Brand shook his head.
“By no means, monsieur,” he declared. “For the present, at any rate, I am engaged elsewhere.”
They passed along the corridor. Glancing up at the priest, Ughtred was aware of a slight change in his expression. His brows were contracted, he was immersed in thought. The change was momentary, however. Soon he was again chattering away—still always of his own affairs. But there came a time when he wound up a little speech with a question.
“Is it not so, Monsieur Brand—was not that how your friend called you?”
Ughtred assented.
“My name is Walter Brand,” he answered.
Again there came that faint change in the priest’s face.
“Monsieur will not think me curious,” he said. “He is perhaps a soldier?”
Ughtred shook his head.
“I have seen some fighting,” he said, “but I am not a soldier. I am a journalist, if you know what that means—one who writes for the newspapers. My friend whom you saw speak to me just now is a soldier by profession.”