“It’s not a department. It’s a Ruling. ‘Quia multum amavit.’ A most useful Ruling. I’ve stretched it to.... Now, I wonder what that child actually did die of.”
“I’ll ask,” said Death, and moved to a public telephone near by. “Give me War Check and Audit: English side: non-combatant,” he began. “Latest returns.... Surely you’ve got them posted up to date by now!... Yes! Hospital Nurse in France.... No! Not ‘nature and aliases.’ I said—what—was—nature—of—illness?... Thanks.” He turned to St. Peter. “Quite normal,” he said. “Heart-failure after neglected pleurisy following overwork.”
“Good!” St. Peter rubbed his hands. “That brings her under the higher allowance—G.L.H. scale—‘Greater love hath no man—’ But my people ought to have known that from the first.”
“Who is that clerk of yours?” asked Death. “He seems rather a stickler for the proprieties.”
“The usual type nowadays,” St. Peter returned. “A young Power in charge of some half-baked Universe. Never having dealt with life yet, he’s somewhat nebulous.”
Death sighed. “It’s the same with my old Departmental Heads. Nothing on earth will make my fossils on the Normal Civil Side realise that we are dying in a new age. Come and look at them. They might interest you.”
“Thanks, I will, but——Excuse me a minute! Here’s my zealous young assistant on the wing once more.”
The Seraph had returned to report the arrival of overwhelmingly heavy convoys at The Gate, and to ask what the Saint advised.
“I’m just off on an inter-departmental inspection which will take me some time,” said St. Peter. “You must learn to act on your own initiative. So I shall leave you to yourself for the next hour or two, merely suggesting (I don’t wish in any way to sway your judgment) that you invite St. Paul, St. Ignatius (Loyola, I mean) and—er—St. Christopher to assist as Supervising Assessors on the Board of Admission. Ignatius is one of the subtlest intellects we have, and an officer and a gentleman to boot. I assure you,” the Saint turned towards Death, “he revels in dialectics. If he’s allowed to prove his case, he’s quite capable of letting off the offender. St. Christopher, of course, will pass anything that looks wet and muddy.”
“They are nearly all that now, sir,” said the Seraph.