Father Conroy was more than mild. They had had a brush before, over a right-of-way, a Mass-path which Drewitt had tried to close after centuries of use. A shotgun had been brandished, but Father Conroy and his men had walked toward it, maintaining their right-of-way even as the double barrels wavered wildly over them. Possibly the gun had not even been loaded.

Father Conroy waved the winning ticket in silence, as Drewitt made way for him into the sitting room.

“Another ticket, Padre?” It seemed he was going to play it cool, sarcastic, smiling.

“Ah, no, Mr. Drewitt. I doubt if I could persuade you.”

“You’re damn right, Padre.” He chuckled, looked to his wife, forcing a timid smile out of her.

Father Conroy looked around for a seat. This was moving nicely.

“Sit down, Padre.” If you must, the tone conveyed.

Mrs. Drewitt still hovered. It was important to keep her on the spot in case of difficulty.

“You’ve a nice airy room here, ma’am.” Airy was right. Drewitt had a couple of screens around the back of his chair. The windows rattled, as if the wind were trying them one after the other. In the vast fireplace at the far end, the fire smoked away to itself.

“Yes,” she said, looking around her with no sense of achievement, “but it’s more or less as we got it. Mr. Drewitt bought everything, you know, just as it stood.”

“Cleared out some of the clutter, though,” said Drewitt. He began to fidget at the Agatha Christie, impatient to get back to it. “You’re not selling another ticket, then?”

“I didn’t think you’d be that keen for a pony, Mr. Drewitt.”

“You’re damn right, I wouldn’t.” This time his ferocious chuckle brought a smile hastening to Mrs. Drewitt’s lips.

“Well, that’s too bad now. There are plenty of people who would have given their eyeteeth to win it.”

“You mean I’ve won it.”

“Yes, indeed you have.”

He took it coolly, with just a narrowing of the eyes. One could see how he had made his pile; even wealth and comfort hadn’t done much to his self-control. “Why didn’t Teresa tell me?”

This was an awkward one – Teresa had been warned to keep her mouth shut. “We wanted to keep it as a surprise.” Father Conroy smiled.

“Where is it now?” he asked suspiciously.

“In my field below.”

He got up, walked to the window, though he couldn’t see it from there. He turned to Father Conroy with the next question – which Father Conroy forestalled.

“Ah, he’ll be safe enough there. You’ll be wanting to see him, of course. I’d say you’d be a great judge of a horse?”

“Well, not a great judge,” said Drewitt, gratified.

“You’d like this one, anyway, though he has no mouth.”

“No mouth? I don’t quite understand—”