"And this is your great method of extracting demons from their possessed hosts, is it?" Harold picked up the jar and shook it. Inside was a spider, which seemed glare balefully out. He could imagine it speaking to him if its brain were large enough to house speech functions. "I've memorised your face, old son," it would say. "Soon as I'm reincarnated, I'll 'ave you." It hinged upon two existential concepts, naturally, both that reincarnation existed and that spiders believed in it.
"This is what you've been up all night doing?"
"Do you know how difficult it is to tattoo a sigil on a spider?" Jasfoup looked hurt. "Besides, it took me two hours to catch the thing."
Harold put the jar down and turned to the demon. "What about delivery?"
"Delivery? I thought an authoritative English accent. A Donald Sinden, if you will"
"I meant, how will you get the spider to the demon?"
"Ah." Jasfoup stoked his chin. "Catapult?"