‘Then so you shall,’ the old man said and led the way down the steps.
The Priory chapel was as cold as could be. They moved down to the altar and Devlin said, ‘It seems very damp. Is there a problem?’
‘Yes, the crypt has been flooded for years. Sometimes quite badly. No money available to put it right.’
Devlin could see the stout oak door banded with iron in the shadows in the far corner. ‘Is that the way in then?’
‘Yes, but no one goes down there any more.’
‘I once saw a church in France with the same trouble. Could I take a look?’
‘If you like.’
The door was bolted. He eased it back and ventured halfway down the steps. When he flicked on his lighter he saw the dark water around the tombs and lapping at the grill. He retraced his steps and closed the door.
‘Dear, yes, there’s not much to be done for it,’ he called.
‘Yes. Well, make sure you bolt it again,’ the old man called back. ‘”We don’t want anyone going down there. They could do themselves an injury.’
Devlin rammed the bolt home, the solid sound echoing through the chapel, then quietly eased it back. Shrouded in shadows, the door was in the corner; it would be remarkable if anyone noticed. He rejoined Father Martin and they moved up the aisle to the outer door. As they opened it, Sister Maria Palmer came out of her office.
‘Ah, there you are,’ Father Martin said. ‘I looked in when we arrived, but you weren’t there. I’ve been showing Father Conlon – ‘ He laughed, correcting himself. Til start again. I’ve been showing Major Conlon the chapel. He’s going to accompany me on my rounds.’
‘Father suits me just fine.’ Devlin shook her hand. ‘A pleasure, Sister.’
‘Major Conlon was wounded in Sicily.’
‘I see. Have they given you a London posting?’ she asked.
‘No – I’m still on sick leave. In the neighbourhood for a few days. Just passing through, I met Father Martin at his church.’
‘He’s been kind enough to offer to help me out at the church. Hear a few confessions and so on,’ Martin said.
‘Good, you need a rest. We’ll do the rounds together.’ As they started up the stairs she said, ‘By the way, Lieutenant Benson’s gone on a three-day pass. That young sergeant’s in charge. What’s his name? Morgan, isn’t it?’
The Welsh boy?’ Martin said. ‘I called in on Steiner last night. Did you?’
‘No, we had an emergency admission after you’d gone, Father. I didn’t have time. I’ll see him now though. I’m hoping the penicillin’s finally cleared the last traces of his chest infection.’
She went up the stairs in front of them briskly, skirts swirling, and Devlin and Martin followed.
They worked their way from room to room, staying to talk here and there to various patients and it was half an hour before they reached the top floor. The MP on duty at the table outside the door jumped up and saluted automatically when he saw Devlin. The door was opened by another MP and they passed through.
The young sergeant sitting in Benson’s room stood up and came out. ‘Sister – Father Martin.’
‘Good morning, Sergeant Morgan,’ Sister Maria Palmer said. ‘We’d like to see Colonel Steiner.’
Morgan took in Devlin’s uniform and the dog collar. ‘I see,’ he said uncertainly.
‘Major Conlon’s having a look round with us,’ she informed him.
Devlin took out his wallet and produced the fake War Office pass Schellenberg’s people had provided, the one that guaranteed unlimited access. He passed it across.
‘I think you’ll find that takes care of it, Sergeant.’
Morgan examined it. Til just get the details for the admittance sheet, sir.’ He did so and handed it back. ‘If you’d follow me.’
He led the way along to the end of the corridor, nodded and the MP on duty unlocked the door. Sister Maria Palmer led the way in followed by Father Martin, Devlin bringing up the rear. The door closed behind them.
Steiner, sitting by the window, stood up and Sister Maria Palmer said, ‘And how are you today, Colonel?’