So Near So Far by Parkinson C. Northcote

been asked, however, to sail Lowther’s yacht in competition with another yacht and have accepted the task. I do not see that I can very well tell him that I have changed my mind.”
    â€œWhy not? Tell him that you have had to change your plans. For that matter, you can tell him the truth.”
    â€œThe difficulty is, sir, that wagers have been laid on the result and that my promising to take the helm has naturally affected the odds. I cannot, in fairness, go back on my word.”
    â€œReally, Delancey, I am disappointed in you. When so muchelse is at stake—a lady’s hand in marriage—a possibly distinguished career—you think that wagers in a sporting event are more important. I cannot applaud your decision and I incline to congratulate my sister-in-law on avoiding what could have proved an unfortunate connection. Good day, Captain Delancey, and do not look to this government for patronage.”
    Delancey bowed and withdrew. He paid a call next day at the Markhams’ house, asking for Mrs Farren, only to be told that she was not at home. So that, he concluded, was the end of that. His next problem was to discover the whereabouts of Fiona Sinclair. On that subject Colonel Barrington had been perfectly right. If she was not playing in London she would be playing somewhere else. Acting was her trade and she had no private means. There were theatres everywhere. Had he to visit them all? On the day after his repulse from the Markhams’ door he walked towards Printing House Square. Would someone connected with the press be able to advise him? No London newspaper, he realised, would find space to comment upon a provincial theatre. But provincial news must somehow reach London. He decided that his best plan would be to dine that day at the Cheshire Cheese, wherever that might be. It was the inn, he had been told, at which hacks and scribblers were usually to be found, and he was there in time to have the “ordinary” meal and a pint of ale. There presently sat opposite him a tall man of pale complexion with a long nose and inky fingers, who praised the steak pie and launched almost at once into an attack on the government.
    â€œYou look to me, sir, like a seafaring man and I hardly need to tell you that this peace will be of short duration. We shall be at war again, depend upon it, within the next year or two. Why, you ask? Because, in the first place, the terms of the peacetreaty would be impossible to carry out even if either side chose to observe them. Malta, you will recall, was to be restored to the Knights of the Order of St John, and who are they? The younger sons of the French and German nobility, each with an income from the family estate. The effect of the French revolution has been to sweep away these estates and all the revenues on which the Order used to depend. Nobody, sir, could restore the Order because the Knights would be penniless. So further war is inevitable. Now, when the last war ended it was the French plan to invade this country, using numberless small craft, flats and barges, to ferry their army across the Channel. This flotilla still exists and their invasion plan is already drawn up. Can it succeed? The admirals say that it cannot. I say that it can!”
    A number of other newsmen were now listening to this speech and one of them now ventured to point out that the Royal Navy was a possible obstacle.
    â€œBah!” said Longnose. “The Royal Navy can be swept aside. By what force, you ask? By the use, I reply, of gunboats!”
    â€œWhat is a gunboat?” asked a timid man who had just been served with a suet pudding.
    â€œWhat is a gunboat, my friend? You do well to ask that question and all too few people know the answer. A gunboat is a large undecked vessel, propelled by oars and mounting a single cannon in the bows—a cannon, it may be, of large calibre. Now, I’ll freely admit that gunboats must be confined to coastal waters. We