Simpson gave an easy laugh as he poured two sherries, giving one of them to Treffry.

'Well, Lieutenant, you sure you won't join us?' When Ramage shook his head, Simpson sipped his sherry delicately, gave an appreciative sigh, and said: 'Your uncle tells me that I can be of service to you ...'

Not knowing quite what his uncle had written in the letter, and irked by the question of a surety, Ramage said warily: 'I have to get to France in secret - on the King's business, you understand. Once there, I have to be able to send back at least one report, and possibly more. And then I have to return with -'

'You have proof that you are on the King's business?'

Treffry interrupted sharply: 'You have read my letter?'

'Of course, of course, my dear Treffry; it slipped my memory.'

Ramage stared at him coldly, slowly rubbing the older of the two scars on his right brow. It ill became one of the leaders of the Marsh smugglers - he was rapidly coming to believe that Simpson was the leader - to cavil about proof that he was on the King's business. How many French spies had made use of Simpson's services to land in or leave England?

Simpson was polished; his home was elegantly and expensively furnished. Yet for both man and house it was a studied elegance, an elaborately applied polish. The man spoke slowly - yet he thought quickly. It was a slowness that was deliberate; possibly the result of careful training, to ensure correct diction. But although Uncle Rufus had referred to the man's wealth, he had made no mention of origins: no 'son of . . .', or 'his brother is . . .' or 'father was . . .' - the normal, identifying remarks. No, it was unlikely that Mr Simpson would welcome any questions about his origins, and he was wealthy enough to stifle any in this part of the country.

'I had in mind hiring a fishing-smack. My purpose in trying to find a smuggler is that he will know his way about the French coast better than most...'

Simpson was nodding, an understanding smile on his face, as if wanting to make amends for his earlier tactless question. 'Not only would know, but would be assured of an understanding attitude on the part of the douaniers. The French are anxious to get their hands on sterling, since their own currency is worthless, so their Customs men do not consider that Frenchmen selling brandy and tobacco and tea to fishermen for sterling are dealing in contraband.'

'As long as I get to France, I'm not questioning anyone's motives,' Ramage said dryly.

'In that case,' Simpson said equally dryly, his tone of voice showing that he guessed Ramage's thoughts, 'my friends will be able to accommodate you. When do you want to sail?'

'Tonight, if possible. There'll be four of us,'

'Four? I thought you would be alone.'

'Myself and three of my seamen.'

'The fishermen who carry you across might be nervous at being outnumbered by - well, King's men ...'

'Perhaps it could be explained to them.'

That would not be possible.'

'But -'

Take my word for it, Mr Ramage; I can't explain why at this stage, but believe me, you'll understand before you reach France.'

'There is no point in me going without my men: the whole business would fail.'

Simpson shrugged his shoulders. 'I'm sorry, Mr Ramage; have to think of my friends.'

'So you won't help?' Ramage asked bluntly*

Simpson shook his head sadly. 'I daren't involve my friends . . .'

Half the morning had been wasted; he had to be in France within the next twenty hours. Yet there was not enough time left to start all over again. Simpson was too smooth, too suave, too sly for any honest man to trust him; but Ramage knew he had no choice. This man had to be persuaded. He glanced at his uncle, who was finishing his sherry in anticipation of leaving.

'Mr Simpson, I must tell you that the reports in the newspapers that Bonaparte is likely to invade within a short time are taken very seriously in London. In fact -'

'But such reports appear every week,' Simpson interrupted scornfully. 'We've been reading them for more than a year.'

'Quite, but there are reports which have just arrived and which you will not be reading in the newspapers. My orders are based on those.'

One could hardly tell a smuggler, even a wealthy smuggler who was one of the biggest landowners in Kent, that the First Lord of the Admiralty himself, and Lord Nelson, had decided to send him to France: that might start the fellow thinking that if the operation was as important as all that, then someone ought to be paying a lot of passage money. That in turn would mean that Lieutenant Ramage paid since the Admiralty would - officially, since such money had to be paid officially - refuse to have anything to do with smugglers.

Simpson shook his head and smiled; a disarming smile, Ramage felt, of the type he would use when gently refusing a parson's plea that he should pay for putting a new roof on the church in the next village but one.

'I'm sorry, Mr Ramage . ..'

'Very well,' Ramage said bitterly, 'I must admit I'm not surprised: my uncle was unduly optimistic'

'Come now, Nicholas,' Treffry said gruffly, 'don't be hasty!'

'Hasty!' Ramage exclaimed angrily. 'With respect to Mr Simpson, we aren't asking much. If Bonaparte invades, there'll be no more smuggling: no more Mr Simpson, in fact, since he'll be one of the first strapped to the guillotine. What' - he held Simpson's eyes, his voice harsh but quiet - 'exactly what have you ever done for the country in this war, except make a fantastic profit? Yet you were born in the country. Two of the three men I'm taking with me to France, and whom you object to, are foreigners.' His tone now became contemptuous. 'One is American and the other Italian. Each of them has done more for Britain in the war than all the men that you employ!' He,turned to Treffry: 'Come, uncle, it seems there's little honour among - smugglers.'

As Treffry stood up, his face flushed but obviously angry with Simpson rather than his nephew, Simpson gestured to the two of them. His face had suddenly gone white and strained; the nonchalant attitude had vanished. Ramage suddenly saw in his expression the face of a man with a bad conscience.

'Please sit down again, both of you. Mr Ramage, you put into words the thoughts that sometimes come to me in the sleepless hours before dawn. But' - he looked up, half-defiant and half-apologetic - 'I'm not apologizing for anything except my decision not to help you. I was wrong. All my resources - and they are not inconsiderable, as you have probably guessed - are at your disposal. You will be landed in France tonight. Where are your men?'

'At Dover. They will arrive -' he looked at his watch, 'in half an hour.'

'Very well. There's an inn close to the west quay at Folkestone called the Kentish Knock -named after the shoal in the Thames Estuary, I suppose,' he said with an attempt to lighten the tense atmosphere. 'Will you be there with your men by nightfall? A man will introduce himself to you. What should he say so you'll know he is not an impostor?'

'Have him say, "Do you remember me? I served with you in the Triton."'

'There's just one thing,' Simpson said, almost apologetically, 'Getting you to France is no problem, but you want to be able to escape again. I presume you won't know when you'll have either the opportunity - or the need. So I will arrange - no,' he said hastily, 'don't tell me anything about your plans; just tell me if mine don't fit in with them. So, I'm arranging for you to get to France, and for a fishing-smack to be waiting for you in Boulogne for as long as you want. It can pass from Boulogne to Folkestone without difficulty. That will make your escape less of a problem.'

'It will make it no problem at all,' Ramage said cheerfully, anxious to restore a better atmosphere.