Captain Farraday shrugged his shoulders.
"Like enough. There were too many cruisers o' both sides at large in those seas to suit him. But now he knows we ha' back the piping times of peace—and when nations are at peace your pirates reap their harvest. You may lay to that, Master Ormerod."
"'Tis not to be questioned," assented my father. "I give you thanks, captain. Pray call upon me at your leisure, and if I can be of any service to you I am at your command."
Captain Farraday stumped off toward the George, a tail of the curious at his heels, and I grinned to myself at thought of the strong drink they would offer him in return for his tale. There was no chance of his being sober inside the twenty-four hours.
My father nodded absently to Peter, who had stood throughout the entire conversation, his flat face sleepily imperturbable.
"I like it not," he muttered, as if to himself.
Peter gave him a quick look but said nothing.
"Is there anything wrong, father?" I asked.
He frowned at me, then stared off at the housetops in a way he had, almost as if he sought to peer beyond the future.
"No—yes—I do not know."