At Penhryn's look of amazement, the verger smiled, reflected a bit, and said: "Oh, we've had other misfortunes here, worse than that. Why the west tower has come down four times since their time. And fires without number are always breaking out and always had been." The verger went on to recount other calamities suffered by the cathedral. "Don't you think it odd," interrupted Penhryn, "such an uncommon number of disasters has struck here?" The verger pondered this a moment and then smiled triumphantly, "Why, not at all. We have missed some serious misfortunes that have plagued lesser churches.... Cromwell's troopers let us alone when they desecrated other cathedrals about us." "But Cromwell was a hidden Satanist," blurted out Penhryn. "At least Montague Summers thought he was." "Which is why," added the verger, "he and his Roundheads desecrated so many British churches." Penhryn desisted from further argument. The verger did not see he meant his emphasis on the fact that Cromwell had left _this place_ inviolate. He pondered a bit. Then, he asked the verger another question, "I wonder--just what do the bones in that urn," he pointed to the one that figured in the curious story of the drugged monks, "look like?" A look of quizzical tolerance crossed the verger's face, "Just like any other, if not dust already." Then the amused verger added, "They could be fraudulent, you know. It wouldn't be the first time three thigh bones of a saint existed in three separate churches." Whet the verger referred to was the traffic in spurious relics during the medieval times, the monstrous incongruities that sometimes existed along with the monkish pilfering of relics from rival monasteries. But that was not what Penhryn had in mind--at least not entirely. Better he not voice what he thought of those relics lest he shock the verger. Considering the spirit that motivated the Gothic decorations, it was very likely just _what_ those relics might be. At moment a man in faded overalls entered the cathedral, looked about, and spying the verger, came over. A conversation about gardening ensued. Finally, the gardener--quite obviously--not comprehending the pedantic instructions of the verger, asked that person to accompany him outside and see the vegetable problem himself. Penhryn breathed a deep sigh of relief. The verger was a bore, besides openly regarding Penhryn as a ridiculous, superstitious man. Now at last Penhryn could do what he originally came for--examination of the cathedral's organ. As he ascended to the triforium gallery, a feeling of self reproach arose. He regretted remarking on the oddness of this place; no wonder the verger had smiled. And yet there was no denying of it--the cathedral had an atmosphere of wrongness; it affected him.