"Keene, if you ever want to get at the bottom of what lies on that wretched woman's soul, believe me we have taken the best means to attain that object in allowing her to see Father Maurice."
"But he won't tell what she's said, bless you; I've seen them imprisoned for it. Not a word, Mr. Kavanagh, not a syllable, sir, shall we here?"
"Very likely not from him. But he will make her tell."
The inspector stared at me with a cynical smile on his lips.
I continued: "Do you think I have no interest in wishing to probe that woman's soul, in longing—ay, with a longing you cannot understand—to know who committed that black crime which has robbed me of my dearest friend? Man, what is there at stake with you in comparison with him who has been driven from his fatherland and his home? What is your little professional vanity to compare with what he has lost—name, fame, position—everything most dear to him save one?"
"God bless you, sir, and you're right!" said the little man, wringing my hand; "and you'll please to excuse me. For hang me but I think I'm jealous of those priests. They seem to ferret out in one talk what it costs us detectives days and nights to hunt for, and puts us on our wits' ends. And one ain't a bit the wiser for it after all; they do keep it snug, to be sure. I'd give much to know their dodge."
"Ah, inspector, it's a 'dodge' neither you nor I possess. But leave this in God's hands. If there is anything that ought to be made known publicly, it will be known."
In a quarter of an hour Mr. Lovell went into the sick-room, and soon after Father Maurice came back to us. It was curious to see the suspicious glance which Keene cast upon him.
"I have warned her of her state," said the priest. "She seems to wish to make a statement to some proper person; Mr. Lovell advises that she should be allowed some rest now. Of course you will judge of what is best to be done, having the poor woman under your charge;" and he looked across at the inspector.