His fingers moved over the keys again. The borough of Kilburn appeared on the screen, drifted into an enlargement. "There we are, Green Street," Roper said. "And the nearest Roman Catholic church would appear to be Holy Name, only three streets away, the priest in charge, Monsignor James Murphy. I think we should pay him a visit. It might be rewarding."

"In what way?" said Ferguson.

"Pool would have been a parishioner at this Holy Name place. The priest might be able to tell us where he comes into it."

"All right, go talk to him, but you know what Catholic priests are like. Seal of the Confessional and all that stuff. He'll never tell you anything."

"True," Roper said, "but he might talk to a fellow Irishman."

"Dillon? Yes, as I recall, he lived in Kilburn for a while in his youth, didn't he? Have you spoken to him about what you just found out about Pool?"

"Not yet."

"Well, get on with it, for heaven's sake." Ferguson turned to Doyle. "Lead on to the kitchen, Sergeant. I need a pot of coffee, very hot and very strong."

"As you say, General."

They went out and Roper sat there thinking about it, then called Dillon, who answered at once. "Any progress to report?"

"I'm afraid you've got enemy action," Roper said. "Ferguson found a prayer card in the driver Pool's wallet."

Dillon reached over and shook Miller awake. "You'd better listen to this."

Miller came awake instantly and listened to the call on speaker. "Can you explain anything more? I mean, the driver and so on."

Roper went straight into Henry Pool, his background, the facts as known. When he was finished, Dillon said, "This notion you have about seeing the priest at Holy Name, I'll handle that. I agree it could be useful."

"On the other hand, Pool was only half Irish, through his mother."

"They're sometimes the worst. De Valera had a Spanish father and was born in New York, but his Irish mother was the making of him. We'll be seeing you round breakfast time. We'd better have words with Clancy Smith, I promised to call him back."