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girl’s burial. While he was on an early morning walk, Ray spied a young man standing by the girl’s grave - a young man with a strawberry-colored birthmark on his neck. Nor is that the end of the story. He had gotten a Polaroid camera from his parents the Christmas before and had amused himself by snapping various views of the Cornish countryside. I have some of them in a picture album at the rectory-they’re quite good. The camera was around his neck that morning, and he took several snaps of the young man. When he showed them around the village, the reaction was quite amazing. One old lady fell down in a faint, and the dead girl’s mother began to pray in the street.

‘But when Ray got up the next morning, the young man’s figure had completely faded out of the pictures, and all that was left were several views of the local churchyard.’

‘And you believe that?’ Matt asked.

‘Oh yes. And I suspect most people would. The ordinary fellow isn’t half so leery of the supernatural as the fiction writers like to make out. Most writers who deal in that particular subject, as a matter of fact, are more hardheaded about spirits and demons and boogies than your ordinary man in the street. Lovecraft was an atheist. Edgar Allen Poe was sort of a half-assed transcendentalist. And Hawthorne was only conventionally religious.’

‘You’re amazingly conversant on the subject,’ Matt said.

The priest shrugged. ‘I had a boy’s interest in the occult and the outré,’ he said, ‘and as I grew older, my calling to the priesthood enhanced rather than retarded it.’ He sighed deeply. ‘But lately I’ve begun to ask myself some rather hard questions about the nature of evil in the world.’ With a twisted smile he added, ‘It’s spoiled a lot of the fun.’

‘Then… would you investigate a few things for me? And would you be averse to taking along some holy water and a bit of the Host?’

‘You’re treading on uneasy theological ground now, Callahan said with genuine gravity.

‘Why?’

‘I’m not going to say no, not at this point,’ Callahan said. ‘And I ought to tell you that if you’d gotten a younger priest, he probably would have said yes almost at once, with few if any qualms at all.’ He smiled bitterly. ‘They view the trappings of the church as symbolic rather than practical-like a shaman’s headdress and medicine stick. This young priest might decide you were crazy, but if shaking a little holy water around would case your craziness, fine and dandy. I can’t do that. If I should proceed to make your investigations in a neat Harris tweed with nothing under my arm but a copy of Sybil Leek’s The Sensuous Exorcist or whatever, that would be between you and me. But if I go with the Host… then I go as an agent of the Holy Catholic Church, prepared to execute what I would consider the most spiritual rites of my office. Then I go as Christ’s representative on earth.’ He was now looking at Matt seriously, solemnly. ‘I may be a poor excuse for a priest - at times I’ve thought so - a bit jaded, a bit cynical, and just lately suffering a crisis of… what? faith? identity?… but I still believe enough in the awesome, mystical, and apotheotic power of the church which stands behind me to tremble a bit at the thought of accepting your request lightly. The church is more than a bundle of ideals, as these younger fellows seem to believe. It’s more than a spiritual Boy Scout troop. The church is a Force… and one does not set a Force in motion lightly.’ He frowned severely at Matt. ‘Do you understand that? Your understanding is vitally important.’

‘I understand.’

‘You see, the over-all concept of evil in the Catholic Church has undergone a radical change in this century. Do you know what caused it?’

‘I imagine it was Freud.’

‘Very good. The Catholic Church began to cope with a new concept as it marched into the twentieth century: evil with a small "e". With a devil that was not a red-horned monster complete with spiked tall and cloven hooves, or a serpent crawling through the garden-although that is a remarkably apt psychological image. The devil, according to the Gospel According to