The way was clear now for Sharpe to go down the passage beside the house, but curiosity held him in place. There was a commotion in the alley, sounding like the jeers and scramble that always accompanied a band of constables marching through the lesser streets of London, then the outer gate was pushed fully open and Sharpe could only stare in astonishment.

A group of British sailors stood in the gate, led by a naval captain, a post captain no less, who was immaculate in cocked hat, blue frock coat, silk breeches and stockings, silver-buckled shoes and slim sword. The lantern light reflected from the heavy gold bullion of his twin epaulettes. He took off his hat, revealing thick blond hair, smiled and bowed. “Do I have the honor,” he asked, “of coming to the house of Panjit Lashti?”

Panjit nodded cautiously. “This is the house,” he said in English.

The naval captain put on his cocked hat. “I have come,” he announced in a friendly voice that had a distinct Devonshire accent, “for Nana Rao.”

“He is not here,” Panjit answered.

The captain glanced at the red-robed figure in the porch shadows. “His ghost will do very well.”

“I have answered you,” Panjit said, defiance now making his voice angry. “He is not here. He is dead.”

The captain smiled. “My name is Chase,” he said courteously, “Captain Joel Chase of His Britannic Majesty’s navy, and I would be obliged if Nana Rao would come with me.”

“His body was burned,” Panjit declared fiercely, “and his ashes have gone to the river. Why do you not seek him there?”

“He’s no more dead than you or I,” Chase said, then waved his men forward. He had brought a dozen seamen, all identically dressed in white duck trousers, red and white hooped shirts and straw hats stiffened with pitch and circled with red and white ribbons. They wore long pigtails and carried thick staves which Sharpe guessed were capstan bars. Their leader was a huge man whose bare forearms were thick with tattoos, while beside him was a Negro, every bit as tall, who carried his capstan bar as though it were a hazel wand. “Nana Rao”—Chase abandoned the pretense that the merchant was dead—”you owe me a deal of money and I have come to collect it.”