Coimbra, 16th - Late Afternoon & Evening

Fandorin nodded. 'Very well. Think it over.' Fandorin walked closer to the man, about to take his leave. 'But please, if you do decide to take them, I'd rather you did not try to make your sleep easier by trying to, ah, make sure I could not talk, sir.' Fandorin looked at the General coldly. 'Do not be offended, but after all, I have about as many reasons to trust you, as you have to trust me.'

Wellesley returned the glare with one equally as chilling.

"Then you mistake me for a French marshal, sir," he said coldly. He could easily have this man eliminated, it was true; the moment he walked out of this room his life could be over before he reached the front door - yet it had not entered Wellesley's head to do such a thing before von Dorn mentioned. Simply because with an enemy or an ally he would never double-deal. "I shall send word tomorrow."

He nodded his head in the direction of the desk, indicating that von Dorn should take the stones with him.

A small smile touched Fandorin's lips at a cold, but still indignant reply. So the man was human after all. He glanced at the stones and shook his head.
'No, sir. Let them remain here. I trust you to return them to me, should you decide not to accept them. Besides, I'd like to spend at least a day not worrying over the fortune I carry around with me.' With that he turned and walked to the door, indicating that as far he was concerned the conversation was over.

The door closed after von Dorn and Wellesley turned angrily on his heel, directing a furious glare at the stones. He was loathe to touch them. He felt as if they were steering him into some unforseeable trap, that he was being manoeuvered, and it was a feeling he did not like. Yet he could not leave them lying on his desk.

He picked up the bag and the sheets of paper the diamonds were lying on and carefully tipped them back into the pouch. He then tied it up and shoved them in a drawer of the bureau, locking it firmly a removing the key. They would be out of sight, but alas not out of mind. Dear God, didn't he have enough problems already?

[OOC: Bed! ]

Erast took his things from Hunter and made his way out of the monastery and back to his lodgings, the only indicator of the fact that he was rather happy to be rid of the damned stones, being the the twirling of his cane.

[OOC: sleep well ]

De Quental followed Brother William to the back entrance of the monastery. Before they parted, De Quental paused and teasing his moustache, said:
'Look, Brother William, I know you mean well, but try not to kick up too much dust, will you?'
'A man is dead and whoever is responsible for it, is still out there.'
De Quental sighed.
'Yes, I know, but I am not going to make a fuss, while the British are still here! I have orders to that effect! Once they leave we shall make all the enquiries we want. Hell, you can turn the city upside down if you so wish.'
'What if the man responsible is one of the British?'
'Then let him leave, the man was a French spy anyway, not that we had any proof. If a British soldier killed him than he killed an enemy, isn't what they are supposed to do?' Sighing again, De Quental looked at Brother William. 'Please, there are greater things at stake here...'
After some moments Brother William nodded and disappeared in the shadows of the monastery, leaving De Quental to get back to his home and soothe his consciousness with food.