"Ah," said Paul, relieved, "I see. But that depends on what view you take of the notes."
"Excuse me," retorted the other, "it does not. We burnt annotated and mis-translated portions of the Scriptures, not the Holy Bible. Those are indisputable historical f-facts. The annotation cannot be denied and the mis-translation is proved even by your own Revised Version. And as for motive, may I ask what you would advise a heathen convert of yours to do who was given a Bible containing notes which taught T-Transubstantiation and M-m-mariolatry?"
"Burn it," said Paul instantly.
The little priest laughed. "Q-q-quite so," he exploded.
"He has you, Kestern," put in Hannam; "admit it. Have a cigarette, Father."
Paul glanced from one to the other. "I do," he said frankly. "But, Father, you interest me enormously." (He hesitated.) "May I speak frankly?"
The priest nodded, with a little quick gesture, his eyes searching the other's face.
"Well, you don't speak of Christ and—and so on, one little bit as I expected a Roman Catholic to speak. Missionaries too—I hardly knew you had any. And—well, aren't they nearly always political? Aren't Catholic conversions nearly always forced?"
The priest no longer smiled. He looked away into the fire. "Do you suppose it was force," he queried solemnly, "which made South American Indians dig up their buried treasures valued at two hundred and fifty thousand pounds to give to Father Kenelm for the conversion of P-Protestant England?"
There was magic in Father Vassall, and Paul's imagination saw a story in which, had the boot been on the other foot, he would have gloried.