The priest rose to his feet. ‘If that is true, then you have your second villain. If you don’t mind, Inspector Hadley, I would like to collect Mr Buttons and return to the church. You know Miss Wyndham’s murderer is the late Mr Vitale. I shall leave you to deal with this attention-seeking actor.’

‘Father Lamb, patience is not your greatest virtue,’ said Holmes. ‘If only you had had a shred more of it, two young people would still be alive today.’

‘What?’ exclaimed Lamb.

‘Yes, do explain yourself, Holmes,’ said Hadley.

Just then Palmer rushed in. ‘Gentlemen! Sirs! Deacon Buttons has just breathed his last. He died from shock. We could not revive him.’

The news hit the room like a stroke of thunder. I felt sick.

Holmes was the first to break the silence. ‘That makes three young people. Miss Wyndham. Mr Vitale. And now …’

A moan escaped the lips of Father Lamb. ‘Peregrine?’ he said. ‘Not my boy. Not Peregrine?’

We all turned to look at the priest. He sank back onto his chair, ghostly white and unable to speak.

‘You know, Father Lamb, it is a shame that you so badly mistook Dillie Wyndham’s intentions that night,’ Holmes remarked. ‘I don’t believe the young lady intended to seduce your Peregrine. It was merely a manipulation. Of course, we will never know for sure.’

The priest looked up, his eyes burning.

‘Dillie Wyndham would be alive, in Paris perhaps. Vitale would be happily in his laboratory. And your young deacon would have been exactly where you want him.’ Holmes turned to Hadley. ‘I left something out earlier. While Peregrine Buttons was at the Cross and Anchor looking for the third ring, Father Lamb returned from London and went straight to his beloved young man’s room. Yes, beloved. There he discovered Miss Wyndham, naked in Deacon Buttons’ bed! What were your thoughts, Father Lamb?’

The man said nothing.

‘You drew a wrong conclusion, that you had come across an affair – in flagrante delicto and instigated by a terrible Jezebel. You became enraged. Dillie had a formidable temper and met your fury with her own. A terrible battle ensued, the physical evidence, though mitigated, remained. Broken glass, a candle flung. It ended with you striking the fatal blow with the ironstone water-jug.’

The priest stared at Holmes with wolfish fury. I stood up, and noted Wright moving closer, protectively.

‘If only you had just done nothing, Father Lamb! Dillie would have bolted, as she planned all along. Your young deacon, finding himself abandoned, would have been devastated. And you could have offered solace, comfort, a haven. Just as you had done when his father died. Peregrine Buttons, the boy you love so dearly, would be alive today. But instead, in a rage and assuming the worst, you killed Dillie Wyndham, pitched her body into the river, and then tried to erase the signs of your struggle.’

Father Lamb did not move.