Page 26 of My Gentleman Spy
Chapter Eight
Leavingthe hotel early the next morning, Will headed for the Port of Gibraltar shipping office which was situated down at thewaterside.
Before they sailed this day; he was determined to get to the bottom of who Sarah really was; he was no longer convinced that it was purely the former spy in him that was driving him to get to hertruth.
He knew enough about shipping movements to know that the shipping register in the port office would give him the vital information hesought.
TheBlade of Orionhad stayed in port for several days from his recollection. The passengers would have had to register with the local Gibraltar authorities as they came ashore. Names and places of origin would be in theregisters.
He wandered leisurely up to the small grey wooden building that was the shipping office and opened the door. The Quartermaster in charge was a bald, rotund gentleman who looked to Will as if he could do with a decent night’s sleep. He fitted his naval uniform more by chance than design. Another ale or large pie and the gold buttons on his regulation blue jacket would be fit to burst. Standards since the end of the war with France had most surelyslipped.
The Quartermaster shuffled over from behind his desk to where Will stood at the long wooden counter. As the Quartermaster reached the counter, Will got an unpleasant sample of the odor of stale sweat and bad breath. He took a half stepback.
“Only ship’s captains and people on official naval business are allowed in here, sir,” hesaid.
Will noted that the ‘sir’ was added in as a mereafterthought.
With no emotion on his face, Will slid a folded piece of paper across the counter toward theQuartermaster.
Then hewaited.
It took only a moment for the Quartermaster’s demeanor to change. He stopped reading and looked up at Will. A bead of nervous sweat slid down the man’scheek.
He straightened his back and adjusted the front of his jacket. It didn’t do anything to make him look any better, but it gave Will all the understanding heneeded.
“How may I help yousir?”
Will took the precious letter, personally signed by King George, and put it securely back in his jacketpocket.
“A few minutes alone with the shipping register for the past week, if you would be so kind,” hereplied.
He was promptly ushered into a nearby office. The Quartermaster tidied some papers on the desk and made space for Will to sit. He then scurried off, returning as quickly as his portly legs could carry him. In his hands he bore a large green book which he placed on the desk in front ofWill.
“Take as long as you like sir. Would you care for a glass of portsir?”
Will waved him away. Only navy personnel drank at this hour of theday.
Will opened the book and began to turn the pages. At the top of the page dated some six days earlier, he found the listing for theBlade of Orion.He began to search the passenger list. It did not take him long to find the travelling party which best matched the description of hissuspicions.
Mr. and Mrs. Aldred Wright ofLondon
Miss Harriet (Hattie) Wright ofLondon
Reverend Peter Brown ofLondon
Miss Sarah Wilson ofYork
He sat back in the chair and stared at the list ofnames.
There had been a Sarah Wilson on board the ship, that much was true. But his Sarah Wilson spoke with the accent of someone born and bred in London, not with the distinctive accent that a Yorkshire girl would be hard pressed to hide. He would bet his last penny that the real Sarah Wilson was still on board theBlade of Orionand on her way toAfrica.
That left only one other possiblename.
“Miss Hattie Wright. Pleased to meet you,” hemuttered.
He took a notebook and pencil from his jacket pocket and wrote down the names of the travelling party. He was strumming his fingers contentedly on the desk when the Quartermaster returned some ten minuteslater.
“Did you find what you were looking for sir?” heasked.
Will stood up from the desk and closed the book. With a flourish he presented it to theQuartermaster.
“Yes; thank you, I found exactly what I was lookingfor.”
