"Perhaps if you told me first how you came to Latchetts at all, it would at least clear my mind."
"I–I met someone in America who had lived in Clare. They-she thought I looked like an Ashby, and suggested that I should pretend to be Patrick."
"And you were to pay her a share of the proceeds of the deception."
"Yes."
"I can only say that she earned her percentage whatever it was. As a tutor she must be remarkable. I have never seen a better piece of coaching. Are you American, then?"
"No," said Brat, and the Rector smiled faintly at the emphasis. "I was brought up in an orphanage. I was left on its doorstep."
And he sketched for the Rector the story of his life.
"I have heard of your orphanage," the Rector said, when he had finished. "It explains one thing that puzzled me: your good upbringing." He poured tea, and added whisky. "Would you like something more substantial than biscuits, by the way? No? Then have the oatmeal ones; they are very filling."
"I had to tell you all this because of something I found out. Patrick didn't commit suicide. He was murdered."
The Rector set down the cup he was holding. For the first time he looked startled.