“Yes.” The fellow smiled engagingly and, more at ease, withdrew a bright red cigarette case from his pocket, offering one to his host, who declined it. The cigarettes were long, and coal black. “I don’t really know, sir, why some versions of the procedure call for such things as…” he glanced hesitatingly toward the bowls again, “those. Impure texts, possibly. It’s all in the words. One has to say them right. Apparently you mastered the feat well.” He pressed the end of a well-manicured forefinger against the tip of his cigarette and it lit in a tiny burst of flame. When he exhaled, the smoke had a perfumed odor.

Webley was somewhat placated by the compliment, although it had taken a year of searching to dig up those “impure texts.” “Well,” he said, “you are a demon, anyway, aren’t you?”

“Oh, hell yes,” the fellow said, with feeling. “By all means.”

“And your name?”

“Makuka… It’s hard to pronounce, sir… Makukabuz-zeeliam. In Hell our clients generally call me Robert.”

“And you can serve me?”

“After a fashion, yes. Of course, I have a good many other duties.”

Webley poured himself a drink, offering one to the demon, who refused. “I don’t think I would overwork you, Robert. What I want you to do, primarily, is to write a dissertation for me. And, perhaps, a few scholarly articles.”

The demon seemed to think this over a moment. Then he said, “What field, sir?”

“English. English literature.”

The demon smiled abruptly, revealing even, white teeth. “That might be interesting, sir,” he said. “We have a good many of your English writers… available, so to speak.” His orange eyes seemed to twinkle. “And a fine bunch too, sir, I might add. But why,” he said, “would you ever call up a demon to write your dissertation for you?”

“Well,” Webley said, “I am one of the few people who know how; that’s one consideration. I have my first Ph.D. in Folklore, you see. Done a lot of research in Folklore. After twelve years of it I began to realize that most of the lore worked out very well. I cure a little asthma here and there, with black-eyed peas, practice a little Voodoo—nothing important, just to amuse my friends.”

“Voodoo never has been very effective,” Robert said understandingly. “Overrated.”