I gazed up at the gnarled stem, or as much of it as I could see in the firelight. Finally I shook my head. "I don't know--I'm no expert," I admitted. "At least it's very big, and undoubtedly very old--the sort of tree that used to mark a place of sacrifice." At the word "sacrifice," Susan lifted her shoulders as if in distaste. "You're right, Talbot. It would be something grim and Druid-like." She began to recite, half to herself: That tree in whose dark shadow The ghastly priest doth reign, The priest who slew the slayer And shall himself be slain. "Macaulay," I said at once. Then, to get her mind off of morbid things, "I had to recite _The Lays of Ancient Rome_ in school, when I was a boy. I wish you hadn't mentioned it." "You mean, because it's an evil omen?" She shook her head, and contrived a smile that lighted up her pale face. "It's not that, if you analyze it. 'Shall himself be slain'--it sounds as if the enemy's fate is sealed." I nodded, then spun around sharply, for I fancied I heard a dull crashing at the edge of the clearing. Then I went here and there, gathering wood enough to keep our fire burning for some time. One branch, a thick, straight one, I chose from the heap and leaned against the big tree, within easy reach of my hand. "That's for a club," I told Susan, and she half shrunk, half stiffened at the implication. We fell to talking about Judge Pursuivant, the charm and the enigma that invested him. Both of us felt gratitude that he had immediately clarified our own innocence in the grisly slayings, but to both came a sudden inspiration, distasteful and disquieting. I spoke first: "Susan! Why did the judge bring us here?" "He said, to help face and defeat the monster. But--but----" "Who is that monster?" I demanded. "What human being puts on a semi-bestial appearance, to rend and kill?" "Y--you don't mean the judge?" As I say, it had been in both our minds. We were silent, and felt shame and embarrassment. "Look here," I went on earnestly after a moment, "perhaps we're being ungrateful, but we mustn't be unprepared. Think, Susan; nobody knows where Judge Pursuivant was at the time of your father's death, at the time I saw the thing in these woods." I broke off, remembering how I had met the judge for the first time, so shortly after my desperate struggle with the point-eared demon. "Nobody knows where he was when the constable's brother was attacked and mortally wounded." She gazed about fearfully. "Nobody," she added breathlessly, "knows where he is now." I was remembering a conversation with him; he had spoken of books, mentioning a rare, a supposedly non-existent volume. What was it? ... the _Wicked Bible_. And what was it I had once heard about that work?