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convinced that she and this man were married and his wife was an intruder.’
    Steven sat with mouth ajar.
    ‘She came to me because she needed to admit to somebody impersonal and in authority that she had attacked Hannah Blocket and her husband Bill – pelted them with eggs, to be exact – and it wasn’t until her real husband Philip showed her their marriage certificate that she could make herself believe she’d been mistaken.’
    There was a terrible solemnity in his voice.
    ‘After what happened to me, and her, and you – and, as I am informed, certain other persons in Weyharrow, or who live here or nearby, such as our JP, Mr Basil Goodsir, who reportedly disgraced himself today in court at Chapminster – I feel driven to an inescapable conclusion. I don’t imagine it will meet with your approval, but my vocation requires me to maintain a more open mind than most people do in this corrupt and secular age.’
    Steven sat immobile as a statue. Eventually he husked, ‘Go on.’
    ‘Are you familiar with Mr Draycock’s theories about the name of our village?’
    Steven licked his lips. ‘I don’t believe so.’
    ‘Well, there’s no reason why you should be. Suffice it to say that he’s been sowing discord in the Weyharrow Society with his claims that Wey means “pagan idol”, Harrow means “site of a heathen temple” and Goodsir is a nickname for the Devil!’
    ‘I don’t know much about the history of place-names,’ Steven muttered.
    Mr Phibson rose and replaced his glass on the tray next to the decanter.
    ‘He’s right, it seems to me, in one sense at least. And, inpassing, I have the suspicion I may have been unintentionally misleading when I said earlier that I had it in mind to call on you. I meant: I felt in duty bound to do so owing to Dr Tripkin’s absence abroad. You see, this was undoubtedly an ancient pagan site, a haunt of the being whom we term the Evil One. And, for what reasons we may not even guess, the Father of us all has chosen now to turn him loose again! Maybe it’s owing to our laxity in morals, our tolerance of the wicked who infest the village every summer … Wait! That’s it! It has to be!’
    Standing up slowly, Steven ventured, ‘You mean …?’
    ‘I mean we are being assailed by the armies of evil –
and our defences are already breached!
’
    There was another pause, during which countless half-formed answers flashed through Steven’s mind. He had no time to utter them. Having waited only a few seconds, Mr Phibson glanced at the clock.
    ‘Now you must excuse me. Duty calls.’
    Steven rose. ‘I didn’t mean to take up so much of your time. I’m afraid I wasn’t thinking. You see, there’s no evening surgery on Thursday, only on Monday, Wednesday and Friday …’ He realized he was gabbling, and broke off.
    ‘No need to apologize!’ the parson said, escorting him to the door. ‘I’ve found this discussion very helpful. What were the memorable words Marlowe put into the mouth of Mephistopheles? Ah yes: “It’s sweet to have companions in adversity!” And our affliction is a dreadful one!’
    Steven ventured, ‘Don’t you think that before mentioning your theory to – uh – in public, you ought to consult somebody else? You mentioned your archdeacon. Wouldn’t he –?’
    ‘No need! The evidence is incontrovertible! The signs are all around us!’
    Abruptly it dawned on Steven that Mr Phibson must have been consoling himself from the decanter before his ownarrival at the parsonage. He said, ‘But –’
    ‘“But me no buts!”’ – with hand upraised and gleaming eyes. The Evil One is at work in Weyharrow, and we must fight back with all our force. I’m right. I know I’m right. You’ll see!’
    Grey clouds had closed overhead during the afternoon, broomed along by a chilly wind. The change in the weather matched Steven’s mood.
    Despite the cold, however, he noticed that an unusually large number of people were heading towards the church