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accurate.? Your question about tampering with them—that's a serious matter."
    "I agree," she said. Could she tell him.? He might know more than he was willing to tell without knowing her reasons. On the other hand, could she trust anyone.? "It's very serious. I can't say any more at the moment, but if I could find Mr. Beech he might be able to help me enormously."
    He looked at her steadily, his eyes dark in his cadaverous face, his expression ungiving. Then he turned away and held open the door.
    She stood up to go. He locked the vestry behind her, and they shook hands and parted in silence.
    Before the train left for London, Sally had time to try something else. She made her way to the main post office and asked for the chief clerk.
    He came to the counter; Sally would have preferred a pri-

    vate interview, but the clerk looked impatient. She stood between a man handing over a large parcel and an elderly lady buying some penny stamps and said, "I'm trying to trace someone who lived in Portsmouth three years ago. Is there any chance he might have left a forwarding address, do you think.^ His name is Beech. The Reverend Mr. Beech, of Southam Rectory."
    The clerk sighed. "Doubt it, miss. D'you want me to look.'*"
    "Yes, I do. That's why I asked."
    He gave her a sour look and vanished into a room at the back. The lady buying stamps moved away, and a man took her place and bought a postal order. When that transaction had finished, the clerk came back.
    "No record of any Beech," he said. There was a glint of watery triumph in his eye at being able to disappoint her so, easily.
    "Thank you," she said, smiling sweetly to discon«ert him,| and turned away.
    As she left the post office, she felt a hand on her sleeve.
    "Oh, miss, excuse me, but—"
    It was the old lady who'd been buying stamps.
    "Yes.?" said Sally. \
    "I couldn't help overhearing, and perhaps I shouldn't in- \ terfere, but I was a parishioner of Mr. Beech's, and if you're looking for him ..."
    "I am! Oh, I'm glad you overheard. Do you know where he is.?"
    The old lady looked around and then leaned a little closer. Sally smelled the lavender water on her and the mothballs on her fur stole.
    "I believe he's in prison," she whispered.
    "Really.? But why.?"
    "I can't tell you exactly, because I don't know. And heaven knows I would hate to malign a poor gentleman who had fallen into temptation, but the truth will out. I left the congregation of St. Thomas's a year or two before he was . . removed, but you know one hears things. . . . He always

    struck me as a nervous gentleman. No family—a bachelor— and one doesn't like that in a clergyman somehow. He didn't seem at all a well man during the last year I attended his church, and, you know, when the hand that gives you the Communion wafer shakes quite so much, it disturbs one's thoughts, d'you see. ..."
    "And you think he's in prison.?" Sally prompted.
    "Well, one hears things. Of course, one wouldn't want to credit everything one was told, but he did leave so suddenly, and one heard that the church authorities had kept it out of the newspapers, but my good friend Miss Hyne has a second cousin in the Home Office, and though he didn't of course say what he knows, he did leave her with little doubt that Mr. Beech is now in prison."
    "How extraordinary," said Sally. "But what was he accused of.'"'
    "Ah, as to that, one could not say. But there's no doubt that the church silver—and, of course, some of it was the gift of the Crosse family, magnificent vessels—^had been sadly depleted. One looked for the appearance of that beautiful chalice in vain, and one could not help drawing certain conclusions."
    "I see," said Sally. "Well, thank you very much, Mrs. . . ."
    "Miss Hall. Are you a stranger in Portsmouth.?"
    Sally got away from the old lady as politely as she could. She was inquiring on behalf of a missionary society, she said; Mr. Beech had once expressed an interest in their activities, and as she had happened to