the customary phrases and then said, "I am commanded by my Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty to inform you that they give qualified approval of your actions concerning negotiations with the French prizemaster as described in your report to them of the tenth ultimo."

Nepean went on to describe how a recent Act of Parliament made it a criminal offence to transfer funds to someone owing allegiance to an enemy country, but added, "In view of all the special circumstances, which had not been visualized when the present Act was drafted, Their Lordships have recommended to His Majesty's Government that a special Act be passed authorizing the transfer in this particular instance...

"Their Lordships further command me to express their displeasure that your report is written in such general terms and contains no specific details enabling them to advise the Post Office what course to take to avoid further losses of packets, nor recommend specific legal action, if any, against any of its employees alleged by you to be guilty of unspecified crimes or misdemeanours.

"You are hereby directed to forward by the quickest means available a second report giving these details, regardless of the risk of such report falling into unauthorized or enemy hands. Their Lordships further direct me to acquaint you that the reasons for not giving such details in your first report are sufficiently vague as to warrant a further expression of their displeasure."

Ramage folded the letter and put it back in his pocket. A single expression of Their Lordships' displeasure was often sufficient to blast the career of a post-captain, let alone a lieutenant. Maybe, he thought wryly, the "qualified approval" cancelled out the first "displeasure", so he would be debited with only the second.

Still, to be fair to the Admiralty, sitting back on his bunk here in the Tagus, the ship rolling slightly at anchor, the ebbing tide sluicing past the hull like a running tap, the whole capture of the Lady Arabella now seemed remote; something that had happened to other people. He thought of Lord Spencer reading his report and then pictured himself sitting in the First Lord's quiet, remote office in Whitehall, trying to persuade him that it was all real: that the frauds had happened, were still going on, and would continue...

Lord Spencer would listen attentively - he always did. And then - judging by the tone of this letter - he would probably shake his head politely, without saying anything. Yet it would be clear that he thought Ramage was being melodramatic, imagining much of it and guessing the rest.

Much of it! Much, the Mate, would corroborate everything. But his Lordship would probably say - or think, anyway - that Much was a man with a grudge and consider that he had hoodwinked Ramage. The Bosun's attack with a cutlass? The poor fellow was overwrought... The packetsmen slashing the rigging? Captain Stevens' way of making sure the French could not get the ship under way ... There was no way of describing the dozens of little episodes, each one trifling and apparently meaningless, but which taken all together, like thousands of strokes of an artist's brush, made a clear picture. A look on Stevens' face, a remark of Our Ned's, items of information passed on by Jackson. Probably none of it was evidence acceptable in a court of law - or acceptable to the First Lord either.

Yet how could it be proved in a way that would satisfy a judge and a jury? A judge would ask if the packetsmen insured their ventures and deliberately found a French privateer and surrendered to her. If the answer was no, he would dismiss everything as the chance of war. Would a judge accept that meeting a privateer was simply a bonus; something that happened perhaps once a year? Would a judge - the First Lord, anyway - accept that for men being paid £12 a year, the chance of a profit of £400 was enough for them to surrender their ship - commit treason, in fact?

Well, one thing was certain: lying here fretting would achieve nothing: they just had to wait for the money to arrive ...