He wanted to see how the other would react and watched him carefully. After a long pause, during which his face was quite blank except for the glitter in his eyes, Kemp’s lips began to curve.

“You’re a good cure for depression,” he said, in a lighter voice. I was to have met two parishioners here. Instead, the door was open and, when I switched on the light, this is what I found. They’ve made a thorough job, haven’t they?”

“Not bad,” admitted Rollison, “but there isn’t much that can’t be repaired, as far as I can see, so perhaps they want to keep you busy. Who were the two people whom you expected to be waiting for you?”

“A Mr and Mrs Whiting,” Kemp said, absently. “Probably they got scared and I can’t blame them. I shouldn’t imagine I’m going to have many friends in the near future!” The edge was back in his voice as he proffered cigarettes. Rollison took one.

“You don’t know your people yet,” he said. “Those who were lukewarm towards you before will now rally round and people who’ve never set foot in the church will probably come in on your side. You’ve a chance in a thousand, if you’ll take it.”

Kemp looked at him incredulously.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes,” said Rollison, “I’ve been acquainted with these people for years and I don’t think you need worry about lacking friends—you can count on it that those who aren’t for you now are against you, which will be a help.” He stepped to the door and called Jolly, who entered without a change of expression; he bowed to Kemp. “Move around a bit, Jolly,” said Rollison, “and try to find out something about this. Freddie Day might have heard a whisper, or else—”

“I think I know whom to approach, sir,” said Jolly, faintly reproachful.

Rollison grinned. “So you should! If I’m not here when you’ve finished, I’ll leave a message.”