Free Dead Reckoning by Parkinson C. Northcote

began to appear at the door. Waiting their turn to say good-bye, Delancey and Greenwell could look across the straits to the mountains on the mainland culminating in Kedah Peak; the green carpet of jungle trees darkened by a cloud shadow moving slowly towards them. As they watched, the peak was blotted out by greyness. The wind had risen and the air felt cooler as they left. “If you ask me,” said Greenwell, “I think it is going to rain.” As their carriage drove off the two officers, who had donned their uniform coats before leaving, removed them again, reflecting that these garments existed in the East only for the purpose of a very fleeting ceremony. The sky presently darkened and a few drops of rain fell, at which their syce, smiling broadly, produced two umbrellas made of oiled paper on a bamboo frame.
    â€œA cheap imitation,” said Greenwell. “I could wish that I had my boat cloak.”
    â€œOn the contrary,” replied Delancey, “I have been told that the umbrella was invented in these parts and took this form, of which the European version is the copy. As for your boat cloak, you would be as wet with perspiration in it as you are going to be without it.”
    â€œI see what you mean, sir.”
    Abruptly and without further warning the downpour began, such rain as Delancey had never seen before. It fell solidly as if thrown down by invisible buckets. They were wet through in a matter of seconds and no conceivable umbrella or cloak could have made the slightest difference. Rain drummed and bounced on the track, cut through the foliage of trees, and turned each ditch into a miniature river or torrent.
    The whole world had turned, seemingly, to water, a factwhich gave amusement to their driver if not to the ponies. The vehicle was finally brought to a halt under a clump of trees which offered a little protection. Ten minutes later the rain stopped and the sun came out again, turning much of the water into vapour. In the atmosphere of a Turkish bath the journey was resumed and the two-horse palanquin brought them back to the waterfront near the fort, the point from which their journey had begun. Delancey had been given a great deal to think about.
    Calling next day on the Admiral, Delancey was given his written orders and told to victual his frigate for a six-month cruise. The flag lieutenant gave him, in addition, a list of captures made by Pierre Chatelard. To this was added a sealed letter, to be opened after the capture of the Subtile, authorizing him (he was told) to proceed to the Cape. A further sealed packet was to be opened after twelve months if the Subtile should have eluded him. Armed with these various orders, Delancey said good-bye to the Admiral with a certain finality. “Remember,” Sir Edward concluded, “I don’t want to have the Subtile as a prize. I don’t want to have Chatelard as a prisoner. I merely don’t want to hear of them again!” Going back to the Laura, Delancey placed the list of captures alongside the chart and neatly marked them in with the date of each. He dined alone that day and spoke to nobody, returning continually to the chart and studying what he must try to see as a pattern. The art of the thief-taker, he told himself, is to forecast the future crimes of one whose past crimes reveal a certain habit. If the same man broke into houses A, B, and C, we may know something at least about his preferences and methods. What could he tell, in the same way from a list of prizes taken?
    The list read as follows:

    One thing apparent from the chart was that Pierre Chatelard’s most valuable captures had been among the latest; probably the Susannah and the Ganges. These were the losses which had spurred the Calcutta merchants into activity and protest. The next point of interest was the apparent length of the cruise. No ship could remain so long at sea without returning to base for supplies. A man-of-war could refit at sea