‘I’ve got the details back in the presbytery … but it was sometime in mid-to-late October. Around the 19th or 20th. Then, about a week later, it happened again. We opened the poor-box one morning, and it was packed with notes, mostly tens and twenties. This time, it came to about £3,000.’

‘And again, you have no idea who the donor was?’ Lucy asked.

‘No. But that was when I first started to think that maybe there was something odd about it. I was even moved to make a comment in my Sunday sermon.’

‘What did you say?’

‘It was difficult to know how to phrase it without giving out the wrong message. As I say, as far as I knew no one had done anything wrong. Quite the opposite. I merely said that charitable donations were all well and good, but that I wouldn’t want any parishioners to overreach themselves. I said that sometimes charity really does begin at home, and that hard-working people needed to ensure their own were provided for first. I told them that this is serving God too.’

‘And you didn’t say more than that?’ Lucy had been directed towards St Clement’s by Reg Murgatroyd, and was intrigued to know how he had found out about these cash gifts. ‘You didn’t tell your parishioners what had happened?’

‘Well, I didn’t …’ The priest looked awkward. ‘But we have a couple of ladies who come in to clean. They were here when it happened. I suspect they’ve been rather garrulous on the subject. Word would have got all over the estate, I imagine. Especially after the third delivery … as they were the ones who found it.’

‘There was a third?’

‘Yes, and this was the clincher for me.’ He frowned. ‘I mean the clincher that something was wrong.’ He rubbed at his chin. ‘Old Mrs Marmaduke, it was. She arrived at the church on Monday morning, seven o’clock sharp as always. We have a noon Mass each day, you see. So, she was coming in to get the place shipshape. And she found a parcel wrapped with newspaper on the doorstep. There was a message on it in crayon. It said: “For good causes”.’

‘How much was in it?’ Lucy asked.

‘We opened it together, Mrs Marmaduke and me. Probably a mistake in retrospect, but it contained …’ He shook his head with no little regret. ‘It contained what I estimated to be around £10,000 in cash.’

Lucy stopped writing. ‘You only estimated that?’

He shrugged. ‘I haven’t counted it yet. I don’t even like touching it. It’s still sitting in a cupboard in the sacristy. I simply haven’t known what to do with it. Do I allocate it as a charitable donation, or do I take it to the police?’ He fixed her with a long, querying stare.

‘You’re looking to me for advice?’ she said, caught on the hop.