"A piece of it did fall down," said Corvo, unable to-stop himself. He was obviously thinking of his secretary's death.

Quart went on questioning Father Ferro. "What kind of relationship does she have with you and your assistant?"

"Normal."

"I don't know what you consider normal." Quart's contempt was calculated to the millimetre. "You old village priests have always had a questionable notion of normality regarding your housekeepers and nieces…"

Out of the corner of his eye Quart saw Corvo nearly jump in his chair. Quart had been provocative but with a purpose.

Father Ferro's knuckles were white. "I hope you're not implying…" He broke off and glared at Quart. "Someone might kill you for that."

The threat did not seem incongruous, given Father Ferro's style of preaching, rough exterior and hard, dry body now shaking with fury. He seemed capable of violence himself, but his exact meaning was open to interpretation.

Quart looked back at him calmly. "Your church, for instance?" he asked.

"For the love of God!" the archbishop interrupted. "Have you both lost your minds?"

There was a long silence. The patch of sunlight on Monsignor Corvo's desk had shifted to the left, away from his hand. The copy of The Imitation of Christ now fell exactly within it and Father Ferro stared at the book. Quart observed the old man intently. He was reminded of that other priest he'd wanted never to resemble; the man he had almost managed to forget. Since Quart left the seminary, a letter or a postcard had come occasionally; but then, silence. And Quart remembered him only when the wind from the south revived smells and sounds buried in his memory. The sea pounding against the rocks and the humid, salty air, and the rain.