the objects. "A human skull," he said. "Bottles of
graveyard earth. Hm-m-m--this one is labeled 'virgin's blood.' And
this! A Hand of Glory!"

It was a mummified human hand, stiff and dry and brown, with the
fingers partially curled, as though they were holding an invisible
ball three inches or so in diameter. On each of the fingertips was a
short candle-stub. When the hand was placed on its back, it would act
as a candelabra.

"That pretty much settles it, eh, Master Sean?" Lord Darcy said.

"Indeed, my lord. At the very least, we can get him for possession of
materials. Black magic is a matter of symbolism and intent."

"Very well. I want a complete list of the contents of that chest. Be
sure to replace everything as it was and relock the trunk." He tugged
thoughtfully at an earlobe. "So Laird Duncan has the Talent, eh?
Interesting."

"Aye. But not surprising, my lord," said Master Sean without looking
up from his work. "It's in the blood. Some attribute it to the
Dedannans, who passed through Scotland before they conquered Ireland
three thousand years ago, but, however that may be, the Talent runs
strong in the Sons of Gael. It makes me boil to see it misused."

While Master Sean talked, Lord Darcy was prowling around the room,
reminding one of a lean tomcat who was certain that there was a mouse
concealed somewhere.

"It'll make Laird Duncan boil if he isn't stopped," Lord Darcy
murmured absently.

"Aye, my lord," said Master Sean. "The mental state necessary to use
the Talent for black sorcery is such that it invariably destroys the
user--but, if he knows what he's doing, a lot of other people are hurt
before he finally gets his."

Lord Darcy opened the jewel box on the dresser. The usual traveling
jewelry--enough, but not a great choice.

"A man's mind turns in on itself when he's taken up with hatred and
thoughts of revenge," Master Sean droned on. "Or, if he's the type who
_enjoys_ watching others suffer, or the type who doesn't care but is
willing to do anything for gain, then his mind is already warped and
the misuse of the Talent just makes it worse."

Lord Darcy found what he was looking for in a drawer, just underneath
some neatly folded lingerie. A small holster, beautifully made of
Florentine leather, gilded and tooled. He didn't need Master Sean's
sorcery to tell him that the little pistol fit it like a hand in a
glove.

* * * * *

Father Bright felt as t