Beware The Beasts Read Online Free

presuming too much?"
    If Sir Basil Hether was aware of the vicar's sarcasm, he chose to overlook it. "Oh, yes, several. But his favorite was a large black dog, named Daemos, and the story goes that of dark nights the villagers could hear the old man's voice calling his dog - 'Here, Daemos! Here, Daemos!'"
    "What a queer name for a dog!"
    Hether rose to go. "Oh, not at all," he said benignly. "When you consider the root of it in the Greek, and its subsequent use in our own language: daimon to daemon or demon . I dare say Millham had a sense of humor."
    The Reverend Mr. Webly mentally reserved to include Sir Basil Hether among those destined to receive the benefit of his prayers and showed him out, unmindful of the old man's dubious mutterings and head shakings. The vicar was a practical man; he permitted Hether's "I really wouldn't do it! I wouldn't sanction it!" to pass from his mind even more swiftly than the old man passed from his sight down the lane to where his car stood waiting.
    On Monday week the work was begun, everyone exercising the utmost care, so that no damage might be done. The vicar told himself and his parishioners that he was not a vandal. Nevertheless, he had to import workmen from outside; without saying so in so many words, old Hether had given him to understand that he would have difficulty with local workmen, and he had been right. The vicar got outside help, preached a sermon on the evils of superstition, and devoted his attention to the matter of the Millham tomb. He was eager to discover now how great the treasure would be, and whether it would pay the parish's debt, which would please his superiors very much and make his own chances for advancement so much greater. He did not at the moment consider the possibility of his advancement to another plane.
    By Wednesday, the coffin was ready for its opening, and the vicar, true to his word, came from his study and opened it. He revealed Sir Nicholas Millham's remains, a small casket of jewels, and a thick mass of musty dust, which slithered like a cloud of fog over the edge of the coffin and vanished. One glance at the jewels was enough to convince the Reverend Mr. Webly that the parish's financial problem had been solved for the time being. He could not keep from returning to his study and telephoning old Hether to impart something of his triumph to him.
    Sir Basil was not enthusiastic. Indeed, he was curiously restrained, so that the vicar had the uncomfortable impression that he was talking to a listener who sat annoyingly waiting for the end of a story which had already patently ended.
    The vicar's triumph, however, was not to be dampened. He announced a special thanksgiving service for that evening, and preached a long sermon on the ways of Providence, despite the fact that the majority of his parishioners were not present. Old Hether was there, and several strangers, summoned no doubt by the unusual ringing of the bells, and curious about the whispered tales already making their way over the countryside about the vicar's find. The vicar had a few uneasy moments, until he could reassure himself that the jewels were safely locked up where no stranger was likely to find them; the only individual who might demand more information than he cared to impart to his parish was the tax collector for the Crown, and he was certainly not among those present.
    Being practical and methodical, the vicar made a conservative estimate of the treasure's worth, and reckoned that, with care, there might be a small fund left over after the parish debt had been paid. It was while he was doing this late that night in his study that the telephone rang and old Hether's voice came over the wire to inquire whether the vicar was still all right.
    "Of course, I'm all right. What do you mean?"
    "Forgive my curiosity," murmured Sir Basil. "I told you I was superstitious. By the way, if you should need me - my telephone is next to my bed."
    The vicar made short work of him; he was not