He laughed. “You think you’re being clever and antireligious, but there may be a lot of truth in what you suggest. The apostles were writing for simple, half-­primitive people who probably believed in dragons as well as devils. Who knows, Matthew, Mark, Luke and John may have believed in them too.”

“Help me, please help me,” I said as he parked the car.

“I’ll do my best.”

“I mean other than just praying for me.”

He squeezed my arm. “I don’t know what else I’m good for, but I’ll try.”

We went up to the college administration building. It was an attractive little campus, despite the older part of it being a bit too red-­brick New England. A sign said that the college had been founded in 1878. In the General’s heyday, I thought.

A girl in the administration building directed us to Dr. Tully’s office.

“He’s expecting us,” Father Jackson said. “He has a class that’s over at eleven and it’s after that now.”

Dr. Tully was in his office, but meeting with a student, when we arrived. We waited in the hall until a fat girl in jeans came out and Dr. Tully invited us into the tiny office. It took some maneuvering for both of us to squeeze into the two chairs between the bookcase and the desk.

“This used to be a broom closet,” said Dr. Tully, chuckling, “until they decided they needed a larger room for the brooms.” He was a small man with a large bald head. He reminded me of the Wizard of Oz in the Denslow illustrations for the Baum book that I had read as a child.

“You are an anthropologist,” Father Jackson began.

“I am an associate professor of sociology at this institution, but my academic inclinations are toward social anthropology, yes.”

“You’ve made a study of witchcraft and magic, that sort of thing.”

“In a fairly narrow and specialized way. I’ve been mostly concerned with the legends and superstitions of the Middle West, although some investigations have taken me into southern border states. West Virginia, Tennessee, Kentucky . . .”

“Do you believe in the devil, Dr. Tully?” I asked.

He smiled and rubbed the top of his head. “I believe there are people who have experienced devils.”

Father Jackson glanced smugly at me. “We especially wanted to talk with you about a man who lived in this area many years ago. General Duffin Caine.”

Dr. Tully’s smile became broader and he rubbed his head more vigorously. “Ah,” he said, “General Caine. A dreadful man. Positively horrifying. Of course I must apologize to this lady—”

“He was my husband’s ancestor,” I said, “and no apology is needed. I’m sure you know a lot more about General Caine than we do.”