There was a flash of Dobble’s characteristic superciliousness in his eyes, and then it faded. He frowned. “There was a cake—a white sponge—at Digby’s house yesterday. It’s gone now. And they found strawberry jam there at the vicarage, also mostly gone from the jar. And there was a nearly empty box of arsenic . . .”

Phyllida took in this information calmly. “Every household in Listleigh—likely in England—has strawberry jam. As well as arsenic for the rats! And might I remind you that vanilla sponge is a baked-goods mainstay.”

“He didn’t offer me a piece of cake,” Dobble went on steadily, still looking down at the table. “When I saw him yesterday morning. We always have a sweet with our tea, and he always offers me anything his housekeeper has baked.”

“I see,” Phyllida replied, remaining unconvinced. “And because of that, you believe Digby Billdop is guilty?”

Dobble shook his head and lifted his eyes. His gaze fastened on Phyllida with an intent, desperate look she’d never previously witnessed on the reserved butler. “He loathes Alastair Whittlesby. He told me yesterday he wished something would happen to the man. I . . . I don’t know what to think.”

“Why would he kill Father Tooley?” Phyllida asked. “Surely the competition between the Catholic parish and the Anglican one isn’t that lethal.” Her comment was meant mainly as a jest, although it was, in fact, true that the competition was rather heated.

“Digby was quite upset that St. Thurston’s wasn’t chosen as the charity for the Murder Fête. He said the only reason St. Wen-dreda’s was chosen was because it has its own orphanage.”

“That was precisely the point of the charitable event,” Phyllida pointed out. “To raise money for the orphanage’s new roof.”

“Quite so,” said Dobble, who looked even more miserable. “I don’t believe it of him. I truly don’t . . . but he’s in jail, and he has such a delicate composition. His nerves will be simply frayed, and what will his flock think? The bishop will surely remove him even if he’s released. . . .”

Ah. Now Phyllida fully understood Mr. Dobble’s fears. It wasn’t so much fear that Mr. Billdop had murdered someone—he clearly didn’t truly believe that—it was the fear that the vicar’s life would be destroyed and, even worse, he would be removed from Listleigh.