“We came out of it all right, sir.”

“Thanks to you, Sharpe, thanks to you.” Chase shuddered. “My father always said I’d be dead before I was thirty, and I’ve beaten that by five years, but one day I’ll jump into trouble and there’ll be no ensign to pull me out.” He patted the bag which held the money he had taken from Nana Rao and Panjit. “And between you and me, Sharpe, this cash is a windfall. A windfall! D’you think we could grow mangoes in England?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“I shall try. Plant a couple in a warm spot of the garden and who knows?” Chase poured coffee and stretched out his long legs. He was curious why Sharpe, a man in his late twenties, should only be an ensign, but he made the inquiry with an exquisite tact and once he discovered that Sharpe had been promoted from the ranks he was genuine in his admiration. “I once had a captain who’d come up through the hawse-hole,” he told Sharpe, “and he was damned good! Knew his business. Understood what went on in the dark places where most captains dare not look. I reckon the army’s lucky in you, Sharpe.”

“I’m not sure they think so, sir.”

“I shall whisper in some ears, Sharpe, though if I don’t catch the Revenant there’ll be precious few who’ll listen to me.”

“You’ll catch her, sir.”

“I pray so, but she’s a fast beast. Fast and slippery. All French ships are. God knows, the buggers can’t sail them, but they do know how to build ‘em. French ships are like French women, Sharpe. Beautiful and fast, but hopelessly manned. Have some mustard.” Chase pushed the jar across the table, then petted a skinny black kitten as he stared past the palm trees toward the sea. “I do like coffee,” he said, then pointed out to sea. “There’s the Calliope.”

Sharpe looked, but all he could see was a mass of shipping far out in the harbor beyond the shallower water which was busy with scores of bumboats, launches and fishing craft.