Ramage and the Freebooters

He continued thinking as breakfast was served and South-wick, seeing him occasionally rubbing the scar on his brow, kept silent. When he'd finished the meal Ramage glanced up and said, 'No doubt you'll want to wash and shave, Appleby?'

The master's mate took the bint, thanked Ramage and left the cabin.

As soon as the door shut Southwick asked. 'What do you make of it, sir?'

'It's pretty obvious, isn't it?'

Unperturbed by Ramage's surly tone, Southwick persisted.

'It's obvious until me news gets to the north end of St Vincent, sir. But from there it's a long way across to St Lucia— twenty-four miles. Have to be a big bonfire for anyone in St Lucia to see it!'

'Needn't be a bonfire. It took Appleby five hours to get here from Carriacou in his fishing boat. That's nearly six knots. There's nothing to stop a fishing boat leaving St Vincent and crossing the channel to St Lucia in four or five Hours. Then the tom-toms pass the message the length of St Lucia. In the meantime the schooner's hardly reached Bequia.'

But Ramage knew he was still ignoring the vital question, and it probably hadn't even occurred to Southwick yet. Briefly he told the Master about his previous evening's conversations with the Governor, and the schooner-owner's determination that his vessel should sail.

'He deserves to have her captured,' Southwick growled. 'Underwriters'd never pay up if they knew.'

'They'll get to know eventually.'

'Do you suspect him, sir? Some sort of fraud with the insurance?'

Ramage shook his head.

'It wouldn't make sense. Just think what's shipped out of Grenada in a year—about 12,000 tons of sugar, more than a million gallons of rum, 200 tons of cotton, 100,000 gallons of molasses... with freight rates so high a schooner-owner makes an enormous profit—more in six months, I should imagine, than he could claim on the insurance for a total loss.'

'But they're not making profits because the schooners are being lost,' Southwick pointed out.

'Yes, but they'd sooner make the profits. That's what convinces' me there's no fraud.'

'Then where the devil do the privateers hang out?' Southwick exclaimed bluntly. 'Until we find their nest I don't see we can do much.'

'Our next job is to discover how the spy found out when the schooner was going to sail.'

Southwick shrugged his shoulders. 'Anyone could have seen her leaving.'

'At ten o'clock, yes!' Ramage snapped. 'But Appleby's already told us that the first signal he saw was at 8.42. So the spy knew beforehand. Why, they knew in St Vincent by nine o'clock.'

'I still don't see it matters, sir,' Southwick said doggedly. 'If only we can catch the privateers the spy's out of business.'

'Yes,' Ramage said patiently, 'but we don't know where they're based and no one's ever seen them!'

'True,' the Master admitted, scratching his head, 'but I still------'

'I don't either at the moment. But you're looking through the wrong end of the telescope.'

Southwick looked startled. 'How do you mean?'

'Well, the spy's given himself away.'

The Master grunted his disbelief.

'Of course he has. Why didn't he wait until the schooner sailed before passing the signal?'

'Can't see it matters, sir.'

'Nor can I—and that's the clue. He passed the signal soon after eight o'clock last night and the schooner sailed at ten, so he gained two hours. But two hours can't matter to the privateers.'

'I still don't------'

'Exactly! Those two hours don't matter. So why didn't the spy wait?'

Southwick shook his head but said nothing.

'Because he was too confident. He didn't think we'd ever guess the trick. He and privateersmen have been getting away with it for months. Tom-toms and bonfires—and no one's ever noticed them!'

Southwick nodded, then said questioningly: 'I can see that, sir; but I can't see he's given himself away—that's what you just said—by making the signal before the schooner sailed.'

'You weren't listening properly when I told you what happened at Government House.'

It was an unfair thing to say and Ramage knew it, because he'd only realized the full significance of the timing a few minutes ago.

'What did I miss then?' The Master's voice was almost truculent.

'You missed me saying that only four people knew the schooner was going to sail.'

'Only four? Why, it'll be easy------'

'No it won't,' Ramage interrupted bitterly. 'Those four people are the Governor, Colonel Wilson, the schooner's owner and, later on, the schooner's master. Four people. Which one would you suspect?'

'Phew! The Governor, the Colonel, the owner... Well, we're almost back where we started!'

'Almost. We take ten steps forward and slide back nine.'

'The schooner-owner: must be him It's an insurance fraud.'

Again Ramage shook his head. 'No—if it was, the owners of all the schooners lost so far would be in it. And they're the losers because soon there won't be any schooners left. Apart from that this owner signed a document taking full responsibility. That alone rules out insurance because the underwriters could refuse to pay. It means he wants the profits from the freight—and is prepared to gamble.'

'I suppose so,' Southwick said grudgingly. 'But surely you don't suspect the Governor or Colonel Wilson?'

'Hardly. That's what I meant about slipping nine steps back.'

Idly he tapped the table with a knife. The sky through the skylight overhead was turning from black to grey. An idea was floating round in his brain, the details for the moment blurred.

'By the way, I gave Maxton leave yesterday afternoon. Jackson told you?'

'Yes sir: he's due back at dawn, I believe.'

Ramage nodded.

'It'll be interesting to see if he deserts,' Southwick added.

'You think he will?'

'No, I'm sure he won't. I hope not, anyway.'

The idea was beginning to take shape and he started rubbing his brow. Southwick misunderstood the reason and said: 'It'd be disappointing, after all he went through with you in the Kathleen.' 1 wasn't thinking of that. Listen, Southwick—those damned tom-toms talk. But who can read what they say? I wonder if Maxton can.'

'Is it important? Surely we can guess. Last night they said the schooner was sailing!'

Ramage grinned. 'Ever thought hard about a tom-tom, Southwick?'

The Master looked puzzled. 'Not really. It's a sort of drum, and these fellows use it to signal with, like shouting a long distance.'

'Yes, but with this difference. You can recognize a man's voice when he shouts. Can you recognize a tom-tom? Recognize whether one particular man's beating it or another, even though the message is the same?'

Southwick shrugged his shoulders. 'They all sound alike to me.'

'Exactly. And I'm wondering if they sound alike to the natives.'

'By Jove,' Southwick exclaimed, banging the table with his fist. 'You mean, we could get a native to pass some false signals? Throw the whole system into confusion? Why, we could drive this spy mad! Just think of him listening to us drumming out false information about a schooner sailing. He has to get his drummer to thump out "Annul previous signal"; then we follow up with another "Annul..."'

He roared with laughter at the thought, thumping the table to simulate a tom-tom, but then his face fell. 'Still doesn't find the privateers, though!'

'No, but it's a good idea: we may be able to use it—if we can find someone who talks the language of the drums. Send Maxton down to me as soon as he comes back on board: he might know something.'

*

As the sky lightened and the Triton's ship's company were busy scrubbing the decks, polishing brasswork and going through the dozens of jobs carried out at daybreak on board every British ship of war, Ramage slowly shaved himself, deliberately taking his time, trying to find a flaw in his conclusions. They were simple enough to worry him.