Even when that voice rang out -- no, because that voice rang out -- the priest's dark eyes were fixed on the constable, nearly sparkling for all their delight.

Oh, it was easy to pass it off as his appreciation for the constable's concern, and for the gift he'd been granted to take to Father Richards, but the truth? The truth was that he just loved to figure things out, and the constable seemed to be the missing piece he'd needed for one particular priestly puzzle.

So much so, that when a head popped over his shoulder, Malachi tilted his head to mirror it. Briefly he seemed intent to conspire with the beggar's antics, like he wanted to speak up and tease the constable himself--

--but such things were not proper.

Malachi hummed, waving off Mister Tully. His smile relaxed, and indeed all of his demeanor seemed to soften around the edges in a return to something calm, serene. Nodding again to the retreating constable, he called, "Peace be with you, Constable."

He pulled the door shut after that, and not a hint remained of whatever amusement had enlivened him before.

"Mister Tully," started Malachi, returning to the kitchen with the basket and knives. "If you've made a mess of our kitchen, I'm afraid I don't know what Mrs. Higgins will do."