The Sultan's Daughter by Dennis Wheatley Read Free Book Online Page A

part of the thigh, and he gave vent to a spate of curses. But this fourth hit gave point to Roger’s argument andFormby had the grace to admit that he was right. Fighting down his humiliation, he gulped:
    â€˜I stand corrected, Mr. Brook. The temptation at least to show fight got the better of my judgment. We’ll not fire on her again and in a few minutes we’ll chance a tack with the hope of getting clear of her altogether.’
    Several more shots came over but no further hits were scored. As eight bells sounded, signifying the end of the first dog-watch, they turned on to a new course and, shortly afterwards, the firing ceased. They had been saved by the early coming of the winter night.
    Now that the action was over, Roger began to consider how it might have affected his plans. When they had sighted the frigate they had been about five hours’ sailing from Dieppe, given a continuance of the wind in roughly the same force and direction. Although by nine o’clock it would have been fully dark, only the fisher folk would have turned in for the night at that hour, so he had intended to have the sloop hold off a couple of miles or so from the shore until midnight. But for the past two hours they had been sailing away from Dieppe, and the wind would be less favourable heading back in that direction. Therefore it would now be midnight, or perhaps one in the morning, before they reached the normally deserted cove in which he intended to land. The loss of an hour was of no importance, or two for that matter. His only definite requirement was that he should be put ashore in ample time to get well away from the coast before morning.
    To Formby he said, ‘Now that we are out of trouble, Lieutenant, I pray your leave to retire to my cabin. I’ve a hard day ahead of me tomorrow, and it’s unlikely that I’ll get any sleep for the best part of twenty-four hours; so I’ve a mind to put in a few hours before I land.’
    â€˜That would certainly be wise,’ the Lieutenant agreed, ‘and you should have a good meal too. Shortly now the galley will produce something for us, and Trumper will relieve me while I have the pleasure of entertaining you.’
    Roger shook his head. ‘I thank you, but beg to be excused. I am a poor sailor and hot meals at sea are apt to play the devil with my stomach. I’ve some hard tack in my cabinwhich will suit me better, should I feel hungry.’ Then, not wishing to seem churlish to the young officer after having been so brusque with him, he added with a smile, ‘But if you chance to have a decanter of wine handy I’d be delighted to take a glass with you before I turn in.’
    â€˜Indeed I have.’ Formby’s face brightened. ‘Let’s go below.’
    In his cabin he produced some very passable Madeira, of which they drank two glasses apiece, while wishing one another good fortune. Then, having asked to be called at midnight, Roger went to his own cabin.
    There he made a scratch meal from his small but carefully chosen stock of provisions, then undressed and, still ruminating on his good luck at having escaped capture, fell asleep.
    At midnight the Lieutenant’s servant woke him. A quarter of an hour later he had dressed and, carrying his small valise, went up on deck. There was no moon and as cloud obscured the greater part of the heavens it was almost totally dark; so it was a perfect night for a secret landing. Groping his way up to the poop, Roger saw Formby’s face lit by the glow from the binnacle. Stepping up to him, he asked:
    â€˜How long should we be now? Whereabouts on the French coast do you estimate us to be at the moment?’
    Looking up, Formby replied, ‘As far as I can judge by dead reckoning, the coast on our beam should be a few miles south of Le Touquet.’
    â€˜Le Touquet!’ Roger echoed, aghast. ‘But that is not far from Boulogne, and sixty miles or more north of