"Very sound man," said a voice beside him. "Don't think the worse of his work from seeing him in this crowd. Beggars in a good cause can't be choosers, as we parsons know too well."
Wimsey turned to face a tall, lean man, with a handsome, humorous face, whom he recognized as a well-known slum padre.
"Father Whittington, isn't it?"
"The same. You're Lord Peter Wimsey, I know. We've got an interest in crime in common, haven't we? I'm interested in this glandular theory. It may throw a great light on some of our heart-breaking problems."
"Glad to see there's no antagonism between religion and science," said Wimsey.
"Of course not. Why should there be? We are all searching for Truth."
"And all these?" asked Wimsey, indicating the curious crowd with a wave of the hand.
"In their way. They mean well. They do what they can, like the woman in the Gospels, and they are surprisingly generous. Here's Penberthy, looking for you, I fancy. Well, Dr. Penberthy, I've come, you see, to hear you make mince-meat of original sin."
"That's very open-minded of you," said Penberthy, with a rather strained smile. "I hope you are not hostile. We've no quarrel with the Church, you know, if she'll stick to her business and leave us to ours."
"My dear man, if you can cure sin with an injection, I shall be only too pleased. Only be sure you don't pump in something worse in the process. You know the parable of the swept and garnished house."