“Don’t worry about that,” said Rollison. “Just what do you mean by ‘what with one thing and another’?”

Kemp shrugged his big shoulders.

“Don’t get the idea that I’m complaining,” he said, “I knew that I was going into a pretty hot district. A friend in my previous church suggested it and it rather attracted me. My father is an old friend of Mr Cartwright, too. Since he’s been ill, things have rather run to seed. I’ve been trying to get them going again, but—” he drew a deep breath. “Can you see the sense in it?” he demanded helplessly.

“In what precisely?” asked Rollison, patiently.

“Breaking up meetings, pilfering from our reserve of old clothes—it seems as if there’s someone in the district who wants to wreck everything we try to do.”

“I see,” said Rollison, and added unexpectedly: “The Devil works hard, doesn’t he?”

Kemp looked startled. “I didn’t expect—” he broke off. When he coloured his fair skin was suffused and he looked like a boy.

“You didn’t expect that kind of talk from me,”

Rollison completed for him. “I don’t see why not. Crime is evil, evil springs from somewhere, why not add the “D”? Where are you living?”

“I’ve converted a room at one of the mission halls,” answered Kemp. “Housing’s still a problem near the docks and I thought I’d be wise to try to manage on my own. Will you come with me?” he added, eagerly. “There are one or two people who saw the fight and you might learn something from them.”

“I won’t come with you,” said Rollison, “but I’ll join you in about an hour’s time. Which hall is it?”

“In Jupe Street. Oughtn’t you to have a guide?”

Rollison chuckled. “I can find my way about! You get back, Kemp, and stop thinking that Craik is half-way to the gallows!”

He ushered the young parson out and, when the door closed, turned to see Jolly approaching from his bedroom where, doubtless, he had been listening.