“I see. That is very difficult. Terrible, too, for you. You feel responsible.”
“Yes.”
“You yourself are not serving a private vengeance?”
“Oh, no. Nothing really to do with me. Started in like a fool to help somebody who’d got into trouble about the thing through having suspicions himself. And my beastly interference started the crimes all over again.”
“I shouldn’t be too troubled. Probably the murderer’s own guilty fears would have led him into fresh crimes even without your interference.”
“That’s true,” said Wimsey, remembering Mr. Trigg.
“My advice to you is to do what you think is right, according to the laws which we have been brought up to respect. Leave the consequences to God. And try to think charitably, even of wicked people. You know what I mean. Bring the offender to justice, but remember that if we all got justice, you and I wouldn’t escape either.”
“I know. Knock the man down but don’t dance on the body. Quite. Forgive my troublin’ you—and excuse my bargin’ off, because I’ve got a date with a friend. Thanks so much. I don’t feel quite so rotten about it now. But I was gettin’ worried.”
Mr. Tredgold watched him as he trotted away between the graves. “Dear, dear,” he said, “how nice they are. So kindly and scrupulous and so vague outside their public-school code. And much more nervous and sensitive than people think. A very difficult class to reach. I must make a special intention for him at Mass to-morrow.”
Being a practical man, Mr. Tredgold made a knot in his handkerchief to remind himself of this pious resolve.