Leaving the hotel early the next morning, Will headed for the Port of Gibraltar shipping office which was situated down at the waterside.

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 her truth.

He knew enough about shipping movements to know that the shipping register in the port office would give him the vital information he sought.

The Blade of Orion had 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 the registers.

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 surely slipped.

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 step back.

“Only ship’s captains and people on official naval business are allowed in here, sir,” he said.

Will noted that the ‘sir’ was added in as a mere afterthought.

With no emotion on his face, Will slid a folded piece of paper across the counter toward the Quartermaster.

Then he waited.

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’s cheek.

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 he needed.

“How may I help you sir?”

Will took the precious letter, personally signed by King George, and put it securely back in his jacket pocket.

“A few minutes alone with the shipping register for the past week, if you would be so kind,” he replied.

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 of Will.

“Take as long as you like sir. Would you care for a glass of port sir?”

Will waved him away. Only navy personnel drank at this hour of the day.

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 the Blade 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 his suspicions.

Mr. and Mrs. Aldred Wright of London

Miss Harriet (Hattie) Wright of London

Reverend Peter Brown of London

Miss Sarah Wilson of York

He sat back in the chair and stared at the list of names.

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 the Blade of Orion and on her way to Africa.

That left only one other possible name.

“Miss Hattie Wright. Pleased to meet you,” he muttered.

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 minutes later.

“Did you find what you were looking for sir?” he asked.

Will stood up from the desk and closed the book. With a flourish he presented it to the Quartermaster.

“Yes; thank you, I found exactly what I was looking for.”