Part 44 (1/2)

”There is nothing which amounts to a suspicion,” he answered reluctantly.

”It does not take a skilled detective, Mr. Wigan, to see that some one connected with the church must have had a hand in the affair. It is not the work of ordinary thieves. Therefore, as I said, absurd ideas will come. It happens that my curate, Mr. Hayes, is much in debt, and has had recourse to money lenders. He has said nothing to me about it; indeed, it was only last week that I became aware of the fact, and I decided not to speak to him until after Sunday. I was going to talk to him this morning.

It was a painful duty, and naturally--”

”Naturally you cannot help thinking about it in connection with the chalice.”

The vicar nodded as though words seemed to him too definite in such a delicate matter. That the two things had become connected in his mind evidently distressed him, and he was soon talking in the kindest manner about his curate, anxious to impress me with the excellent work Mr. Hayes was doing in the parish.

”The hooligans' club, for instance?” I said.

”That amongst other things,” he answered.

”Miss Morrison was one of your rich paris.h.i.+oners, I presume.”

”She was not a paris.h.i.+oner at all,” said Mr. Harding. ”She lived at Walham Green. She came to St. Ethelburga's because she liked our services, drove here in a hired fly every Sunday morning. I visited her, at her request, when she was ill some three years ago, but I really knew little of her. To be quite truthful I thought her somewhat eccentric, and never supposed she was wealthy. The presentation of the chalice came as a great surprise.”

”Have you a photograph of the chalice?”

”No; but Miss Morrison's niece might have. I know Miss Morrison had one taken, a copy of it appeared in the church papers. The niece, Miss Belford, continues to live at Walham Green--No. 3 Cedars Road.”

”Does she attend the church?” I asked, as I made a note of the address.

”Oh, yes. She used to come with her aunt, and since Miss Morrison's death she has taken up some parish work. I know her much better than I did her aunt.”

”Of course she has not yet heard of the theft?”

”No, I have not talked about it to any one. I thought silence was the best policy.”

I quite agreed with him and suggested he should keep the theft a secret for the next few hours.

With Mr. Hayes and his hooligans' club at the back of my mind, I made one or two enquiries in the neighborhood, and then started for Walham Green.

On my way to the Underground I met Percival, one of the men engaged upon the hotel robberies, and stood talking to him for a few minutes. He was rather keen on a clue he had got hold of, but I was now sufficiently interested in the stolen chalice not to be envious.

No. 3 Cedars Road was quite a small house--forty pounds a year perhaps, and Miss Belford was a more attractive person than I expected to find. I don't know why, but I had expected to see a typical old maid; instead of which I was met by a young woman who had considerable claims to beauty.

She opened the door herself, her maid being out, and was astonished when I said the Vicar of St. Ethelburga's had sent me.

She asked me in to a small but tastefully appointed dining-room, and when I told her my news, seemed more concerned on her aunt's account than at the loss of the chalice.

”Poor auntie!” she exclaimed. ”Whilst she had the jewels she was always afraid some one would steal them, and now--now some one has.”

”Mr. Harding thought you would have a photograph of the chalice,” I said.

”I am sorry, I haven't. There were two or three, but I don't know what auntie did with them. She was a dear, but had funny little secretive ways.”

”Mr. Harding led me to suppose she was eccentric,” I said. ”It is often the way with wealthy old ladies.”

”Wealthy!” she laughed. ”She left me all she had, and I shall not be able to afford to go on living here.”

”How came she to give the jewels to the church then?”