to his own devices. Dates and places and timetables.”
“They’re wrong,” Finney said. “It’s supposed to come like a thief in the night so no one will see it coming.”
“I doubt there’s a thief could get past me without my knowing it.”
“Yes, I forgot,” said Finney “‘It takes a thief to catch a thief.’ Isn’t that one of Megan’s scriptures?”
She looked thoughtful. “Aren’t the lost supposed to be safely gathered into the fold before the end can come?”
“Ah, yes,” said Finney, “but the good shepherd never does specify just who those lost ones are he’s so bent on finding. Perhaps he has a list of his own, and when all the people on it are safely inside some circle he’s drawn on the ground—”
“Or perhaps we don’t understand at all,” Mrs. Andover said dreamily. “Perhaps the lost are not people at all, but things. Perhaps it’s they that are being gathered in before the end. T. E. Lawrence was a lost soul, wasn’t he?”
“I’d hardly call Lawrence of Arabia lost,” Finney said.“He seemed to know his way round the Middle East rather well.”
“He hired a man to flog him, did you know that? He would have had to be well and truly lost to have done that.” She looked up suddenly at Finney. “If something else turned up, something valuable, that would prove the end was coming, wouldn’t it?”
“It would prove something,” Finney said. “I’m not certain what.”
“Where exactly is your Reverend Davidson?” she asked, almost offhand, as if she could catch him by changing the subject.
He is out rescuing the lost, dear lady, while you sit here seducing admissions out of me. A thief can’t sneak past me either. “In London, of course,” Finney said. “Pawning the crown jewels and hiding the money in Swiss bank accounts.”
“Quite possibly,” Mrs. Andover said. “Perhaps he should think about returning to St. John’s. He is in a good deal of trouble.”
Finney pulled his class in and sat them down in the crypt. “Tisn’t fair,” one of the taller boys said. “The game was still going. It wasn’t very nice of you to pull us in like that.” He kicked at the gilded toe of a fifteenth-century wool merchant.
“I quite agree,” Finney said, which remark caused all of them to sit up and look at him, even the kicker. “It was not fair. Neither was it fair for me to have had to drink my tea from a paper cup.”
“It isn’t our bloody fault you lost the cup,” the boy said sulkily.
“That would be quite true, if indeed the cup were lost. The Holy Grail has been lost for centuries and never found, and that is certainly no one’s bloody fault. But my cup is not lost forever, and you are going to find it.” He tried to sound angry so they would look and not play. “I want you to search every nook and cranny of this church, and if you find the cup”—here was the tricky bit, just the right casual tone—“or anything else interesting, bring it straightaway tome.” He paused and then said, as if he had just thought of it, “I’ll give fifty pence for every treasure.”
The children scattered like players in a game. Finney hobbled up the stairs after them and stood in the side door. The younger children were down by the water and Mrs. Andover was standing near them.
Two of the boys plummeted past Finney and up the stairs to the study “Don’t …” Finney said, but they were already past him. By the time he had managed the stairs, the boys had strewn open every drawer of the desk. They were tumbling colored paper out of the bottom drawer, trying to see what was under it.
“It isn’t there,” one of the boys said, and Finney’s heart caught.
“What isn’t?”
“Your cup. This is where we hid it. This morning.”
“You must be mistaken,” he said, and led them firmly down the stairs. Halfway down, Mrs. Andover’s girl burst in at them.
“She says you are to come at once,” she said breathlessly.
Finney released the
“They’re wrong,” Finney said. “It’s supposed to come like a thief in the night so no one will see it coming.”
“I doubt there’s a thief could get past me without my knowing it.”
“Yes, I forgot,” said Finney “‘It takes a thief to catch a thief.’ Isn’t that one of Megan’s scriptures?”
She looked thoughtful. “Aren’t the lost supposed to be safely gathered into the fold before the end can come?”
“Ah, yes,” said Finney, “but the good shepherd never does specify just who those lost ones are he’s so bent on finding. Perhaps he has a list of his own, and when all the people on it are safely inside some circle he’s drawn on the ground—”
“Or perhaps we don’t understand at all,” Mrs. Andover said dreamily. “Perhaps the lost are not people at all, but things. Perhaps it’s they that are being gathered in before the end. T. E. Lawrence was a lost soul, wasn’t he?”
“I’d hardly call Lawrence of Arabia lost,” Finney said.“He seemed to know his way round the Middle East rather well.”
“He hired a man to flog him, did you know that? He would have had to be well and truly lost to have done that.” She looked up suddenly at Finney. “If something else turned up, something valuable, that would prove the end was coming, wouldn’t it?”
“It would prove something,” Finney said. “I’m not certain what.”
“Where exactly is your Reverend Davidson?” she asked, almost offhand, as if she could catch him by changing the subject.
He is out rescuing the lost, dear lady, while you sit here seducing admissions out of me. A thief can’t sneak past me either. “In London, of course,” Finney said. “Pawning the crown jewels and hiding the money in Swiss bank accounts.”
“Quite possibly,” Mrs. Andover said. “Perhaps he should think about returning to St. John’s. He is in a good deal of trouble.”
Finney pulled his class in and sat them down in the crypt. “Tisn’t fair,” one of the taller boys said. “The game was still going. It wasn’t very nice of you to pull us in like that.” He kicked at the gilded toe of a fifteenth-century wool merchant.
“I quite agree,” Finney said, which remark caused all of them to sit up and look at him, even the kicker. “It was not fair. Neither was it fair for me to have had to drink my tea from a paper cup.”
“It isn’t our bloody fault you lost the cup,” the boy said sulkily.
“That would be quite true, if indeed the cup were lost. The Holy Grail has been lost for centuries and never found, and that is certainly no one’s bloody fault. But my cup is not lost forever, and you are going to find it.” He tried to sound angry so they would look and not play. “I want you to search every nook and cranny of this church, and if you find the cup”—here was the tricky bit, just the right casual tone—“or anything else interesting, bring it straightaway tome.” He paused and then said, as if he had just thought of it, “I’ll give fifty pence for every treasure.”
The children scattered like players in a game. Finney hobbled up the stairs after them and stood in the side door. The younger children were down by the water and Mrs. Andover was standing near them.
Two of the boys plummeted past Finney and up the stairs to the study “Don’t …” Finney said, but they were already past him. By the time he had managed the stairs, the boys had strewn open every drawer of the desk. They were tumbling colored paper out of the bottom drawer, trying to see what was under it.
“It isn’t there,” one of the boys said, and Finney’s heart caught.
“What isn’t?”
“Your cup. This is where we hid it. This morning.”
“You must be mistaken,” he said, and led them firmly down the stairs. Halfway down, Mrs. Andover’s girl burst in at them.
“She says you are to come at once,” she said breathlessly.
Finney released the
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