'I'll leave Miss de Giraud in your care!'

They both watched the Governor walk across the floor and, just as he reached his wife who was sitting amid a group of women gossiping behind waving fans, the orchestra struck up and the master of ceremonies cried, 'Please take your places for—the cotillion!'

It was a dreary dance but at once several women, obeying the master of ceremonies' directions, lined up on one side of the room and an equal number of men on the other.

Ramage, who hated dancing and was bad at it, regretted the fact for the first time in his life—this woman would be a superb dancer, accustomed to being partnered by men who spent every other evening dancing. The sort of----- 'You have a partner waiting, my Lord?'

For a moment he thought guiltily of Gianna but heard himself saying:

'I was hoping it would be you, but I dance abominably and hardly know the cotillion. Anyway, you are already taken for this dance?'

She waved her programme and said with disarming frankness:

'No—when Sir Jason told me you were coming I kept several free.'

By avoiding looking at her, Ramage felt his confidence slowly returning.

'But you didn't know I'd be so late.'

'No?' she laughed and showed him the programme. The first half dozen dances, which Ramage had missed through arriving late, had names pencilled against them. The rest were blank.

'You took a risk. For all you knew I might have had a wooden leg!'

'Wrong again, my Lord: I saw you this afternoon at Government House.'

No trace of coquettishness—or forwardness: just this frankness. Why was it so surprising? No reason—except it was so unusual.

'I must have arrived with my eyes shut: I didn't see you.'

'No, you were too busy talking affairs of state with Colonel Wilson. But come, shall we—oh no, we're too late! Henry'— she motioned towards the master of ceremonies—'will get into a terrible state if we join the line now.'

Ramage had already spotted through the big doors that there were several empty chairs on the balcony running along the entire front of the house.

'I'm a stranger to Grenada, so why don't you point out St George's beauty spots from the balcony?'

She nodded and offered her arm.

The view down on to the little town and across the lagoon was as beautiful by night as by day. Here and there cooking fires glowed red outside native huts; in the lagoon boats rowed swiftly back and forth, a man in the bow holding aloft a flaming torch to attract the fish, a second standing poised beside him like a statue, a long trident in his hand, and a third man rowing.

All round the house and down the hill fireflies winked their bright blue lights, tiny stars flashing for a second, and out here the incessant liquid croak of tree frogs almost drowned the orchestra. In the clearness of the tropical night the stars were almost too bright to be credible and over the hill on the east side of the harbour entrance Ramage could just see the uppermost star of the Southern Cross, and Sirius and Jupiter, to his left, were almost unbelievably brilliant, the brightest stars in the sky.

As they stood watching Ramage realized she had not with drawn her arm.

'You like Grenada, my Lord?'

'Yes—though so far I've seen very little of it.'

'Of course—you left us for Martinique so soon after arriving ! How did you find it?'

'More French than France.'

'And the ladies—they're very chic.'

Teasing, bantering, and her voice fascinating.

'So I'm told; but I was there only a few hours and met none.'

'Shame! Fort Royal is something to linger over—like a good brandy.'

One of the men in the boats suddenly lunged with his trident and a moment later held a large fish aloft, the red light of the torch reflecting on the wriggling body.

'I'm afraid sailors can rarely linger...'

'A wife in every port?'

'A deliberate falsehood spread by jealous soldiers!'

She laughed. 'Another illusion shattered... But an attractive notion, n'est-ce pas?'

'Yes—though I hardly think a wife would want to share a husband,' Ramage said dryly.

'Oh, I don't know: a woman would be more likely to share a husband with another woman—if she loved him—than a man to share his wife.'

'Indeed? This is most instructive—do go on,' Ramage teased. 'Is this an old Carib custom?'

Again that natural laugh and as if by accident her arm moved so the back of his hand rested under her breast. The material of the dress was thin, and even as she laughed he sensed 'She wore nothing beneath. He turned his head to look at her: the front of the dress was cut low and square; the valley between her breasts----- 'Ah there you are!'

Cursing to himself Ramage turned to find Colonel Wilson beaming at them.

'Excuse me m' dear fellow, but the Governor wants to talk to you. Rather urgent, I'm afraid—they're here, your Excellency!'

Sir Jason followed Wilson on to the balcony.

'Sorry—excuse us, Miss de Giraud—but Ramage, these blessed ship-owners have just been talking to me: fancy interrupting the ball like that. Want to sail their schooners: they say the cargoes are spoiling and they'll miss the next English convoy from Jamaica unless the schooners reach Martinique in a few days.'

'If they sail them now,' Ramage said grimly, 'they probably won't even reach Martinique, let alone ship the cargoes in the next Jamaica convoy.'

'We've told 'em that,' Wilson said, 'but they say they'd sooner risk that than let the cargoes rot.'

'They lose the schooners too,' Ramage pointed out 'Soon they won't have any ships left.'

'They collect their insurance though,' Wilson said bitterly.

Ramage sensed the Governor's attitude had definitely changed: he was trying to persuade him to let them sail, not blustering and vowing they could go. A sudden idea crossed his mind but he dismissed it.

'Is any one owner more anxious than the rest?'

'Two are making the fuss.'

'But three are loaded. What about the third owner?'

'That's Rondin. Didn't say much—seemed more inclined to go by what you said. At least, that was my impression— agree, Wilson?'

The Colonel nodded. 'Has more sense than the rest of 'em put together.'

Ramage shrugged his shoulders. 'It's madness to sail now.' He asked Wilson: 'Have you mentioned our suspicions to the Governor?'

Again the Colonel nodded.

'Very interesting they are, too,' Sir Jason said in a flat voice belying his words, 'but it doesn't help the present situation.'

'If you'll pardon me, your Excellency, I should have thought it provided a very definite answer.'

'Well, it doesn't, I'm afraid. At least two of these gentlemen insist their schooners sail tonight.'

Tonight! Ramage tried to keep his temper. It seemed comical that you had to order men to keep their ships in port for their own safety. It'd make more sense if they were protesting because Ramage was ordering them to sail.

Wilson coughed to attract Ramage's attention. 'Lieutenant —I don't think his Excellency will mind me telling you that one owner proposes to sail his schooner tonight whatever Sir Jason or you say------'

'That's so,' Sir Jason interrupted.

'Very well,' Ramage snapped, as the idea came back more forcefully, 'just to maintain some semblance of authority—I don't imagine anyone wants me to put men on board to prevent it—I'll give permission for that one schooner to sail, though it's making a virtue out of a necessity.'

'Ah, splendid,' purred the Governor. 'Splendid, I knew you'd be reasonable.'

'But on two conditions,' Ramage said, thinking quickly and looking at his watch—eight o'clock.

Sir Jason sighed like a child impatient with its parents.

'One is that she's under way by ten o'clock and no one but the owner and the master are told after being sworn to secrecy —not even the crew must know until they're ordered to cast off the lines; second, the owner must sign a document in front of you, Sir Jason, declaring that he's sailing at his own request, at his own risk and very much against my wishes and advice.'