Hello, gentle listener, and welcome to nocturnal transmissions, the fortnightly podcast that brings you dark tales, old and new performed by your humble narrator

Kristen Holland this episode we go old with a story from mr. go story himself

him r j Mr. Go Story himself, M.R. James. Nocturnal transmissions is proud to present Canon Albrex's

scrapbook. Scrapbook Sam Bertrand de Camanshe is a decayed town on the spurs of the Pyrenees, not very far from Toulouse, and still nearer to Bagnier de Luchon.

It was the site of a bishopric until the revolution, and has a cathedral which is visited by a

certain number of tourists. In the spring of 1883, an Englishman arrived at this old-world place.

I can hardly dignify it with the name of city, for they're not a thousand inhabitants.

He was a Cambridge man who had come specially from Toulouse to see Saint Bertrand's,

Saint Bertrand's, church, and had left two friends who were less keen archaeologists than himself in their hotel

at Toulouse, under promise to join him on the following morning. Half an hour at the church would

satisfy them, and all three could then pursue their journey in the direction of Osh. But our Englishman

had come early on the day in question and proposed to himself to fill a

notebook and to use several dozens of plates in the process of describing and photographing

every corner of the wonderful church that dominates the little hill of Comauch. In order to carry out

this design satisfactorily, it was necessary to monopolise the

verger of the church for the day. The verger, or sacristan, I prefer the latter appellation, inaccurate

as it may be, was accordingly sent for by the somewhat brisk lady who keeps the inn of the

Chappre Rouge. and when he came,

the Englishman found him an unexpectedly interesting objective study. It was not in the personal

appearance of the little dry wizened old man that the interest lay, for he was precisely like

dozens of other church guardians in France, but in a curious,

furtive or rather hunted and oppressed air which he had. He was perpetually half-glancing

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