“We can’t work miracles where none is wanted. And sometimes we can’t stand up in a court of law and tell the secrets of others—” The words had slipped out, and the priest’s eyes told Rutledge that he was instantly regretting them.

“Are you trying to say that one of the secrets Father James kept had to do with breaking the law?”

Monsignor Holston lifted his serviette to his mouth, giving him time to find the words he wanted. “I’m telling you that Father James never led a double life. I would swear to that. In your courtroom. As for what his parishioners confided in him, Father James took his knowledge of that to the grave. I was never a party to it, unless there was some way in which I could help. Which is as it should be. What I don’t understand, if we’re getting down to bitter truth, is why you’re still asking me questions when there is already a man in a cell. If as you say, I have a feeling of dissatisfaction, how do you define your own persistence?” Monsignor Holston let that lie between them for a moment, then added, “You haven’t been exactly open with me, either, have you?”

Hamish, who had been listening carefully, said to Rutledge, “He doesna’ want you to stop searching!”

Rutledge didn’t answer, his eyes on Monsignor Holston’s face.

“Did Father James ever speak of Matthew Walsh to you? During the War or after it?”

“That’s the name of the man Blevins brought in, isn’t it? No. Should he have?”

“Just closing a circle.” And then Rutledge changed the subject entirely to something more pleasant. But he’d learned what he wanted to know. Not even for the deep friendship that had existed between the two priests was Monsignor Holston willing to break whatever rules bound him. Or it could be that he suspected that something had disturbed Father James over the same period during which Mrs. Wainer had noticed a similar uneasiness, and was afraid to speculate aloud on the reason for it, because if he was wrong, he might reveal matters best left hidden.

“Aye, he canna’ tell you the lot, and let you sort through them!” Hamish agreed.

If the murderer was afraid that what one priest knew, he might pass on to another, surely that pointed away from a parishioner at St. Anne’s? And toward someone who wasn’t clear on how the priesthood worked.

It was an interesting avenue to explore. Rutledge had a sudden feeling that Blevins was right about one thing— that it wasn’t the collar that had made Father James a victim.

For the remainder of the meal, Monsignor Holston appeared to be distracted, as if behind the now ordinary conversation he was conducting with Rutledge, he was weighing what he had said earlier—and what conclusions the man from London would have drawn from his words.