‘Even a murderer is God’s creation,’ said Father Lamb. ‘I offer comfort where I can.’

Just then, Constable Wright burst through the door. ‘Mr Holmes, Mr Hadley, I’ve completed my investigation of the deacon’s room.’

Holmes smiled. ‘Ah. The ink, then, Mr Wright? The dent?’

‘Precisely where and how you described,’ said Wright crisply.

‘Excellent work,’ said Holmes. ‘Thank you. Stay now and enjoy the fruits of your labour. If he may, Mr Hadley?’

Hadley nodded, and Wright remained. The young officer stood in the corner, smoothing his black moustache and watching the proceedings with intense interest.

‘Mr Wright’s findings have just confirmed Peregrine Buttons’ innocence. Dillie was beaten badly. All three young men had injuries to their hand: her two suitors and your young deacon, Father. Mr Buttons told me that his injury came from his punching the wall in frustration. When I examined the room, I saw no such dent, but it apparently was in the hallway just outside the door. Wright has confirmed the dent exactly as Buttons described. Ergo, Peregrine Buttons did not beat the girl.’

‘Well, of course he would not!’ cried Father Lamb. ‘The boy is blameless!’

‘Father,’ said Holmes, ‘it is such a puzzle. We all agree that Miss Wyndham went to the deacon for help. She received a fatal blow in his room some time later. I wonder, though, why she was naked in Deacon Buttons’ bed at some time in the night.’

‘What? She never; Peregrine would not have allowed such a thing!’

‘I found unmistakable traces that Miss Wyndham was in the deacon’s bed with little or no clothing.’

‘You cannot prove this. And why would you want to? Are you so bent on ruining my young deacon’s reputation?’

‘No, in saving it. I have the proof right here. I collected traces from the bedding …’ Holmes reached into his pocket for the small folded card into which he’d placed some evidence in the room, only to find it waterlogged and useless. ‘Oh, no, well … washed away!’ he fumbled. ‘I, uh … you will have to take my word for it.’ He seemed confused and dismayed.

‘Some coffee, Holmes?’ I said.

He waved me off. If this was an act, it was an effective one.

Lamb eyed him superciliously. ‘You struggle, Mr Holmes. Naked in his bed? I tell you, no. Traces? What nonsense!’

‘Well, to continue,’ said Holmes. ‘We all agree that Leo Vitale was in Deacon Buttons’ rectory rooms. Then there is the matter of the bottle of ink.’ It seemed that he was losing steam with his argument. I was worried about him.

Father Lamb looked confused.

‘You remember the purple ink that Deacon Buttons used to write on Dillie’s doll,’ said Holmes, ‘the reason I became involved in this case at the beginning?’

‘What of it?’