For a moment; he could not move; felt his heart wrenched from his chest. Then he looked into those eyes that seemed not Regan's anymore, but eyes sadly rebuking. His mother's. "I not good to you? Why you leave me to die all alone, Dimmy? Why? Why you..."

"Damien!"

Merrin clutching tightly at his arm. "Please go and rest for a little now, Damien."

"Dimmy, please! Why you..."

Sharon came in to change the bedding.

"Go, rest for a little, Damien!" urged Merrin.

With a lump rising dry to his throat, Karras turned and left the bedroom. Stood weak in the hall. Then he walked down the stairs, and stood indecisively. Coffee? He craved it. But a shower even more, a change of clothing, a shave.

He left the house and crossed the street to the Jesuit residence hall. Entered. Groped to his room. And when he looked at his bed... Forget the shower. Sleep. Half an hour. As he reached for the telephone to tell Reception to awaken him, it rang.

"Yes, hello," he answer hoarsely.

"Someone waiting here to see you, Father Karras: a Mr. Kinderman."

For a moment, Karras held his breath and then, weakly, he answered, "Please tell him I'll be out in just a minute."

As he hung up the telephone, Karras saw the carton of Camels on his desk A note from Dyer was attached. He read blearily.

A key to the Playboy Club has been found on the chapel kneeler in front of the votive lights. Is it yours? You can claim it at Reception.

Without expression, Karras set down the note, dressed in fresh clothing and walked out of the room. He forgot to take the cigarettes.

In Reception, he saw Kinderman at the telephone switchboard counter, delicately rearranging the composition of a vase full of flowers. As he turned and saw Karras, he was holding the stem of a pink camellia.

"Ah, Father! Father Karras!" glowed Kinderman, his expression changing to concern at the exhaustion in the Jesuit's face. He quickly replaced the camellia and came forward to meet Karras. "You look awful! What's the matter? That's what comes of all this schleping around the track? Give it up! Listen, come!" He gripped Karras by the elbow and propelled him toward the street. "You've got a minute?" he asked as they passed through the entry doors.

"Barely," murmured Karras. "What is it?"

"A little talk. I need advice, nothing more, just advice."

"What about?"

"In just a minute," waved Kinderman in dismissal.

"Now we'll walk. We'll take air. We'll enjoy." He linked his arm through the Jesuit's and guided him diagonally across Prospect Street. " Ah, now, look at that! Beautiful! Gorgeous!" He was pointing to the sun sinking low on the Potomac, and in the stillness rang the laughter and the talking-all-together of Georgetown undergraduates in front of a drinking hall near the corner of Thirty-sixth Street. One punched another one hard on the arm, and the two began wrestling amicably. "Ah, college, college..." breathed Kinderman ruefully, nodding as he stared. "I never went... but I wish... I wish..." He saw that Karras was watching the sunset. "I mean, seriously, you really look bad," he repeated. "What's the matter? You've been sick?"

When would Kinderman come to the point? Karras wondered. "No, just busy," he answered.

"Slow it down, then," wheezed Kinderman. "Slow. You know better. You saw the Bolshoi Ballet, incidentally, at the Watergate?"

"No."

"No, me neither. But I wish. They're so gracefull... so cute!"

They had come to the Car Barn wall. Resting a forearm, Karras faced Kinderman, who had clasped his hands atop the wall and was staring pensively across the river. "Well, what's on your mind, Lieutenant?" asked Karras.

"Ah, well, Father," sighed Kinderman, "I'm afraid I've got a problem."

Karras flicked a brief glance up at Regan's shuttered window. "Professional?"

"Well, partly... only partly."

"What is it?"

"Well, mostly it's..." Hesitant, Kindeman squinted. "Well, mostly it's ethical, you could say, Father Karras... a question...." The detective turned around and leaned his back against the wall.

He frowned at the sidewalk. Then he shrugged. "There's just no one I could talk to about it; not my captain in particular, you see. I just couldn't. I couldn't tell him. So I thought..." His face lit with sudden animation. "I had an aunt... you should hear this; it's funny. She was terrified---

terrified--- for years of my uncle. Never dared to say a word to him. Wouldn't dare to raise her voice. Never! So whenever she got mad at him for something-- for whatever--- right away, she'd run quick to the closet in her bedroom, and then there in the dark--- you won't believe this!--- in the dark, by herself, and the moths and the clothes hanging up, she mould curse---

she would curse!--- at my uncle for maybe twenty minutes! Tell exactly what she thought of him! Really! I mean, yelling! She'd come out, she'd feel better, she'd go kiss him on the cheek.

Now what is that, Father Karras?That's good therapy or not!"

"It's very good," said Karras, smiling bleakly. "And I'm your closet now? Is that what you're saying?"

"In a way," said Kinderman. Again he looked down. "In a way. But more serious, Father Karras." He paused. "And the closet must speak," he added heavily.

"Got a cigarette?" asked Karras with shaking hands.

The detective looked up at him, blankly incredulous. "A condition like mine and I would smoke?"

"No, you wouldn't," murmured Karras, clasping hands atop the wall and staring at them. Stop shaking!

"Some doctor! God forbid I should be sick in some jungle and instead of Albert Schweitzer, there is with me only you! You cure warts still with frogs, Doctor Karras?" "It's toads," Karras answered, subdued.

"You're not laughing today," worried Kinderman. "Something's wrong?" Mutely Karras shook his head. Then, "Go ahead," he said softty.

The detective sighed and faced out to the river. "I was saying..." he wheezed. He scratched his brow with his thumbnail. "I was saying--- well, lets say I'm working on a case, Father Karras.

A homicide."

"Dennings?"

"No, no, purely hypothetical. You wouldn't be familiar with it. Nothing. Not at all." Karras nodded.

"Like a ritual witchcraft murder, this looks," the detective continued broodingly. He was frowning, picking words slowly. "And let us say in this house--- this hypothetical house--there are living five, and that one must be the killer." with his hand, he made flat, chopping motions of emphasis, "Now, I know this--- I know this--- I know this for a fact." Then he paused, slowly exhaling breath. "But then the problem.... All the evidence--- well, It points to a child, Father Karras; a little girl maybe ten, twelve years old... just a baby; she could maybe be my daughter."

He kept his eyes fixed on the embankment beyond them. "Yes, I know: sounds fantastic...

ridiculous... but true. Now there comes to this house, Father, a priest--very famous--- and this case being purely hypothetical, Father, I learn through my also hypothetical genius that this priest has once cured a very special type illness. An illness which is mental, by the way, a fact I mention just in passing for your interest." Karras felt himself turning grayer by the moment.

"Now also there is... satanism involved in this illness, it happens, plus... strength... yes, incredible strength. And this... hypothetical girl, let us say, then, could... twist a man's head around, you see. Yes, she could." He was nodding now. "Yes... yes, she could. Now the question.." He grimaced thoughtfully. "You see... you see, the girl is not responsible, Father.