He took a quill, knife, bottle of ink and sheets of paper from a drawer and put them on the desk. He spent a few moments sharpening the quill—not because it was blunt, but because he obviously wanted time to think. Dipping the quill in the ink and squaring up the loose pages, he wrote several words one beneath the other and then read them aloud:
'Colonel Wilson ... Lieutenant Ramage ... Sir Jason Fisher... Edward Privett... and the schooner's master. Now, who else knew you'd given permission for the schooner to sail at ten o'clock?'
'No one, if Edward Privett's the schooner-owner. But that document I asked Sir Jason to draw up for him to sign: I wonder if Sir Jason wrote it, or if a clerk made a fair copy?'
Wilson's brow furrowed. 'No, I was in the study all the time. Just me, Sir Jason and Privett. Sit Jason—yes, he sat down at the desk and wrote it himself, then read it out aloud. Privett took the pen and signed it. The door was shut. No, only the three of us heard—or saw.
'The signed document?'
'Sir Jason locked it in his desk.'
'What did Privett do after that?'
Wilson scratched his nose with the tip of the quill.
'We talked for a few minutes; then Privett wrote a note to his captain telling him he was to sail at ten but impressing the need for secrecy. He read the note aloud and sealed it I had it sent down to the schooner by one of my officers.'
'The officer?'
'One of my A.D.Cs. Knew nothing about it. Just called him in and told him to deliver it into the captain's hands and get a receipt Came back half an hour later, reported he'd done so, gave me the receipt'
'Half an hour?'
'Yes—takes fifteen minutes to the careenage by carriage.'
Ramage rubbed his brow. 'That means the schooner captain's definitely cleared.'
'How so?'
'The tom-tom was sounding less than ten minutes after you and the Governor left me and went to the study. We allow ten minutes for signing the document and writing the note—more perhaps? Plus fifteen for your officer to deliver it. That means the tom-tom couldn't have started until at least twenty-five or thirty minutes after you left me on the balcony...'
'So we're back again at Government House,' Wilson said.
'What did Privett do after you'd sent the officer away with the note?'
'I was just thinking about that. Now—the three of us in the study, the document signed and toe note written. Then I rang for the butler to fetch my A.D.C. He came in, I gave him the note and off he went. Privett started making a flowery speech of thanks; then the Governor rang again for drinks. Yes, by Jove—we talked there for at least fifteen minutes. More like twenty-five.'
'What about?'
'You,' Wilson said blandly. 'Privett expressed a doubt about your abilities—based on your youth. We dispelled them. Don't blush; neither of us perjured ourselves on your behalf.'
Ramage gave a mock bow.
Wilson nodded slowly and, looking directly at Ramage, said: 'Think seriously about this. I trust you because it's your plan that's gone astray and you've got to account to the Admiral. But Ramage, make no mistake—it's your duty to satisfy yourself that both me Governor and myself arc trustworthy.'
'I've already done that, sir.' Ramage said dryly.
'You have, by Jove?'
'I can check your story with the Governor, and you know that. And with Privett, for that matter. And all three of you hadn't left the study before the drum began. So obviously all three of you are beyond suspicion. You couldn't have done anything even if you'd wanted to!'
Wilson sat back in his chair and roared with laughter.
'You don't miss much, Ramage! But'—his face became serious again—'where does that leave us?'
He glanced down at his list, and wrote in another name.
'I've put down my A.D.C. I'd trust him with my life— indeed, have. He could have opened the letter. But,' he added as an afterthought, 'your timetable already cleared him.'
Ramage nodded. 'Yes, if he'd opened the letter as soon as he'd left you he couldn't have given the information to the spy before me drum started.'
Both men sat alone with their thoughts. Wilson watched the young Lieutenant rubbing his brow gently and staring at the table. The lad looked drawn, but that was hardly surprising. This sort of thing smacked of ju-ju and voodoo. How else could secret information get out of a closed room? And soon Ramage would have to send a report to his Admiral— a report which said that a schooner he'd allowed to sail had been captured, because Wilson had no doubt Ramage's forecast would prove correct. And an Admiral sitting in Barbados was unlikely to be very sympathetic, particularly, as Wilson had guessed earlier, if the Admiral was obviously using him to cover the two frigate captains who'd already failed.
But in fact Ramage was not thinking of the Admiral, nor particularly of his own responsibility for the schooner sailing: he'd deliberately agreed to let her sail because it suited him to use her as bait. Very well, the bait had been taken, which surely meant that somewhere during last night's ball there must be just one due which would lead to the privateers?
And he'd met enough difficult situations in his life to know that an answer rarely came when you sat down at a desk and tried to think; it was more likely to emerge as you walked along a street, or reached across the table for a sugar dredge.
But anyway it was comfortably cool in this room. So just run through the evening's events once again. At about eight o'clock he was talking on the balcony to Cla—to Miss de Giraud. Then Wilson came out and said the Governor was looking for him and almost at once Sir Jason joined them. Miss de Giraud had discreetly moved away; he'd told the Governor the conditions under which one schooner could sail at ten o'clock. Sir Jason and Wilson had then gone to the study.
Was anyone lurking on the balcony? No, there'd been only himself and Claire. After the two men had gone he'd begun talking to Claire again—after she'd returned from powdering her nose, or whatever had taken her away for a few minutes.
Suddenly he stood up. 'May I borrow a carriage, sir?'
Wilson, startled by Ramage's white face and blazing eyes, agreed and shouted to an orderly.
'Anything wrong, Ramage? Look as though you've seen a ghost! Don't say you've got one of these damned fevers?'
Numbly Ramage shook his head and turned to the door.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Both the coachman and the soldier in the blue and gold uniform of the Grenada Volunteers sitting in front with a musket, eventually protested as Ramage cursed and swore as he goaded them to go faster. The road up to Government House was steep; but Ramage had almost lost control of himself in a turbulent mixture of rage mingled with disbelief at what now seemed all to obvious.
Finally, with the horses' flanks running with sweat and their mouths flecked with white, the carriage swung up the driveway to Government House and even before the footmen had time to open the door and unfold the ladder Ramage had jumped down and was running up the wide stone steps.
The two soldiers on guard at the big doors hesitated, unsure whether to challenge or salute the naval officer running towards them,, one hand clutching his sword scabbard and the other his hat, and finally saluted.
Catching sight of the butler as he entered the house, Ramage called to him to find the Governor urgently, and when the man walked ponderously towards him with a pompous request to state his business, he received an angry retort from Ramage that he didn't discuss the King's business with butlers and to take him to the Governor at once.
But the clatter of galloping hooves, carriage wheels and pounding feet had brought Sir Jason into the hall, and hearing the last of the exchange he called to Ramage and together they went back into the study.