A few moments later, we began to make our way up Holywell Street toward the Cathedral. St. Albans, newly designated as a city, was bustling with activity and as we walked up the street toward the Cathedral, we had to work our way through streets crowded with people and traffic. As we approached the Cathedral, the bell tower and spires rose before us in their architectural majesty, fully reflecting the call for pilgrimage to the Shrine of St. Alban that has continued for some 1600 years. "So this is the famous site of the martyr's death," said I, looking at the beautiful building. "Do you recall the story from the Venerable Bede, Holmes?" Before answering, my friend stopped before the West end entrance to the building and observed the constable standing just before the door.

"Yes, Watson, I do. If I still have the story straight, St. Alban was a Roman who had sheltered a persecuted Christian priest called Amphibalus…"

"St. Amphibalus, I believe, Holmes."

"Correct, again, Watson. St. Amphiblus. Apparently, during the time he hid, Amphibalus converted Alban to Christianity and, when the hiding place was discovered, Alban allowed the priest to escape by exchanging clothing with him. As I recall, Alban was taken before a judge who was angry over the deception and determined that if Alban was going to stand in for the priest, he could also stand for the priest's punishment.

Alban was given the opportunity to renounce his Christian belief, which he refused, saying something like: "I worship and adore the living and true God; the creator of all things". Apparently, the judge became angry and ordered Alban to sacrifice to the Roman gods. Alban balked, making some comment about the gods being devils who can't help nor answer supplications and followed with a comment about the flames of hell for he who offers such a sacrifice. He was sentenced to a flogging and death and was led across the river and out of the city, to this site I believe, for decapitation. A number of miracles were attributed to the events leading up to his death, but die he did, nonetheless."

“Certainly deserving of canonization, I should think,” said I, as we walked around the grounds leading up to the Cathedral's entrance, noticing a number of people gathered in little groups here and there. My companion did not answer. "I suppose that the police are keeping the pilgrims out while they investigate, Holmes" At that moment a man passed us and walked directly to the door, only to be turned away immediately. "How are we to get in?"

"I think a few words in the right ear will turn the trick, Watson." Holmes then turned upon his heel and began to walk around the Cathedral. As we approached a door, we were met by a young man in clerical garb of a deacon.

"Deacon, my name is Sherlock Holmes," said my friend, "and this is my friend and colleague, Dr. Watson. Could you tell us where we can find Father Craft?"

"I’m sorry gentlemen; he is occupied with this horrid tragedy. Perhaps I can assist you?"

"Perhaps, Deacon," said Holmes. "Do you know anything about the events of yesterday?"

"Please forgive me, gentlemen, I've forgotten myself." He presented his hand. "I am Deacon Gregory Smyth. In answer to your question, no, that is an area where I can't help you. I only know what I was told and have been instructed to say nothing."

"Of course, Deacon," said my friend, "Then, perhaps you could direct me to Father Craft?"

The young man thought for a moment, then gestured that we wait. He entered the Cathedral and was gone for a few moments, then returned in the company of an older man with sandy blond hair and an open, caring face. The older clergyman removed his spectacles and flashed a welcoming smile.

"My Dear Mr. Holmes," said he, wringing my friend's hand, "And you must be Dr. Watson. It is so good of you to come. I haven't seen you in some years… let's see; I believe it was back in '91 when you were so helpful to young Keen."

"Quite so, Father; It has been a few years. How is Keen?"

"He is well. His inheritance was confirmed and he is now married and soon to be a father."

"Good," said Holmes. At my puzzled look, he went on, "One of those cases about which you never heard, Watson. Charles Keen was a parishioner of Father Craft before he came to St. Albans and was caught up in an attempt to steal his inheritance prior to his majority. His half-sister, who was executor of the estate, was involved with an unscrupulous man by the name of Knots, who used her influence to gain access to the money Keen's father had left him and tried to funnel it off into his own accounts under false pretences. I was able to prove the man a thief and regain Keen's money. It was no great mystery, I'm afraid, but Knots was certainly a scoundrel. He found himself before the Old Bailey and is now serving time for his crime." Holmes turned, once again, to the Priest. "I have come about the murder, Father. Perhaps I may be of assistance to the Church in resolving it.

"Bishop Festing is beside himself with this desecration and is demanding that it be put right, so your offer is certainly timely. Please come in and I shall speak with the Bishop. I have no doubt that he will welcome your help." With that, we entered the great Cathedral and waited by the door while the priest went to his bishop for permission. We did not have a long wait.

"The Bishop is familiar with your work, Mr. Holmes, and has agreed to ask you to look into the matter as our representative. He has asked that you keep me apprised of your findings."

"That will be fine, Father Craft," Holmes said, "Now, to the crime. I surmise that the altar upon which this atrocity was performed is in the Prayer Chapel."

"Why, how could you know that, Mr. Holmes?" cried the priest.

"The Nave is in common use daily, Father. How else could this act have remained undiscovered until late in the evening if it had taken place in one of the Cathedral's commonly-used areas?"

"The Prayer Chapel is at the far end of the Cathedral, Mr. Holmes. It is set aside for quiet prayer and is not as commonly used as other areas. Father Respess was found on his back laying upon an altar cloth that I've never seen before."

"Just so, Father. How was he killed?"

"A gunshot wound to the forehead, Mr. Holmes. At first we thought he had committed the sin of taking his own life, but the official police have ruled that out."

"Just so,” said Holmes, “What can you tell me of the murdered man?"

"Harold Respess was a fine man, Mr. Holmes. I have been here for some years, all working hand-in-hand with Father Respess. He worked with our previous Bishop and was instrumental in assisting Bishop Festing with the transition after Bishop Claughton's passing. His murder has been a blow to our community and to the Diocese."

"I am sure it is, but what can you tell me of him?" prompted my friend.

"Not a great deal, I am afraid. Father Respess was a quiet and rather reclusive individual in his fifties. He was a tall, rather stocky man and was active, although I'd not consider him overly so. He lived close by and, as far as I know, he had no close relatives." He paused. "I always thought of him as a good-hearted individual; helping those in need. I've even seen him remove his shirt and give it to one in need of clothing."

"So, a reticent, but kind man… what do you know of his past, Father?"

"I know very little, I'm afraid. He has made reference to having been a circuit minister…"

"Ah, a Methodist…" said my friend. I was not surprised.

"Why, yes," said Craft.

"Pray, go on, Father."

"As I was saying, he was a Methodist minister and chose to adopt our faith some years ago. He studied for the calling and was consecrated a few years before the death of Bishop Claughton."

"Prior to 1890, then," Said my friend.

"Yes. Here is an interesting thing, Mr. Holmes: are you familiar with the Quinton Hill tragedy that occurred last year, when an explosion killed a number of members of the Waltham Hill Society?"

"Yes, but only in passing,"

"Father Respess was particularly upset when it happened."

"Did he ever say why?" I asked.

"No. He was just very sad, Doctor. He did, however, make a comment that he knew some of those who were killed, but never delved deeper into it."

"Did Father Respess ever allude to the details of this tragedy?" asked Holmes.

"Not that I recall," Said Craft, tapping his spectacles upon his hand, "As far as I knew it was an accident; is it possible it was not?"
"I do not know, Father." Holmes thought for a moment, "So this ch
ange from Methodism to the Church of England occurred prior to 1890?" "Yes." "And four years later a tragedy occurs some twenty or so miles away involving Methodists and he was quite upset over it…" "Yes."

"And he is murdered in his church a year later…"

"Yes. Do you think they are related, Mr. Holmes?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. I am not in possession of all the facts and, as Dr. Watson knows from the investigations of a good many other little problems, I consider it a capital error to theorize before the facts, but the sequence of events is interesting."

"What do you know of his personal activities; those he knew; things he did?" asked my friend.

"I'm afraid not much, Mr. Holmes. I liked the man, but we were not friends. I might suggest that you speak with Deacon Fredricks. I saw the two of them together often. Perhaps he can be of more help."

"Where can I find Deacon Fredricks?"

"He is devastated and has returned to his house and family for comfort. I will arrange for you to speak with him."

"Good. You mentioned earlier that the police are here…"

"Yes, they sent a fellow called Conyers, Mr. Holmes. He is…" Craft broke off as a tall, striking man with black hair strode into view.

"So, we meet again, Mr. Holmes," the young man said, scowling, "I will thank you to stay out of my way during this investigation."

"Now, see here," I cried, "We don't need any rudeness. Mr. Holmes is the Cathedral's representative in this case and is here on official business…" Holmes placed a restraining hand upon my arm.

"So, Inspector Conyers, how have things gone since that last case upon which we collaborated? Surely this case is not beyond your skills, as well?" Conyers began to puff up and bristle. Holmes put his finger into the air and waved it about in a discouraging gesture. "If that is the case, perhaps you should reconsider your attitude. After all, it is likely that I shall be the man most apt to help you in solving it. Consider the detrimental impact a poor attitude toward me might have in solving your case..." A mix of anger and realization flashed across the young man's face and he turned upon his heel and strode away, leaving us with a "Pah!" and the admonition "Just don't get in my way and I'll allow you to stay around."

"I wouldn't dream of interfering, Inspector," Holmes said, smiling, to the young man's back and turning to our host. "Perhaps it is time for a visit to the scene of the crime, Father. The sooner I can inspect it, the sooner I can assure that every possible clue has not been obliterated by large feet and over-zealous inspections. "Of course, Mr. Holmes. Please follow me. The Chapel is this way. He led us into the beautiful Cathedral to the horrible scene of what appeared to be a good man's passing.

Proceed to Part Four