Suddenly Ramage understood something which had puzzled him for years: why, at the trial, his father had eventually refused to make any further defence. His enemies claimed he'd finally admitted his guilt; his friends, for the lack of any other explanation, assumed he was just worn out.

 But now Ramage knew his father had decided his accusers were too despicable to warrant him continuing to defend himself against their charges; charges which were so gross that if he was to clear himself he would have to use the same crude and dishonourable weapons.

 But why not use them? Why, Ramage thought, should the despicable always win against the honourable? Why should men like Goddard and Croucher, lurking in the shadows, using assassins - whether assassins destroying a man's life with lies in a court of law or with a stiletto in a dark alley - why should such men always escape? They always did: the Duke of Newcastle, Fox, Anson, the Earl of Hardwicke for instance - they'd engineered Admiral Byng's execution and escaped; and less than thirty years later their successors had ruined his own father, although mercifully they hadn't stooped to judicial murder.

The tactics, Ramage realized, were not to waste time with the assassins, but instead go straight for the men who employed them: the men in the shadows.

Ramage suddenly knew he didn't give a damn if his own career was wrecked: that was little enough to gamble if it meant squaring Goddard's yards...

Croucher was saying something.

'I beg your pardon, sir?'

 'I was announcing, for the second time,' Croucher said acidly, ‘that the court feels since the prosecution has not offered any evidence in support of the charge, the court should record the fact and dismiss the charge.'

How blatant can you be, thought Ramage.

'The prosecution has only been interrupted, sir.'

‘Yes, I know,' Croucher said testily, 'but—'

 'I assume the prosecution actually possesses evidence, sir, so with respect I feel the trial ought to continue.'

 Croucher looked wary: he could see many traps ahead. But he had several advisers, apart from the legal books on the table in front of the Deputy Judge Advocate.

 'Very well, then, you and the Marchesa will leave the court while the members discuss the situation. You will not, of course, have any conversation together. Tell the sentry to pass the word for the Provost Marshal.'

Fifteen minutes later a sentry came into the Captain's clerk's cabin, where Ramage was waiting with Blenkinsop, to tell them the court had re-opened. When Ramage walked back into the great cabin he saw the seats behind his chair were now full: every officer not on duty in the ship had come in to watch, hoping for more excitement.

Captain Croucher looked up at Ramage.

 'The court has decided that no reference to the recent interruption shall be recorded in the minutes, and the trial will continue. Do you agree?'

 'It is not for me to agree or disagree, sir,' Ramage said coldly. 'With the greatest respect, you are the President of the court. If the court is in error, no doubt the Commander-in-Chief or the Admiralty will take the appropriate steps.'

 He wasn't going to fall into that trap; if he agreed, Croucher was cleared of any possible charge of misconduct over the trial. Croucher had set a trap and - thanks to Gianna -was now in danger of himself being caught in it; but that was the risk people took when they set traps. Croucher was a fool anyway, because Gianna wasn't on oath; none of the court seemed to have realized the minutes should record only evidence given on oath: if a ship blew up alongside, there would be no need to record it - unless to explain the court's adjourn­ment. Ramage decided to bluff.

 'I think,' Croucher said uncertainly, 'the court has the power to order anything to be omitted from the record.'

 His voice did not carry much conviction; clearly he wanted to lure Ramage into a discussion, so that he could suggest in a friendly way that he was causing a lot of unnecessary bother.

Ramage stood up.

 'With respect, sir, and admittedly with no knowledge of legal procedure, surely a court can't ignore and thus virtually destroy evidence already given? Otherwise minutes could always be edited or censored, like some penny broadsheet, to prove a guilty man innocent - or an innocent man guilty.'

 'Good God, young man, no one's suggesting the minutes should be censored: the court just feels it would be the wisest way of disposing of a very disagreeable situation.'

 'By disagreeable, sir,' said Ramage politely, 'I assume you are concerned that it is disagreeable for me; but the court must ignore my feelings and get at the truth, however disagreeable it may be....’

'Very well, then,' Croucher said, obviously admitting defeat, 'call the first witness.'

 Ramage interrupted: 'Can we follow the normal procedure, sir, and have the Deputy Judge Advocate read over the minutes from the time the first witness was originally called?'

 'My dear boy,' Croucher replied, 'we can't spend all the week on this trial: let's get on with hearing the evidence.'

Ramage rubbed the scar over his right eyebrow and blinked  rapidly: excitement and anger were mounting: he must keep calm: once these men found their victim showed signs of fighting back, they became nervous, and he had to watch for every opportunity to attack: he must continue the bluff.

'With respect, sir, it is only fair to me to have it read.'

'Oh, very well, then.'

 Everyone looked at Barrow, who gripped his spectacles in both hands and almost giggled with nervousness.

'I made no note, sir...'

‘You what?'

'No, sir.'

 Ramage interrupted smoothly: 'Then perhaps we can agree on a paraphrased version, sir?'

 It only needed someone to point out that Gianna had not been on oath and he'd lost the gamble; but it was worth it. To his relief Croucher finally agreed, and for the next five minutes he and Ramage argued over the wording. Ramage insisted that the Marchesa's remarks should be put in word for word, and when Croucher declared that it was impossible to remember what she said, Ramage suggested she should be called in to repeat her remarks. Croucher, alarmed at the idea, eventually agreed on a short version and asked sarcastically: 'Are you satisfied now?'

'Indeed, sir.'

 'Thank God for that. Barrow, make a note of that and re­call the first witness!'

 The Bosun walked straight to the witness chair, and since there was no need for him to take the oath again, Barrow began the questioning.

 'You were formerly Boatswain of His Majesty's late ship Sibella on Thursday the eighth of September, when you fell in with the French warship?'

'Aye, I was that!' replied Brown.

'Kindly answer, "yes" or "no",' Barrow said acidly. 'Relate to the court every particular you know concerning the action from the time Captain Letts was killed.'

 Ramage was just going to protest that Brown should begin his story earlier, since the court was investigating the loss of the ship as well as trying him, when Captain Ferris interrupted.

 'From the wording of the order for the trial, I think the witness should tell what he knows from the time the French ship came in sight. Captain Letts' activities are of equal interest to the court.'

 'Since Captain Letts is dead he can hardly be a witness,' said Captain Croucher, trying to avoid openly rejecting Ferris's demand.

 'Had the prisoner been killed he would not be on trial either,' retorted Ferris. 'But it would be unfair to blame the prisoner for anything which was Captain Letts' responsibility.'

 'Very well,' said Croucher. 'Strike the last part of the ques­tion from the record and substitute "from the time the French ship was sighted".'