Second to None by Alexander Kent Page A

was about to turn it over to examine the inscription when he saw the broken clasp and severed chain. As clean a cut as if done by a knife. His fingers closed tightly upon it. No knife. The marksman’s shot must have done it.
    Avery was watching him.
    â€˜I have been unable to find a local craftsman with skill enough to repair it. I would have sent it to her . . . Now, I think it better that you should be the one, sir.’
    They faced one another, and Adam understood. In his way Avery had been in love with her also. Now that she needed help, there was no one.
    â€˜Thank you for saying that. Perhaps I shall be able to return it myself.’
    Avery picked up his hat, knowing he would do nothing of the kind. Suddenly he was pleased at what he had done. He looked at Adam, and for a fleeting moment he saw the other face. He smiled.
Like a good flag lieutenant
.
    Galbraith was at the entry port when they came on deck, and saw them shake hands, as if each was reluctant to break the contact. He noticed, too, that the visitor paused and glanced almost involuntarily at the mainmast truck, as if he still expected to see a flag there.
    In his cabin once more, Adam took out the locket and readthe inscription, and her voice seemed to speak to him as it did whenever he received a letter from her.
    May Fate always guide you.
    May love always protect you.
    She must have remembered those words when she had watched
Unrivalled
standing out into Falmouth Bay. As she would always look for the ship which would never come.
    He turned as Galbraith appeared by the open screen door.
    â€˜Concerning tomorrow, sir?’
    It was the only way. Perhaps Galbraith understood, and in time might share it.
    â€˜Take a glass with me first, eh?’
    He slipped the locket into his pocket, out of sight. But the voice still persisted.
    â€˜There is something we must discuss, before I meet the vice-admiral tomorrow. You see, I have a plan . . .’
    It was a new beginning for all of them.

5
A Contest
    LIEUTENANT LEIGH GALBRAITH strode across the quarterdeck and reported, ‘The watch is aft, sir!’ Like his unerring steps over and past ringbolts and other obstacles, it was part of an unchanging routine at sea. He even touched his hat to the shadowy shape of Lieutenant Massie, whom he was about to relieve.
    It was still quite dark, but when his eyes eventually became accustomed he would see the approach of dawn in the fading stars, the hardening of the horizon. Massie stifled a yawn.
    â€˜West-by-south, sir.’ He stared up at the pale outlines of the sails, filling only occasionally with the wind across the starboard quarter.
    Galbraith glanced at the helmsmen, eyes flickering in the shaded light from the compass. Other shapes were moving into position: the morning watch, when the ship would come alive again.
    Galbraith looked at the tiny glow from the cabin skylight. Was the captain awake, or was it a ploy to keep the watch on its toes?
    He thought of Captain Bolitho’s return from his meeting with the vice-admiral. Galbraith had no idea what had been said, but the captain had come back on board barely able to conceal his anger.
    Galbraith tried to dismiss it. At first light they would sight and resume contact with another frigate,
Matchless
of forty-two guns. She had been in the Mediterranean for three years attached to one squadron or another, and wouldtherefore be very familiar with shipping movements and the lurking danger of pirates. Corsairs.
    Matchless
was commanded by a senior post-captain named Emlyn Bouverie, a man who came from a proud naval family, and was thought likely for promotion to flag rank in the near future. Galbraith did not know him, but those who did apparently heartily disliked him. Not a tyrant or martinet like some he had known, but a perfectionist, who was quick to reprimand or punish anyone who fell below his own high standards.
    He said, ‘You are relieved, sir.’ He lifted