III
Dr. Corrigan, whistling “Father O’Flynn,” walked into the D.D.I.’s roomand addressed Divisional Detective-Inspector¹ Lejeune in a chatty manner.
“I’ve done your padre for you,” he said.
“And the result?”
“We’ll save the technical terms for the coroner. Well and truly coshed.
First blow probably killed him, but whoever it was made sure. Quite anasty business.”
“Yes,” said Lejeune.
He was a sturdy man, dark haired and grey eyed. He had a misleadinglyquiet manner, but his gestures were sometimes surprisingly graphic² andbetrayed his French Huguenot ancestry³.
He said thoughtfully:
“Nastier than would be necessary for robbery?”
“Was it robbery?” asked the doctor.
“One supposes so. His pockets were turned out and the lining⁴ of his cas-sock ripped.”
“They couldn’t have hoped for much,” said Corrigan. “Poor as a rat, mostof these parish priests.”
“They battered⁵ his head in—to make sure,” mused⁶ Lejeune. “One wouldlike to know why.”
“Two possible answers,” said Corrigan. “One, it was done by a vicious-minded young thug, who likes violence for violence’s sake — there areplenty of them about these days, more’s the pity.”
“And the other answer?”
The doctor shrugged⁷ his shoulders.
“Somebody had it in for your Father Gorman. Was that likely?”
Lejeune shook his head.
“Most unlikely. He was a popular man, well loved in the district. No en-emies, as far as one can hear. And robbery’s unlikely. Unless—”
“Unless what?” asked Corrigan. “The police have a clue! Am I right?”
“He did have something on him that wasn’t taken away. It was in hisshoe, as a matter of fact.”

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