‘Finally,’ he went on, ‘and this may be a trifle difficult, you will need a ruined church which has been deconsecrated – preferably one with a toad dwelling beneath the altar. Do you suppose you could manage that, eh?’

‘As a matter of fact there is just such a place in Jersey; it’s called La Hougue Bie. An abandoned sixteenth-century chapel stands on a mound which contains one of the finest megalithic pre-Christian tombs in Europe. I am sure toads abound there but, should they be absent, it would be the work of a moment – and indeed a kindness – to introduce them to such a haven.’

‘Excellent! You are sure that the chapel has been deconsecrated? No? Then you must make sure. You could, of course, desecrate it yourself, but it’s not really the same thing and you might find the process a little trying. There would be, perhaps annoyances, in a place of such antiquity. I’m sure you understand me.’

‘Only too well.’

‘Then I think we have covered everything and you, no doubt, will be eager to get to bed.’

I didn’t sleep awfully well, perhaps I’d eaten something which disagreed with me. Once I awoke in a panic: some frightful cantrip had been chanting itself inside my head, but it was only an innocent verse from The Wind in the Willows:

‘The clever men at Oxford

Know all that there is to be knowed.

But they none of them know one half as much

As intelligent Mr Toad!’

I couldn’t understand why it had frightened me so much.

8

By the One who may don the black raiment

Of the Goat which was never a goat

Now come I to exact the dread payment

For the lie that was born in the throat.

In a High Place, to decent men nameless,

Guarding ever the Branchless Rod,

Lies a thing which is pallid and shameless,

Ill with lust for a frightful god.

O, Ashtaroth, darling of Sidon,

Loathly Chemosh, who raves in the night,

I bring the red kiss which shall widen,

For thy servant, away to thy sight.

Asmodeus

Dryden was kind enough to take me to my train in the morning. He drives fast and decisively but he has his own little theories about how to deal with other road-users and the drive was not enjoyable. I once diffidently pointed out to him that we were entering a one-way street: he beamed at me, an index finger laid against his nose, and cried:

‘Ah, but which way? We are not told, you see!’ This savouring of his triumph led him to mount the pavement, so I let the rest of the trip unwind itself without further comment – and with my eyes closed. I remember wishing that I knew a cantrip or two to recite.