“Yes. Well, that ought to impress them well enough.” He leaned over on one elbow. “Tell you what you do, Robert. You pack that manuscript off to my editor for me; and then I want you to take a message to the University. Tell them I’m delayed and won’t be back for about three or four weeks. Tell them I’m working on the index or something.” He reached a chubby hand over and gave Miss Hopkins a gentle pat on the rump. She stirred and giggled softly in her sleep. “Now do that for me, Robert, and it’ll be all wrapped up between us.”

There seemed to be a hurt look in the demon’s eyes. “You’re not going to read the book, sir?”

Webley waved a hand royally. “When it comes out in print, man,” he said. “Right now I’m busy.”

“Yes, sir,” Robert said, vanishing.

***

It was six weeks later that Webley was mailed a copy of the book by his publisher. Since he was well absorbed at the time with other pursuits, it was another two weeks before he read it. Or he did not read it exactly—not entirely. He was two-thirds of the way through when, red in the face and eyes glaring, he shrieked the proper incantation and Robert appeared.

“What in the name of Hell do you mean by this—this asininity, this patent absurdity?” Webley said. “Any half-baked scholar with a quarter of a brain could demolish this, rip it to shreds! This is tripe, Robert. Fraudulent, unscholarly, unforgivable tripe. You’ve made an ass of yourself and of me.”

Robert seemed dumbfounded; his entire face was an enormous blush. “But, Professor Webley,” he said, “I… I thought you would like it, sir. Thought it would be… just the thing.”

Webley seemed to explode. “Just the thing!” He slammed the book on his desk. “Good lord, Robert, if I couldn’t write a more accurate work of literary criticism in six months’ time I’d… I’d let you roast me in Hell. Seven days a week.”

From somewhere beneath the floor came a little voice, saying “Agreed.”

Webley stopped in the middle of a breath. Then he said, “Now wait a minute, Robert. You can’t… surely you….”

The demon’s face showed embarrassment, and his tone was extremely polite, apologetic. “I’m afraid we can, sir,” he said. “Verbal contract, you know. Hold up in any court.”