Blevins glared at him. “Look, we’re just at the beginning of this business. I’ve got men asking questions at the smithy where the new cart was built to see when it was ordered. I’ve got men asking questions about Walsh’s movements the day of the festival here as well as the night Father James was killed. A man that size can’t slink around without being noticed. Half the county force has been given to me for the duration to track the killer down. A local lord has even put up a reward for information leading to an arrest. Father James was well liked. We’re doing the best we can!”

Rutledge rejoined peaceably, “Yes, I can see that. You seem to have the investigation well in hand. Bishop Cunningham was alarmed enough to ask the Yard to see if there was anything we could do. Monsignor Holston will be glad of the news that someone’s in custody.”

“I suppose he will.” Blevins rubbed his eyes tiredly. “He was a friend of Father James’s. Do you want the truth? This is the first reasonable lead we’ve found. And if he didn’t kill the priest—Walsh, I mean—why did he put up such a fight? Here and in Swaffham!”

Because, Hamish pointed out, the man might well have other secrets to keep, unrelated to murder.

Rutledge said, “Then you don’t want me underfoot. I’ll return to London and leave you to it.” He had already been planning to do just that, but now there was an unexpected sense that he had somehow failed the people who had turned to him for answers. This arrest wouldn’t bring them peace. . . .

Hamish said, “They were wrong—Bryony and Mrs. Wainer and Monsignor Holston. It wasna’ a Greek tragedy that brought Walsh here. Only a new cart.”

Blevins was staring thoughtfully at Rutledge, debating something on his mind. Then, to Rutledge’s surprise, he said, “I’d take it as a favor, Inspector, if you stayed on. A day or two. At least until we’ve had an opportunity to look into Matthew Walsh. The Strong Man.” He used the words with irony, then meticulously straightened the stained green blotter before adding, “I’ve felt a good deal of anger over this business. I was one of Father James’s parishioners, you see. I’m not certain I’m detached enough to do my job properly. To judge Walsh’s innocence as well as his guilt.”

“Have you spoken to the Chief Constable—?”

“He tells me that it isn’t a question of my feelings,” Blevins interrupted. “It’s a simple matter of the facts. Well, I ask you, how am I to judge the ‘facts’ in this murder case when I’d cheerfully watch the bastard who did it hanged?”

“You must have known Father James fairly well. What was he like?”