“I couldn’t have done it if you hadn’t come to hear my sermon,” he replied, clasping her hand between both of his. “Which is just as it should be. You come to praise the Lord, and the Lord provides for you. Looks to me like He thinks you’ve got mighty important business somewhere up the line.”

“I do.”

“So important that a man with a price on his head wanted to kill you?”

“He was hired by Dimitri Sokol.”

“Well, I’m sure Satan’s warming up a special seat in hell for Mr. Sokol.” He paused. “By the way, he had two accomplices. What happened to them?”

“They won’t be bothering me,” said Virtue emphatically.

Father William nodded his head approvingly. “Good. I’m glad to see you don’t need this kind of heavenly protection all the time.” He released her hand, picked up his glass, and took another swallow of his blue drink. “Why does Sokol want you dead?”

“I have no idea,” she said, looking him full in the eye.

“You know,” he said with the hint of an amused smile, “it’s a damned good thing that God’s got big plans for you—because otherwise He’d strike you mute for lying inside His house.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Virtue.

“Come on, young lady,” said Father William. “Dimitri Sokol’s a smuggler and swindler who thinks he’s worked out his own special brand of contrition.” He laughed contemptuously. “As if he thinks he can keep everything he did a secret while he pretends to be a humble, churchgoing public servant!” He stared at her. “Let me suggest that you blackmailed him, he paid you off, and now he’s trying to get his money back.”

“Close, but no cigar,” said Virtue. “I blackmailed him, all right—”

“Perfectly acceptable,” he interrupted her. “Sometimes you’ve got to hold the cancer up to the light before you can cut it away.”

“But not for money,” she continued. “For information.”

“Ah!” he said, his eyes lighting up. “What kind of information?”

“I’m looking for Santiago.”

Father William seemed to find that uproariously funny. “If I were you, young lady, I’d find out where he was and run the other way. Now that’s some information that’s freely given, and as such ought to count for more than anything Sokol told you.”

“He told me to talk to the Jolly Swagman.”

“Did he indeed? Well, I suppose he was right. But you’re not very likely to find the Swagman attending any sermons—and especially not when I’m doing the preaching.”

“Where will I find him?”

“Up in the hills, about ten miles out of town. Anyone around here could have shown you the way.”

“They also tell me he’s a hard men to see.”

“It all depends who you are and what you want to talk about.”