“That’s why I sent for you, Father. I want you to listen to this lady’s story. Maybe it will give you a better perspective on what’s going on around here. Incidentally, let me put your mind at rest on a couple of matters, young lady. One, you’re not crazy. Two, whomever or whatever you saw in your car and your kitchen, it wasn’t the bones of General Caine, although it might have had something to do with them. I would guess there couldn’t be much left of those, since he’s been dead for more than eighty years. Now tell your story again please, for this young fella’s benefit.”

I told it again, although more briefly this time. Father Jackson didn’t seem very impressed.

“It could be the result of suggestion, maybe even auto-­suggestion,” he said, shrugging.

“You think I wanted to see the man?” I asked angrily.

“It’s not necessarily a question of wanting to. Hallucinations can be prompted by fears as well as desires.”

“I don’t think I want to discuss this anymore, Father Fogarty.” I rose again.

“Sit down, sit down,” said the old priest impatiently. “Father Jackson didn’t say it was a hallucination.”

“I don’t know what else it could’ve been, unless the man was really there,” said Father Jackson.

“Be quiet,” his pastor ordered. “No matter what it was, we have to consider what caused it. Now I happen to believe that it’s quite possible for someone of the soundest mind to see something that other people can’t see.”

“Like visions of Mary,” put in Father Jackson.

Father Fogarty turned on him. “Would you please have the courtesy to let me finish what I have to say?” The young priest threw up his hands and slouched in his chair. “Now then, I do believe it’s possible for such a person to have a celestial vision, and that might include a vision of Mary. Also it needn’t be caused by any suggestion, auto or otherwise.”

“What causes it then?” Father Jackson inquired.

“The holy will of God.”

“You seem to be taking a different tack than you did the last time we discussed Mrs. Scaravelli.”

“I never denied that Mrs. Scaravelli might have had a genuine vision,” said the old man irritably. “Note that I said ‘might.’ ” He turned to me. “However, it so happens that Mrs. Scaravelli is—or was—a friend of Mrs. Reddy’s. And I’ve already told you what Mrs. Reddy is.”

“Are you sure of your facts?” asked Father Jackson. “You’ve never actually had a conversation with Mrs. Reddy, have you, in which she admitted being what you think she is.”