"Yet, an envelope of bestiality, beast-muzzle on human face, beast-paws on human hands----" "I can support that by more werewolf-lore. I don't even have to open Summers, everyone has heard the story. A wolf attacks a traveler, who with his sword lops off a paw. The beast howls and flees, and the paw it leaves behind is a human hand." "That's an old one, in every language." "Probably because it happened so often. There's your human hand, with the beast-paw forming upon and around it, then vanishing like wounded ectoplasm. Where's the weak point, Wills? Name it, I challenge you." I felt the glass shake in my hand, and a chilly wind brushed my spine. "There's one point," I made myself say. "You may think it a slender one, even a quibble. But ectoplasms make human forms, not animal." "How do you know they don't make animal forms?" Judge Pursuivant crowed, leaning forward across the deck. "Because, of the few you've seen and disbelieved, only human faces and bodies showed? My reply is there in your hands. Open Richet's book to page 545, Mr. Wills. Page 545 ... got it? Now, the passage I marked, about the medium Burgik. Read it aloud." He sank back into his chair once more, waiting in manifest delight. I found the place, underscored with pencil, and my voice was hoarse as I obediently read: "'My trouser leg was strongly pulled and a strange, ill-defined form that seemed to have paws like those of a dog or small monkey climbed on my knee. I could feel its weight, very light, and something like the muzzle of an animal touched my cheek.'" "There you are, Wills," Judge Pursuivant was crying. "Notice that it happened in Warsaw, close to the heart of the werewolf country. Hmmm, reading that passage made you sweat a bit--remembering what you saw in the Devil's Croft, eh?" I flung down the book. "You've done much toward convincing me," I admitted. "I'd rather have the superstitious peasant's belief, though, the one I've always scoffed at." "Rationalizing the business didn't help, then? It did when I explained the Devil's Croft and the springs." "But the springs don't chase you with sharp teeth. And, as I was saying, the peasant had a protection that the scientist lacks--trust in his crucifix and his Bible." "Why shouldn't he have that trust, and why shouldn't you?" Again the judge was rummaging in his book-case. "Those symbols of faith gave him what is needed, a strong heart to drive back the menace, whether it be wolf-demon or ectoplasmic bogy. Here, my friend." He laid a third book on the desk. It was a Bible, red-edged and leather-backed, worn from much use. "Have a read at that while you finish your drink," he advised me. "_The Gospel According to St. John_ is good, and it's already marked. Play you're a peasant, hunting for comfort." Like a dutiful child I opened the Bible to where a faded purple ribbon lay between the pages. But already Judge Pursuivant was quoting from memory: