Jim visits his old teacher, Professor Robey, who claims ignorance when Jim explains that he came there when he wrote a letter requesting help. Robey's hand shakes as he pours out drinks, and Jim realizes that he's in trouble. The professor initially tries to deny it, and then gives in and shows Jim a photo of a beautiful woman. Robey explains that her name is Lilith, and he met her when he was supervising Sumerian excavations. He fell in love with her, but discovered that she was evil. There's a knock on the door and one of Robey's students, Robert Perry, comes in. Robert helps Robey on with his robes, and the professor asks Jim to wait until after his meeting. Once Robey leaves, Robert notes that something has been bothering him. He has no idea who Lilith is. Her photo suddenly bursts into flame, and they hear Robey screaming outside. They run to the window and watch helplessly as Robey burns up...Read the full recap
Prof. Robey: I’m in trouble. Black, horrible trouble. And I don't now what to do.
James: You just did it, sir. You told me about it. An excellent place to begin… is at the beginning.
Waterford: Astarte and I met in Rome three weeks ago. We came, we saw… and I was conquered.
Asmodeus: What time is it, doctor?
Dr. Tristam: My watch, it's gone! Oh, what have you done with it, sir?
Asmodeus: Doctor, call me a fraud, a mountebank, a charlatan, a peddler of tired, tarnished tricks purchased secondhand from a Hong Kong mail order house. But a pickpocket? For shame, sir.
Astarte: Well what?
James: Well, aren't you going to suggest we take a turn in the garden?
Astarte: How very sure you are of yourself, Mr. West.
James: Only in things that matter.
Astarte: Such as?
James: I'm sure that the snapping turtle never lets go until it thunders. And I'm sure that you step on a spider, it rains. And I'm very, very sure that the murderers of Professor Robey will dance the minuet from the highest gallows.
Astarte: Mr. West, how would you like to take a turn in the garden?
James: Well, it isn't Asmodeus. What happened, did you lose your way?
Asmodeus: You make me realize how much I detest excessively muscular young men.
James: Are you humming?
Artemus: Me? Never, I just whistle in graveyards.
Asmodeus: Enough! You’re a poor audience.
James: Oh no, we’re a good audience. You’re a poor entertainer.
James: I promised you a dance, Astarte.
Astarte: Dance? What...
James: The minuet. From the highest gallows we can find, remember?