"God came to me," said Barry, "and He said to me, Barry, He said, there are folks out there with deep secret personal problems which are blocking the light of the spirit. Get them to come to you, urge them to talk so that their souls may be cleansed and let in the light of the spirit. I advertised in the local paper, people came along and I am building up a nice congregation."

And probably a nice little moneymaker, thought Hamish cynically. It was amazing how people who claimed to have direct instructions from God always seemed to be justifying some selfish purpose.

"What time would you like me to start tomorrow?" he asked.

"About nine o'clock. You will find I am not very strict. Have you anywhere to live?"

"I've been sleeping in my car," said Hamish. "And yet you have kept yourself neat and clean. That says a lot for you. What is your name?" "Hamish George."

"Well, Hamish, there is a cot bed in the cupboard over there. I'll bring a pillow and a duvet. You can stay here for a bit. There's a stove there and coal and wood out the back."

"That's very good of you," said Hamish. "Maybe my depression got worse because I had nowhere to live and no useful work."

"Now you will be working for the Lord," said Barry. Hamish's quick ear caught an almost mocking lilt in Barry's voice. Hamish had been bending his head in what he hoped was an attitude of grateful humility, but he looked up quickly. Barry looked back with an unctuous smile.

"Here's the key," said Barry. "It's a spare. I have things to do. I'll be on my way and leave you to lock up and fetch your things."

Hamish waited until he had left and then he began to search the cupboards in the kitchen, under the sink, every nook and cranny, in the hope of finding a trace of drugs, but there was nothing. So here I am, he thought ruefully, wasting two good weeks' holiday working for a crackpot organisation. Well, he could give it a few days and if nothing came of it, he could always go back on duty.