Sharpes Gold   ::   Корнуэлл Бернард

The stone, the sudden death of the lancer, and, added to those, Sharpe's first suspicions that the French, if they had found the treasure, would not have lingered in the high valley but would have ridden fast with their booty to Ciudad Rodrigo. Now there was Harper's idea that, if El Catolico had told the truth, the grave in the churchyard had been created on a Sunday, which, by itself, was reason for suspicion. Sharpe walked on, feeling the sweat trickling down his back, and tried to remember El Catolico's words. Had he said something like 'I buried him less than a week ago'? But if Harper was right, exact about the six days? Once again his suspicion was drifting free and had nothing to pin it and justify the plan that was in his mind. Yet El Catolico was lying. He had no proof, just a certainty. He turned back to Harper.

'You think the gold is in that grave?

'There's something there, sir, and it's as sure as eternal damnation that it's no Christian burial.

'But he could have buried the man on the Saturday.

'He could, sir, he could. But there's the point that the thing is not disturbed. Strange. Again Sharpe did not follow the Irishman's reasoning. Harper grinned at him. 'Say you wanted to steal a few thousand gold coins, sir, and they were hidden in the vault. Now, would you want to share the good news with everyone that you were taking them away? Not if you have a grain of sense, sir, so you move it a short way, hidden by the walls of the burial yard, and you hide it again. In a good fresh grave.

'And if I was a French officer' — Sharpe was thinking out loud — 'the first place I would look for anything hidden — guns, food, anything — is a good fresh grave.

Harper nodded. He was no longer smiling. 'And if you found the corpse of a British officer, sir? What would you do then?

The Sergeant had gone way ahead of Sharpe's thinking and he let the idea thread itself into his suspicions. Where the hell was Hardy? If the French found a British officer in a grave they would not disturb it; they would replace the earth, even say a prayer. He whistled softly. 'But —

'I know, sir. Harper interrupted him. This was the Sergeant's theory, well thought over, and he raced ahead with it. 'There's the funny thing. They won't bury you heathen English in holy ground in case you spoil it for us good Catholics. But would you think sixteen thousand gold coins might overcome their fear of eternal perdition, sir? I'd be tempted. And you can always move the body when you dig up the gold, and with two Hail Marys you're back on the golden ladder. Harper nodded in satisfaction with his theory.