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cry of pure outrage sounded from behind him and they startled apart, unable, suddenly, to meet one another’s eyes.
    His father’s face was crimson with rage and his fingers dug into his upper arm, hurting him. “What’s this?” he demanded. “Fraternising with the enemy?” He gave his son a little shake. “What’s your game, Elkington?” he roared, turning his attention to Henry without waiting for Albert to reply. “Turning my son against me now? Using my own flesh and blood against me, is it? Trying to get him on your side?”
    He should have been comical—a small, myopic, rotund old man, storming and raging—but he wasn’t. Albert pried at the fingers on his arm, panicked by his father’s fury.
    “Father! Please! Henry was helping me! I was indisposed—the motion of the boat…”
    Henry spoke. “My side? I have no side. I assure you, sir, that I sought only to help. Your son seemed to me to be in some distress.”
    The coolness in his words caused a silly pang of hurt and rejection in Albert’s heart.
    Foolish, foolish.
    His father’s gaze darted between them as though assessing the truth of their words, and his grip on Albert’s arm eased fractionally.
    Albert, quite as capable as his father of passionate temper, shook himself free and grasped the old man’s elbow firmly. He was ashamed of his father’s outburst, and that hot, slow feeling in his gut was stoked into anger by Henry’s apparent indifference. “Come, Father. I think you have embarrassed yourself—and me—quite enough for one day.” He half led, half dragged his father in the direction of their cabin, casting an apologetic glance over his shoulder at Henry as he went.
    Henry stood absolutely still and straight, watching them go. He didn’t move a muscle.
    But his eyes locked with Albert’s, and it seemed to Albert that there was a message there.
    Back in his cabin, Albert chewed on his bottom lip and puzzled over his father. He had seemed so unpredictable lately, so aggressive. He was hiding something—something to do with Henry and Streptosaurus boundrii . Something about the new find at the dig in Wyoming.
    The thought of Henry made his heart twist miserably in his chest, and he didn’t know why.
    When, later in the evening, his father came to his cabin, his mood had changed again.
    He seemed brighter, almost jovial.
    “Albert,” he said, perching himself on the edge of the bed. His gaze was steady and direct. “I fear I owe you an apology. Whomever else I might have reason to distrust, I know full well I can trust you. You have always been a dutiful son and my words were unwarranted—indeed, unforgiveable.
    “But I do forgive you,” Albert said. “I only want to know what is making you so worried and so…so angry. Is it Mr Elkington? Is it because of his discrediting your research paper?”
    Arthur’s gaze remained steady, but Albert noticed that his hand trembled just a fraction. “I had thought that inviting Mr Elkington on this voyage would show the world that I am a magnanimous man, that our apparent friendship would show the world that we are men of science, moving forward together in the pursuit of the truth. And I thought…I thought that if he was present for my grand discovery the world could not doubt its validity.”
    Albert smiled gently. “And I believe you are right, Father.”
    His father squeezed his eyes shut, and Albert was bewildered when he said, “But he’s so bright. So perceptive…” He opened his eyes again. “No, I have made a mistake. I should not have allowed him to come anywhere near my new find. It’s far too risky.”
    Albert frowned. “I don’t understand. Too risky?”
    The reverend’s eyes slid evasively to one side. Albert had a strange feeling that, whatever was worrying his father, it wasn’t the tale of a silly suspicion he had just spun for his son.
    “They’re a pair of bloody catamites!” Gideon Dawlish was elated. He had witnessed the incident on deck, and his