The Rector had meant to put the whisky in the tea, as a toddy, but he poured a stiff one now and Brat drank it.
"Thank you. I am sorry to come and worry you like this, but I had to talk to you. I hope you don't mind."
"I am here to be talked to. Some more whisky?"
"No, thanks."
"Then let me give you some dry shoes."
"Oh, no, thank you. I'm used to being wet, you know. Rector, I want your advice about something very important, but can I talk to you as if-as if it were confessional? I mean, without your feeling that you must do something about it."
"Whatever you say I shall treat as confession, certainly."
"Well, first I have to tell you something. I am not Patrick Ashby."
"No," agreed the Rector. And Brat stared.
"You mean-you mean, you knew I wasn't Patrick?"