“But life and death—you must come closer to these than any of us. They’re not dull.”
“In the aggregate I find them so.”
“But surely, sometimes . . . .?”
“Well, I don’t know.” Father John brightened up a little. “There is something under my notice now. Not through the confessional, of course; it’s open, quite open. And it’s—well, curious. Yes,” he went on, judicially, “I should certainly call it curious.”
“Is it war, passion or revenge?” asked Royce, with a smile.
“Well,”—Father John did not smile,—“it is probably murder.”
“Probably murder? Don’t you know, then?”
“No. That’s the curious part of it. I don’t know, and the man who most likely did it, he doesn’t know.”
“O, come now, Father Jack . . . .”
“It’s a fact. He’d tell me if he knew, but he doesn’t.”