Father Rakosi asked anxiously:
Is it important?
Sorme took two paces back from the door, coming close to the priest. He said in a low voice:
It's about the Whitechapel murders. He asked me to let him know immediately anything happened.
The priest glanced at the woman, then said apologetically:
I think you'd better wait inside. I will see if he is awake.
The woman turned without another word, and walked off. Sorme followed the priest into the dark interior that smelt of polish and tidiness. The priest said:
You wait here, please.
Sorme stood by the frosted-glass windows, swearing under his breath about the Scotswoman. It was not her refusal that irritated him, but her hostility and the desire to obstruct. He thought: How dare she be hostile to me, the bitch? She doesn't know me. What makes people turn nasty like that? Is that a form of sadism?
The idea interested him; he sat in the chair, thinking about it. Sadism is inflicting pain. Does petty- mindedness qualify as sadism? The choice of stupidity rather than intelligence? But how do I understand Austin's? Inverted love…
The priest came back, he said quietly:
He is awake.
He turned and walked into the next room. Sorme hastened up the stairs and along the corridor, half expecting to be intercepted by the Scotswoman. The priest's door stood slightly ajar; he rapped with his knuckles and went in.
Father Carruthers was sitting up in bed, the plaid blanket wrapped around his shoulders; his face looked tired and dazed. The room was colder than usual; the window was open.
Hello, father.
The priest said:
What has been happening?
Sorme closed the door carefully, and sat on the edge of the bed. He said:
Austin has been taken to the police station for questioning. There was another murder last night.
I heard about the murder. What do they want with Austin?
He sat up, pulling his body into a more comfortable position; Sorme leaned forward and stopped the pillow from slipping until the priest had adjusted himself. He said:
They suspect him of the murders.
Have you spoken to him?
Yes, father. I was there when the police arrived.
Do you think he might be guilty?
Sorme hesitated, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, the priest seemed too old and tired to burden with a knowledge of pain. As he waited, the priest pulled the blanket tighter round his shoulders, and sank deeper into the pillows. He said:
I take it your hesitation means that he is?
Sorme said:
Yes, father.
I'm sorry, the priest said.
Before he could go on, someone tapped on the door. It was the Scotswoman. Without looking at Sorme, she said:
Father, there's another gentleman downstairs to see you. It's the German doctor…
The priest looked at Sorme:
Would you like to see him?
Sorme said:
I don't mind, father. I can go.
Would you send him up, please?
The woman closed the door quietly. Sorme said:
This is a little too much like a coincidence…
You don't have to speak to him.
I've nothing to hide, father. But… you won't mention Austin, will you?
No. But if you're certain Austin's guilty, I'm afraid there's nothing any of us can do.
I know, father. But I've only got his word for it. And I don't intend to tell anybody — beside you — that he's guilty.
If the police have evidence…
They haven't any evidence.
The priest said:
We shall soon find out.
As he spoke, Stein came into the room. He looked dapper and healthy, swinging an umbrella. He showed no surprise on seeing Sorme, but smiled pleasantly and nodded. He tossed the umbrella on to the armchair, and removed his overcoat, saying:
How are you, Larry? You look better. And Mr Sorme. I'm glad to see you here.
The priest said:
This is an unusual hour to call, Franz.
I know. I would not have dreamed of interrupting you… but I saw our young friend enter. I was in the vaults when he arrived. I would like to speak to him… while he is with you.
Sorme asked:
How did you know I'd come?
I didn't, Stein said.
The priest said to Sorme:
Would you mind closing that window, please? And putting a little more coal on the fire?
Sorme crossed obediently to the window. The priest said:
Why do you want to speak to Gerard when I'm present, Franz?
Stein said:
I think he understands.
Sorme glanced at his face as he bent over the coal scuttle; the exhaustion of the previous day had vanished; he looked calm and sure of himself. Sorme said:
I'd rather you explained, doctor.
Very well. You know that your friend Austin is at present at Scotland Yard?
Yes.
You also know that he will probably stay at Scotland Yard until he goes to prison?
Sorme replaced the coal tongs on their hook. He asked:
Why?
Stein leaned forward; he said deliberately:
You know why. Because he is the man the police want for the Whitechapel murders.
Sorme sat down again. He said: Are you sure?
Stein glanced quickly at the priest, as if suspecting that he was backing Sorme in the deception. He said:
I am sure. And I think you are sure also.
Sorme decided to bluff; he stared Stein directly in the eyes, and said:
What I don't understand is: Why tell me about it? What can I do?
Stein held his stare; his eyes became penetrating and aggressive.
You were with him this morning.
Yes.
He felt relaxed and indifferent, waiting for Stein to make the moves, unwilling to help. Stein must have sensed something of this in his calmness. He said impatiently:
I think you fail to understand your position.
