"But you, sir, forgive me, have a particular gift?" the Major insisted.

"Do I?" Sharpe challenged the Major, and wondered which of the Emperor's servants was the spy.

"Sir Hudson Lowe, sir, would appreciate it mightily if you were to allow him to see the gift." Behind the Major stood an impassive file of redcoats.

Sharpe took the locket from out of his pocket and pressed the button that snapped open the silver lid. He showed the Major the lock of hair. "Tell Sir Hudson Lowe, with my compliments, that his dog, his wife or his barber can provide him with an infinite supply of such gifts."

The Major glanced at the Spanish officers who, in turn, glowered back. Their displeasure was caused simply by the fact that the Major's presence delayed their departure, and every second's delay kept them from the comforts of the Espiritu Santa's saloon, but the tall Major translated their enmity as something that might lead to an international incident. "You're carrying no other gifts from the General?" he asked Sharpe.

"No others," Sharpe lied. In his pocket he had a framed portrait of Bonaparte, which the Emperor had inscribed to his admirer, whose name was Lieutenant Colonel Charles, but that portrait, Sharpe decided, was none of Sir Hudson Lowe's business.

The Major bowed to Sharpe. "If you insist, sir."

"I do insist, Major."

The Major clearly did not believe Sharpe, but could do nothing about it. He stepped stiffly backward. "Then good day to you, sir."

The Espiritu Santo weighed anchor in the next day's dawn and, under a watery sun, headed southward. By midday the island of Saint Helena with its ring of warships was left far behind, as was the Emperor, chained to his rock.