“Hello there!” Hogan was peering into the alley. “I thought I’d lost you!” The Engineer rode his horse up to the two men and stared cheerfully down on the Rifleman. “Mules all stabled, powders locked up.” He turned to the strange Lieutenant and raised his hat. “Afternoon. Don’t think we’ve met. My name’s Hogan.”

The Lieutenant let go of his sword. “Gibbons, sir. Lieutenant Christian Gibbons.”

Hogan grinned. “I see you’ve already met Sharpe. Lieutenant Richard Sharpe of the 95th Rifles.”

Gibbons looked at Sharpe and his eyes widened as he noticed, for the first time, that the sword hanging by Sharpe’s side was not the usual sword-bayonet carried by Riflemen but was a full-length blade. He raised his eyes to look nervously at Sharpe’s. Hogan went cheerfully on. “You’ve heard of Sharpe, of course; everyone has. He’s the laddie who killed the Sultan Tippoo. Then, let me see, there was that ghastly affair at Assaye. No-one knows how many Sharpe killed there. Do you know, Sharpe?” Hogan ignored any possible answer and ground on remorselessly. “Terrible fellow, our Lieutenant Sharpe, equally fatal with a sword or gun.”

Gibbons could hardly mistake Hogan’s message. The Captain had seen the scuffle and was warning Gibbons about the likely consequence of a formal duel. The Lieutenant took the proffered escape. He bent down and picked up his Light Company shako, then nodded to Sharpe.

“My mistake, Sharpe.”

“My pleasure, Lieutenant.”

Hogan watched Gibbons retrieve his horse and disappear from the alleyway. “You’re not very gracious at receiving an apology.”

“It wasn’t very graciously given.” Sharpe rubbed his cheek. “Anyway, the bastard hit me.”

Hogan laughed incredulously. “He what?”

“Hit me, with his whip. Why do you think I dumped him in the manure?”