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So it was a procession of half a dozen that carried their lanterns down the ladder--the four lieutenants, Clive, and Wellard. While waiting at the head of the ladder Bush stole a side glance at Buckland; his face was working with anxiety. He would infinitely rather have been walking a shot-torn deck with grape flying round him. He rolled an inquiring eye at Bush, but with Clive within earshot Bush dared say no word--he knew no more than Buckland did, for that matter. There was no knowing what was awaiting them at the foot of the ladder--arrest, ruin, disgrace, perhaps death.

The faint light of a lantern revealed the scarlet tunic and white crossbelts of a marine, standing by the hatchway. He wore the chevrons of a corporal.

"Anything to report?" demanded Hornblower.

"No, sir. Nothink, sir."

"Captain's down there unconscious. There are two marines guarding him" said Hornblower to Clive, pointing down the hatchway, and Clive swung his bulk painfully onto the ladder and descended.

"Now, corporal" said Hornblower, "tell the first lieutenant all you know about this."