“No, I suppose not.” He moved jauntily through the hall, whistling. “Yes, the worm is here. No doubt about it, They say that if you took the roof off this house, his furniture would levitate. Of course, they’d say anything in this diocese!”

He pointed to the grandfather clock. “Oh, there’s that famous clock that he bought at Lord Dunboy’s auction for fifteen bob. It never worked. His glugger, he called it.”

Father Mahon looked askance.

“The glugger is the dummy egg that keeps the hatching hen on the job. Well, now, how about showing me over the rest of the establishment?”

They stopped at the foot of the stairs, each giving way politely.

“After you, Peter,” said Father O’Leary. “It’s your house at the moment, officially.”

Father Mahon went up first, still holding the bag. He strode boldly enough into the bedroom. It was the other man who came slowly in, for the first time hesitant.

There was no carpet on the floor. A washstand stood against the wall, on it a plain white jug and ewer. There was a black crucifix over the bed. The blankets had been folded neatly beside the pillow. There was no sign of his clothes in the room. Everything seemed to have been tidied away for good.

They both stared at the bed, both considering whether Conroy had known that he would not be returning from O’Hara’s dinner that day. Father Mahon broke the silence at last, “You’ll sleep here tonight, so, Father?” and there was a noticeable pause before Father O’Leary replied, “Ay, I suppose so.”

On the way downstairs, Father Mahon saw the woman heading toward the sitting room with a tea tray. Immediately, he stopped in the hall and hoisted the bag under his arm. “Well,” he said, “I’d better be going.”

“What’s your hurry?”

He muttered something about the bus back to Castlemore.

“Don’t worry about that! I’ll drive you home. Come on in.”

He wasn’t forceful enough to get away. Father O’Leary pushed him triumphantly hack into the sitting room. “Sit down, can’t you? You’re nervous as a cat.”

He tried to smile as he sank into one of the armchairs. He didn’t know what to do with the bag. At last he pulled it into his lap and saw Father O’Leary’s eyes following it.

“What’s in the bag?”

“The bag?” He looked down at it. “Just some papers I thought I’d take.”

“Papers, huh?” He waited till the woman cleared a space on the table and set the tray down. When she began to pour out, he abruptly waved her away, and she hurried off in relief. “Letters?”

Father Mahon nodded his head and clasped the bag closer.