As far as he was concerned, Billy Meehan had been from under a stone, not fit to wipe Anna da Costa's shoes. Let be.

When he reached Paul's Square, he turned into the mews entrance cautiously, but luck was with him to the very end. The yard was deserted. He ran the Scimitar into the garage, left both the keys and the whippet inside and walked rapidly away.

When he got back to the presbytery, there was no sign of Father da Costa. Fallon went upstairs on tiptoe and peered into Anna's bedroom. She was sleeping soundly so he closed her door and went back downstairs.

He went into the sitting-room and checked the carpet carefully, but there was no sign of blood. So that was very much that. He went to the sideboard and poured himself a large whisky. As he was adding a dash of soda, the front door opened.

Fallon turned round as Father da Costa entered the room. The priest stopped short in amazement. 'Fallon, what are you doing here?' And then he turned very pale and said, 'Oh, dear God! Anna!'

He turned and moved to the stairs and Fallon went after him. 'She's all right. She's sleeping.'

Father da Costa turned slowly. 'What happened?'

'There was an intruder,' Fallon said. 'I arrived in time to chase him away.'

'One of Meehan's men?'

Fallon shrugged. 'Maybe - I didn't get a good look at him.'

Father da Costa paced up and down the hall, fingers intertwined so tightly that the knuckles turned white. 'Oh, my God! he said. When will it all end?'

'I'm leaving on Sunday night,' Fallon told him. 'They've arranged passage for me on a ship out of Hull.'

'And you think that will finish it?' Father da Costa shook his head. 'You're a fool, Fallon. Jack Meehan will never feel safe while I am still in the land of the living. Trust, honour, truth, the sanctity of the given word. None of these exist for him personally so why should he believe that they have a meaning for someone else?'

'All right,' Fallon said. 'It's all my fault. What do you want me to do?'

'There's only one thing you can do,' Father da Costa said. 'Set me free in the only way possible.'

'And spend my life in a maximum security cell?' Fallon shook his head. 'I'm not that kind of hero.'

He walked to the front door and Father da Costa said, 'She is all right?'

Fallon nodded soberly. 'A good night's rest is all she needs. She's a much stronger person than you realise. In every way.'

He turned to go out and Father da Costa said, 'That you arrived when you did was most fortuitous.'

'All right,' Fallon said. 'So I was watching the house.'

Father da Costa shook his head sadly. 'You see, my friend, good deeds in spite of yourself. You are a lost man.'

'Go to hell!' Fallon said and he plunged out into the rain and walked rapidly away.

13

The Church Militant

Father da Costa was packing his vestment into a small suitcase when Anna went into the study. It was a grey morning, that eternal rain still tapping at the window. She was a little paler than usual, but otherwise seemed quite composed. Her hair was tied back with a black ribbon and she wore a neat grey skirt and sweater.

Father da Costa took both her hands and led her to the fire. 'Are you all right?'

'I'm fine,' she said. 'Truly I am. Are you going out?'

'I'm afraid I have to. One of the nuns at the convent school of Our Lady of Pity died yesterday. Sister Marie Gabrielle. They've asked me to officiate.' He hesitated. 'I don't like leaving you.'

'Nonsense,' she said. 'I'll be all right. Sister Claire will be bringing up the children from the junior school for choir practice at ten-thirty. I have a private lesson after that until twelve.'

'Fine,' he said. 'I'll be back by then.'

He picked up his case and she took his arm and they went through to the hall together. 'You'll need your raincoat.'

He shook his head. 'The umbrella will be enough.' He opened the door and hesitated, 'I've been thinking, Anna. Perhaps you should go away for a while. Just until this thing is settled one way or the other.'

'No!' she said firmly.

He put down his case and took her by the shoulders standing there in the half-open doorway. 'I've never felt so helpless. So confused. After what happened last night, I thought of speaking to Miller.'

'But you can't do that,' she said quickly - too quickly. 'Not without involving Fallon.'

He gazed at her searchingly, 'You like him, don't you?'

'It's not the word I would choose,' she said calmly. 'I feel for him. He has been marked by life. No, used by life in an unfair way. Spoiled utterly.' There was a sudden passion in her voice. 'No one could have the music in him that man has and have no soul. God could not be so inhuman.'

The greatest gift God gave to man was free will, my dear. Good and evil. Each man has a free choice in the matter.'

'All right,' she said fiercely. 'I only know one thing with any certainty. When I needed help last night, more than I have ever needed it in my life before, it was Fallon who saved me.'

'I know,' Father da Costa told her. 'He was watching the house.'

Her entire expression changed, colour touched those pale cheeks. 'And you don't care what happens to him?'

'Oh, I care,' Father da Costa said gravely. 'More than you perhaps understand. I see a man of genius brought down to the level of the gutter. I see a human being - a fine human being - committing, for his own dark reasons, a kind of personal suicide.'

'Then help him.' she said.

'To help himself?' Father da Costa shook his head sadly. 'That only works in books. Seldom in life. Whoever he is, this man who calls himself Martin Fallon, one thing is certain. He hates himself for what he has done, for what he has become. He is devoured by self-loathing.'

But by now she looked completely bewildered. 'I don't understand this - not any of it.'

'He is a man who seeks Death at every turn, Anna. Who would welcome him with open arms.' He shook his head. 'Oh yes, I care what happens to Martin Fallon - care passionately. The tragedy is that he does not.'

He turned and left her there in the porch and hurried away through the churchyard, head down against the rain, not bothering to raise his umbrella. When he moved into the side porch to unlock the sacristy door, Fallon was sitting on the small bench leaning against the corner, head on his chest, hands in the pockets of his trenchcoat.

Father da Costa shook him by the shoulder and Fallon raised his head and opened his eyes instantly. He badly needed a shave and the skin of his face seemed to have tightened over the cheekbones and the eyes were vacant.

'A long night,' Father da Costa said gently.

'Time to think,' Fallon said in a strange, dead voice. 'About a lot of things.'

'Any conclusions?'

'Oh yes.' Fallon stood up and moved out into the rain. 'The right place for me, a cemetery.' He turned to face da Costa, a slight smile on his lips. 'You see, Father, I've finally realised one very important thing.'

'And what's that?' Father da Costa asked him.

'That I can't live with myself any more.'

He turned and walked away very quickly and Father da Costa moved out into the rain, one hand extended as if he would pull him back.

'Fallon,' he called hoarsely.

A few rooks lifted out of the tree on the other side of the churchyard, fluttering in the wind like a handful of dirty black rags, calling angrily. As they settled again, Fallon turned the corner of the church and was gone.

When Anna closed the front door of the presbytery and went down the steps, she was instantly aware of the organ. She stood quite still, looking across the cemetery towards the church, head slightly turned as she listened. The playing, of course, was quite unmistakable. The heart quickened inside her, she hurried along the path as fast as she dared, tip-tapping with her stick.