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the only ones who called Him master. Those worshipers of His—they still exist—they must! I believe it was one of them, carrying out his master’s orders. As for where it came from in the first place, why, where else but—”
    “No, Lucille, that’s quite impossible,” the Judge cut her off. “Something I really can’t allow myself to believe. If such things could be—”
    “A madness the world could not face?”
    “Yes, exactly!”
    “Sam used to say the same thing. Nonetheless he sought the horror out, and brought me here with him, and then—”
    “Yes, Lucille, I know what you believe happened then, but—”
    “No buts, Jason—I want my son back. Help me, if you will, or don’t help me. It makes no difference. I’m determined to find him, and I’ll find him here, somewhere, I know it. If I have to, then I’ll search him out alone, by myself, before it’s too late!” Her voice had risen again, hysterically.
    “No, there’s no need for that,” the old man cut in placatingly. “First thing tomorrow I’ll find someone to help you. And we can get the Mounties from Nelson in on the job, too. They have a winter camp at Fir Valley only a few miles out of Navissa. I’ll be able to get them on the telephone first thing in the morning. I’ll need to, for the telephone will probably go out with the first bad snow.”
    “And you’ll definitely find someone to help me personally—someone trustworthy?”
    “That’s my word. In fact I already know of one young man who might be willing. Of a very good family—and he’s staying with me right now. You can meet him tomorrow—”
    At this point I heard the scrape of chairs and pictured the two rising to their feet. Suddenly ashamed of myself to be standing there eavesdropping, I quickly returned to the library and pulled the door shut behind me. After some little time, during which the lady departed, I went again to Judge Andrews’s study, this time tapping at the shut door and entering at his word. I found the old man worriedly pacing the floor.
    He stopped pacing as I entered. “Ah, David. Sit down, please, there’s something I would like to ask you.” He seated himself, shuffling awkwardly in his chair. “It’s difficult to know where to begin—”
    “Begin with Samuel R. Bridgeman,” I answered. “I’ve had time to read his books now. Frankly, I find myself very interested.”
    “But how did you know—?”
    Thinking back on my eavesdropping, I blushed a little as I answered, “I’ve just seen Mrs. Bridgeman leaving. I’m guessing that it’s her husband, or perhaps the lady herself, you want to talk to me about.”
    He nodded, picking up from his desk a golden medallion some two inches across its face, fingering its bas-relief work before answering. “Yes, you’re right, but—”
    “Yes?”
    He sighed heavily in answer, then said, “Ah, well, I suppose I’ll have to tell you the whole story, or what I know of it—that’s the least I can do if I’m to expect your help.” He shook his head. “That poor, demented woman!”
    “Is she not quite… right, then?”
    “Nothing like that at all,” he answered hastily, gruffly. “She’s as sane as I am. It’s just that she’s a little, well, disturbed.”
    He then told me the whole of the thing, a story that lasted well into the night. I reproduce here what I can remember of his words. They formed an almost unbroken narrative that I listened to in silence to its end, a narrative that only served to strengthen that resolution of mine to follow this mystery down to a workable conclusion.
    “As you are aware,” the Judge began, “I was a friend of Sam Bridgeman’s in our younger days. How this friendship came about is unimportant, but I also knew Lucille before they married, and that is why she now approaches me for help after all these years. It is pure coincidence that I live now in Navissa, so close to where Sam died.
    “Even in those early days Sam was a bit of a rebel.