It was too awful. If it was true, it seemed surely to indicate that the whole problem was with me. Somehow, somewhere I must have seen a picture of the General (maybe Jack had shown me one years ago) and now I must be imagining that Duff looked like him.

I went upstairs to Duff’s room and found him sitting on his bed, writing in his notebook. That was something I had forgotten about. Surely there was evidence there in favor of my sanity. But at what cost? Wouldn’t it be better to have a slight mental aberration than to have Father Fogarty’s theory proven true?

“So, Mother,” said my son, smiling brightly, “you visited Saint Mary’s Church today.”

“How did you know?”

“How would I know? Do you think I have some sort of extrasensory perception? Franny told me. Did you talk with Father Fogarty?”

“Briefly.”

“What did he say about me?”

“He said you did something disgraceful in his church.”

Duff laughed, cackled rather. Then he said very seriously, “I don’t think I did.” And then, “I don’t think I did.”

“Then who did it? You were caught as you were running from the church.”

He seemed honestly bewildered. “I just don’t know what happened, Mother.” He smiled again. “What else did Father Fogarty tell you? Did he say anything about the history of this place?”

“Why?”

“You know I’m very interested in local history.”

“Then perhaps you’d better go to Cainesville and talk with Father Fogarty yourself.”

“Maybe I’ll do that.” He picked up his notebook. “Will you excuse me now, Mother?”

“Is it true what that deputy sheriff said, that you visited Mrs. Reddy and Mrs. Weber last night?”

He grinned. “Do you think they’d lie about it?”

I ignored that. “What did you do at their house?”

“Just talked.”

“About what?”

“Lots of things.” He paused, looking bewildered again. “I really can’t remember, Mother. My memory seems to be slipping lately, along with my character.”

But then he spoiled that by grinning and turning back to his work. I went out angrily and slammed his door.

He didn’t come down for dinner. Afterward, without even clearing the dishes, I collected Stephanie’s things and put what wouldn’t fit in her suitcase into a couple of shopping bags. Then I got into the car and drove to the Weber place. I knew if I waited to think about it, I wouldn’t go.

It was about seven when I turned into their yard. Emil Weber’s station wagon wasn’t parked in its usual place, but I assumed it was in the garage.

The small boy we had seen on our first visit answered the door. He was the only one at home, he said. Mr. and Mrs. Weber and Mrs. Reddy had gone to Ashland with the policemen in the afternoon and they hadn’t come back.