Hogan made a gesture of frustration. `I don’t know. I do know that Helene has come back to Spain. God knows why.’ He saw Sharpe’s sudden interest and he knew that his friend was still hooked by the golden woman.
The Spanish boy, who had not spoken since they came into the convent, reached nervously for a wineskin. Frederickson pushed one towards him.
Hogan shivered suddenly. The wind was stronger, sounding on the broken stones and whirling the sparks of the fire up into the darkness. `And why in God’s name does an Inquisitor bring her letter?’
`An Inquisitor?’ Sharpe asked. `The Spanish Inquisition?’
`Yes.’
`I thought they’d run out of people to burn years ago!’
`They haven’t.’ Hogan had talked long with the Marques’ chaplain and had learned some few things about the mysterious Inquisitor who had brought the incriminating letter. `He’s called Father Hacha and he’s got the soul of a snake.’ Hogan frowned at Sharpe. `Helene wouldn’t have caught religion, would she?’
Sharpe smiled. `I wouldn’t think so.’
`The weirdest people do,’ Hogan said glumly. `But if she had, she’d hardly be plotting murder.’ He shrugged. `Or maybe she would. Religion does odd things to people.’
There was silence. Frederickson took a piece of broken floorboard that he had collected from the shattered chapel and put it on the fire. The Spanish boy looked from man to man, wondering what they spoke of. He stared at Sharpe. He knew all about Sharpe and the boy was worried. He wanted Sharpe to approve of him.
Hogan suddenly looked at the broken gateway. Do you know what a torno is?’
Sharpe took a cigar from Fredericfcson, leaned forward, and lit it from the flames.
`No.’
Frederickson, who loved old buildings, knew what a torno was, but kept silent.
`There might have been one here once.’ Hogan gestured at the ruined convent gateway. `I’ve only ever seen them in Spain. They’re revolving cupboards built into the outer wall of a convent. You can put something into the cupboard from the outside, ring the bell, and a nun inside turns the torno. It has partitions so you can’t see into the convent as the cupboard turns. Whatever you put there simply disappears and another part of the cupboard faces the street.’ He sipped his wine. `They use them for bastards. A girl has a baby, she can’t raise it, so she takes it to the torno. There’s no questions asked, you see. The nuns don’t know who the mother is, and the mother knows the baby’s in good hands. It’s clean. It’s better than letting the wee things die in the gutter.’
`Or join the army,’ Frederickson said.
Sharpe wondered what the purpose of the story was. but knew better than to ask. The wind was driving clouds to cover the western stars.
Hogan shrugged. `Sometimes I feel just like the person inside the convent. The cupboard turns, there’s the baby on the shelf, and I don’t know where it’s come from, or what it’s called, or who put it there, or what bastard had his joy of the girl and dropped her. It’s just a little scrap of mystery, but there’s one difference.’ He looked from the fire to Sharpe. `My job is to solve the mystery. The torno has just dumped this thing into my lap, and you’re going to find out who put it there. You understand?’
Sharpe nodded. He should, he thought, be the Major of a Battalion marching to war. He should be preparing his men to stand in the musket line and blast death at an attacking army, but instead he was to be Hogan’s spy. He had earned the job by his foolishness, by accepting the duel. And the result was this secret meeting in the hills and the chance to once more go close to a woman he had once thought unapproachable, a woman who had been his lover for a short, treacherous season in Salamanca. `I understand.’
`Find out, come back, and maybe, Richard, just maybe, the General will give you your rank back.’
`Maybe?’
`Wellington doesn’t like fools.’ A spot of rain hissed on the fire. Hogan pulled his cloak about him. `You’d better pray that I’m right.’