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diff --git a/old/50775-0.txt b/old/50775-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index ffd76a6..0000000 --- a/old/50775-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8070 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Twenty Years' Experience as a Ghost Hunter, by -Elliott O'Donnell - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Twenty Years' Experience as a Ghost Hunter - -Author: Elliott O'Donnell - -Illustrator: Phyllis Vere Campbell - H. C. Bevan-Petman - -Release Date: December 27, 2015 [EBook #50775] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GHOST HUNTER *** - - - - -Produced by Shaun Pinder, eagkw and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - TWENTY YEARS’ EXPERIENCE AS A - GHOST HUNTER - - - - - Twenty Years’ Experience - as a Ghost Hunter - - BY - - ELLIOT O’DONNELL - - AUTHOR OF “THE SORCERY CLUB,” “WERWOLVES,” - “SOME HAUNTED HOUSES OF ENGLAND AND WALES,” - “HAUNTED HIGHWAYS,” ETC., ETC. - - - WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY - PHYLLIS VERE CAMPBELL - AND - H. C. BEVAN-PETMAN - - - [Illustration] - - - HEATH, CRANTON, LTD. - FLEET LANE, LONDON - - _First Published, November, 1916._ - - _Second Edition, February, 1917._ - - - - -AUTHOR’S NOTE - - -In presenting this volume of ghostly reminiscences to the Public -I would lay stress on the fact that, in order to avoid the danger -of incurring an action for slander or libel, I have—save where -expressedly stated to the contrary—resorted to the use of fictitious -names for all persons and houses. For the reproduction of one or two -articles I am indebted to the courtesy of Mr. Ralph Shirley. - - ELLIOT O’DONNELL. - -1916. - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - CHAPTER PAGE - - I. I COMMENCE MY GHOSTLY INVESTIGATIONS IN DUBLIN 11 - - II. I AM PURSUED BY PHANTOM FOOTSTEPS 23 - - III. SOME STRANGE CASES IN SCOTLAND 34 - - IV. I TRAVEL ACROSS THE UNITED STATES AND DO SOME GHOST - HUNTING IN SAN FRANCISCO 49 - - V. A HAUNTED OFFICE IN DENVER 58 - - VI. CASES OF HAUNTINGS IN ST. LOUIS, NEW YORK, AND CHICAGO 69 - - VII. A HAUNTED WOOD, AND A HAUNTED QUARRY IN CANADA 86 - - VIII. HAUNTINGS IN THE EAST END 105 - - IX. NIGHT RAMBLINGS ON WIMBLEDON COMMON AND HOUNSLOW HEATH 122 - - X. MY VIEWS ON A FUTURE LIFE FOR THE ANIMAL AND VEGETABLE - WORLDS 136 - - XI. A HAUNTING IN REGENT’S PARK, AND MY FURTHER VIEWS WITH - REGARD TO SPIRITUALISM 148 - - XII. A HAUNTED MINE IN WALES 159 - - XIII. THE POOL IN WALES THAT LURES PEOPLE TO DEATH 169 - - XIV. I GO ON WITH THE HISTORY OF MY LIFE, AND NARRATE A - GHOSTLY HAPPENING IN LIVERPOOL 183 - - XV. SOME STRANGE CASES IN BIRMINGHAM, HARROGATE, SUSSEX AND - NEWCASTLE 194 - - XVI. WAR GHOSTS 206 - - XVII. A CASE FROM JAPAN 223 - - - - -LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS - - - FACING - PAGE - - 1 “WE BOTH LOOKED IN THE DIRECTION HE INDICATED” 39 - - 2 “WHO IS THAT TALL, GOOD-LOOKING GIRL, STELLA, THAT I’VE - SEEN FOLLOWING YOU INTO THE BUILDING....” 63 - - 3 “BUT THERE ARE OTHER GHOSTS—IF YOU LIKE TO TERM THEM - SO—THAT ARE MORE TROUBLESOME” 82 - - 4 “I LOOKED UP, JUST IN TIME TO SEE THE GIRL FLASH ME A LOOK - OF SUBTLE WARNING” 94 - - 5 “THE THING CAME RIGHT UP TO THE WINDOW, AND THEN RAISED ITS - FACE” 101 - - 6 “WHAT GIVES ME THE WORST FRIGHT IS A TREE....” 141 - - 7 “MY GOD! THERE’S DICK! HE’S JUST BEHIND YOU” 167 - - 8 “I SUDDENLY CAUGHT SIGHT OF A LARGE EYE” 205 - - - - - Twenty Years’ Experience - as a Ghost Hunter - -CHAPTER I - -I COMMENCE MY GHOSTLY INVESTIGATIONS IN DUBLIN - - -In starting a book of this sort, I believe it is usual to say something -about one’s self. - -I was born in the ’seventies. My father came from County Limerick, and -belonged to the Truagh Castle O’Donnells, who, tracing their descent -from Shane Luirg, the elder brother of Niall Garbh, the ancestor of -Red Hugh, rightly claim to be the oldest branch of the great clan. He -graduated at Trinity College, Dublin, was for some time vicar of a -parish near Worcester, and died in Egypt, under mysterious and much -discussed circumstances,[1] soon after I came into the world. - - [1] See “The Oriental Zig-zag,” by C. Hamilton. - -My mother was English; she belonged to an old Midland family, and only -survived my father a few years. - -Although I am generally known as a ghost hunter, needless to say it -was not for such a career that I was educated, first of all at Clifton -College, then at an Army crammer’s, and finally at Chedwode Crawley’s -well-known coaching establishment in Ely Place, Dublin. There I read -for the Royal Irish Constabulary, and, attending regularly, remained -for a little over two years. I can safely say these two years were two -of the happiest I have ever known, for my companions at that time were -the nicest set of fellows I have ever met, and amongst them I formed -many lifelong friendships. - -When I was not working, I usually spent my time playing football -or cricket, to both of which sports I was devoted, and, when I was -not thus engaged, I used to tramp across hill and dale continually -exploring the country in search of adventure. - -But in those days I did not look for ghosts—they came to me; they came -to me then, as they had come to me before, and as they have come to me -ever since. - -With my early experiences of the Unknown—which experiences, by the -way, extend over the whole period of my youth—I have dealt fully -in former works; so that in this volume I propose to confine myself -to later experiences, commencing approximately with my début as an -investigator of haunted houses and superphysical occurrences in general. - -To begin with, however, let me state plainly that I lay no claims to -being what is termed a scientific psychical researcher. I am not a -member of any august society that conducts its investigations of the -other world, or worlds, with test tube and weighing apparatus; neither -do I pretend to be a medium or consistent clairvoyant. - -I am merely a ghost hunter; merely one who honestly believes that he -inherits in some degree the faculty of psychic perceptiveness from a -long line of Celtic ancestry; and who is, and always has been, deeply -and genuinely interested in all questions relative to phantasms and a -continuance of individual life after physical dissolution. Moreover, in -addition to this psychic faculty, I possess, as I have already hinted, -a spirit of adventure; and since this spirit is irresistible, had I not -decided to become a ghost hunter, I should doubtless have embarked upon -some other and hardly less exciting pursuit. - -The actual cause of my decision to adopt ghost-hunting as a profession -was an experience which befel me in the summer of ’92. I was at that -time a student in Ely Place, Dublin, and being in search of rooms, was -recommended to try a house within a stone’s throw of the Waterloo Road. - -A widow named Davis, with two leviathan daughters, Mona and Bridget, -ran the establishment, and as the vacant apartments were large, -apparently well ventilated and exceedingly moderate in price, I -decided to take them. Consequently, I arrived there with my luggage -one afternoon, and was speedily engaged in the tiring and somewhat -irritating task of unpacking. - -When I retired to rest that first night, I certainly had no thought of -ghosts or anything in connection with them; on the contrary, my mind -was wholly occupied with speculations as to how I should fare in the -coming weekly examination at Crawley’s, whether the extra attention I -had recently bestowed on mathematics would be of any service to me, -or whether, in spite of it, I should again occupy my place at the -bottom of the class. I remember thinking, however, as I blew out the -light and turned into bed, that there was something about the room -now—though I could not tell what—that I had not noticed by daylight; -but I soon went to sleep, and although I awoke several times before -morning—a phenomenon in itself—I cannot say that I thought then of -any superphysical element in the atmosphere. It was not until I had -been there several nights that the event occurred which effectually -shaped my future career. - -One evening the two girls, Mona and Bridget, were making so much -racket in the room beneath me, that I found work impossible, and being -somewhat tired, for I had stuck very close to it all day, I resolved -to go to bed. On my way thither I encountered two young men, T.C. -students, who were also lodging in the house, hotly engaged in an -argument; and they appealed to me to express an opinion. I told them -what I thought, as they followed me upstairs; then, when I reached my -room, I abruptly bade them good-night, and, entering, locked the door -behind me. - -Sitting down on the edge of the bed, I quietly slipped off my clothes -and put out the light. The two men were still haranguing one another -for all they were worth when I got in between the sheets and prepared -to lie down. The room was not entirely dark; from between the folds of -the thick plush curtains that enveloped the windows stray beams from -the powerful moonlight filtered through and battled their way to the -foot of the bed. I was looking at them with some degree of curiosity, -when I saw something move. I glanced at it in astonishment, and, to -my unmitigated horror, the shape of something dark and sinister rose -noiselessly from the floor and came swiftly towards me. I tried to -shout, but could not make a sound. I was completely paralysed, and as I -sat there, sick with fear and apprehension, the thing leaped on to me, -and, gripping me mercilessly by the throat, bore me backwards. - -I gasped, and choked, and suffered the most excruciating pain. But -there was no relaxation—the pressure of those bony fingers only -tightened and the torture went on. At last, after what seemed to me -an eternity, there was a loud buzzing in my ears, my head seemed to -spin round violently, and my brain to burst. I lost consciousness. On -coming to, I found that my assailant had left me. I struck a light. My -fellow-lodgers were still going at one another hammer and tongs—and -the door was, as I had left it, locked on the inside. I searched the -room thoroughly; the window was bolted; there was nothing in the -cupboard; nothing under the bed; nothing anywhere. I got into bed -again, full of the worst anticipations, and, if sleep came to me, it -was only in the briefest snatches. - -At dawn the room became suffused with a cold, grey glow, and the -suggestion of something horribly evil standing close beside the bed -and sardonically watching me impressed me so strongly that, yielding -to a sudden impulse of terror, I hid my head under the bed-clothes, -and remained in that undignified position till the morning was well -advanced and I was “called.” - -I got up, feeling downright ill, and although the sunlight -metamorphosing everything now made the mere thought of a ghost simply -ludicrous, I hurried out of the room as speedily as possible. Nor did I -venture to pass another night there. - -My landlady did not demur when I asked her to transfer me to another -apartment, and later, before I took my final departure from her house, -she confessed to me that it was haunted. She believed that it had been -used as a private home for mentally afflicted people, and that someone, -either one of the patients or a nurse—she did not know which—had -died, under extremely painful circumstances, in the room I had first -occupied. - -The Davises left the house soon after I did, and who lives there now, -and whether the hauntings still continue, I cannot say. When I last -made enquiries, about two years ago, I learned that the then occupants -had never admitted experiencing anything unusual, but that they always -kept the room in which I had undergone the sensations of strangulation -carefully locked. - -This adventure of mine, intensely unpleasant as it had been at the -time, profoundly interested me. Hitherto I had placidly accepted as -truth all the dogmas of religion hurled at me from the pulpit and -drilled into me at school, for the simple reason that I had always been -taught to regard as infinitely correct and absolutely above criticism -all that the clergy told me: God made the world, they said, and all -the laws and principles appertaining to it—that was sufficient—I -need not ask any questions. When I looked about me and saw men, and -women, dogs, horses, and other animals suffering indescribable agonies -from all kinds of foul and malignant diseases; when I encountered -cripples, the maimed and blind, idiots and lunatics; or read in the -papers of swindles, murders and suicides; or noted how, throughout -nature, the strong animals prey upon the weak; how, for example, the -tiger, the lion and the leopard terrorize the jungle, just as the shark -and octopus terrorize the sea, and the wasp and spider, centipede and -scorpion terrorize insect life (being furnished respectively with -weapons for tearing and rending, and sucking the flesh, and entailing -the most excruciating tortures on the nerve centres); when, I say, I -noted all this, I was given to understand that I must on no account -comment upon it—to do so was impious and wicked—I must abide by the -precept of my pastor and pedagogue, namely, that “God is almighty and -merciful, loving and wise.” - -But now it was different—I was no longer in the schoolroom, no longer -under the immediate influence of the Church. I met people in Dublin -imbued with the broader instincts of a big, cosmopolitan community; -I listened to their reasoning—reasoning which at first immeasurably -shocked me, and afterwards struck me as horribly sane. Then, at this -crisis, came the incident of the strangling. I tried to attribute it to -a dream, but I was prevented by the fact that I had only just got into -bed, and had not even lain down, when the figure seized me. Hence, I -could only conclude that some spirit—the nature of my suffering and -the horror it inspired leading me to suppose that it was a particularly -evil one—had been my aggressor. - -But why was it not in Hell? Had it escaped in spite of the strict -supervision of the Almighty? Or could it be possible that the orthodox -Paradise and Purgatory did not exist, and that the spirits of the dead -were allowed to wander about at will? I became interested—deeply so; -all sorts of wild speculations floated through my mind; I resolved to -enquire further. - -I would not be guided by any creed; I would set out on my work of -investigation wholly unbiassed; I would gain whatever knowledge there -was to be gained of another world without the aid either of priest or -occultist, medium or scientist. - -Several of my friends in Dublin were greatly interested in ghosts, and -I learned from them of two houses that had long borne the reputation of -being haunted. One was close to St. Stephen’s Green, within sight of -the Queen’s Service Academy, and the other, a big, ugly edifice of a -dingy grey, was in Blackrock. I had stayed in the former when a child, -and had vivid recollections of the holes in the stone stairs, through -which boiling oil was poured on the heads of the English soldiers at -the time of the ’98. - -There were many large and stately rooms in the house, oak-panelled -and beautified throughout with much carving. I remember looking with -awe and perplexity at the number of odd shadows that used to put in -an appearance on the stairs and in the passages, just when it was my -bed-time, but I did not then attribute them to ghosts. I simply did -not know what they were. I heard sounds, too—clangs and clashes, and -footsteps tramping up and down the stairs; sounds I did not attempt to -analyse, possibly because I dared not. That was in 1886; I was then -a small boy, and now—now only—after I had long left the house, and -was back in Dublin, with the experience of the strangling ghost still -fresh in my mind, I began to wonder whether these strange sounds and -shadows might not have been due to the presence of the Superphysical. -I mentioned the matter to my friends, and they expressed astonishment -that I had not heard the house was haunted. One of them, a lady, told -me that she had once stayed there and had been awakened every night by -the sounds I had described—the sounds of heavy footsteps rushing up -the stairs, of cries and groans, shrieks and oaths, coupled with the -clashing of scabbards and sword blades, and the sound as of falling -bodies. - -Yet nothing was ever to be seen, saving the moonlight and -shadows—plenty of shadows—shadows strangely suggestive of grotesque -and fancifully clad people. I tried to obtain permission to sleep in -the house, and in my innocence of the ways of landlords, I stated with -the most pathetic candour my true intention—I wanted to investigate. -The reply I got was certainly not courteous, neither did it permit of -argument. Hence, feeling considerably crestfallen and humiliated, I -found myself forced to give up my first attempt at ghost-hunting. - -Then I turned my attention to the house in Blackrock, and fared no -better. The landlord had been bothered to death with requests to spend -nights there, and was endeavouring to discover the originator of the -report that the place was haunted, in order that he might bring an -action for Slander of Title. Consequently I could only examine the -house from the outside, hoping that its ghostly inhabitants would one -night take pity on me and exhibit themselves at one of the windows. But -in this, too, I was disappointed; although, as the place invariably -inspired me with the greatest dread, I have no doubt whatever but that -it was genuinely and badly haunted. - -There were several stories in circulation in Dublin about that time -concerning the nature of the haunting, and the following—one of the -most reliable—was told me by a Mrs. Blake. I will give it as nearly as -I can in her own words: - -“When I was a child of about twelve,” she began, “which was a good -many years ago, my father, who was then stationed in Dublin, took the -house on a three years’ lease, at a very low rental, due, so the owner -stated, to the fact that there were far too many stairs, a feature to -which most people, on account of their servants, strongly objected. -Nothing was said about ghosts, and nothing was further from my parents’ -minds when they took possession. We moved in towards the end of July, -but it was not until the middle of September that we first became aware -that the house was haunted. It happened in this way: My father and the -maids were out one evening, and only my mother, my small brother and I -were in the house. It was about eight o’clock. I was upstairs in the -nursery reading to Teddy, and my mother was in the drawing-room, two -storeys beneath. I was just in the middle of a sentence, when Teddy -interrupted me. ‘Did you hear that?’ he exclaimed; ‘it’s someone on -the stairs. I believe they are listening.’ I paused, and heard a loud -creak. ‘Who can it be?’ I said; ‘there’s only mother in the house!’ -Much mystified, I closed the book and went out on to the landing. No -one was there; but when I got to the head of the stairs, I heard a loud -scream, and then a dull thud, just as if someone had fallen. In an -agony of mind I ran downstairs to see what had happened. As I arrived -in the hall, the door of the drawing-room was slowly opened, and I -saw, peeping cautiously out, a white face with two dark, gleaming, -obliquely-set eyes, that filled with an expression of the most -diabolical hatred as they met mine. I was so terrified that I started -back some paces, and, as I did so, the door opened a little wider, and -the figure of a short, elderly woman, clad in an old-fashioned black -dress, and white cap crumpled closely round her lean, haggard face, -glided out, and, passing by, ascended the stairs. As she came to the -first bend, she turned, and looking down at me with an evil leer, -shook her hand menacingly at me. She then passed out of sight, and I -heard her climb the stairs, step by step, till she came to the nursery -landing. A moment later, and Teddy gave a violent shriek. - -“My terror was now so great that I think I should have gone mad had I -been left there any longer by myself; but, by a merciful providence, a -key turned in the lock of the front door, and my father entered. The -sight of his well-known figure on the threshold at once loosened the -spell that had bound me, and with a cry of delight I clutched him by -the arms, imploring him to see at once what had happened to mother and -Teddy. - -“He ran into the drawing-room first and found my mother on the floor, -just reviving from a faint. Lighting the gas, he fetched her some -brandy, and then, bidding me stay with her, he hastened upstairs to -Teddy. The latter was very badly frightened, and it was some days -before he was well enough to give anything like a coherent account -of what had happened. Of course, mother and father told Teddy that -the queer figure they had seen was some friend of the servants, who -had called while they were out, but I suppose they deemed me old -enough to know the truth, for they discussed the incident openly in -my presence. It appears that my mother had been quietly knitting in -the drawing-room, when she suddenly felt very cold, and rising from -her chair, with the intention of closing the door, found herself -confronted by a hideous form. Subsequently, my father made a thorough -search of the house, but he found no one, and as all the windows were -fastened and the doors locked on the inside, we could only come to the -conclusion that the figure my mother and Teddy and I had all seen was a -ghost. A few days later it appeared to my father. He was coming out of -his bedroom, when he saw a woman steal stealthily out of a room on the -same landing and creep downstairs in front of him. There was something -about her so intensely sinister that he felt chilled; but, determining -to find out who she was, he followed her, and catching her up, -demanded her name. There was a chuckling answer, the figure instantly -disappeared, and a number of invisible somethings clattered down the -stairs past him. - -“I think my father was very scared; at all events he came into the -breakfast-room with a very white face and ate hardly anything. Some -time after this, when the autumn was well advanced, my uncle came to -stay with us. He was a jolly, rollicking sailor, who had fought the -Turks at Navarino, and had had many exciting adventures with Chinese -pirates. - -“No one told him the house was haunted; it was decided he should find -that out for himself. One afternoon, several days after his arrival, -he was taking off his boots in a room in the basement, when a current -of icy air blew in on him, and, on raising his eyes to see whence -the draught came, he perceived an extraordinarily pretty girl, clad -in a dark green riding-habit, such as he believed were worn in the -days of his great grand-parents, standing in the doorway, watching -him intently. ‘This is one of Jack’s surprises’ (Jack was my father), -he said to himself, ‘and a deuced pleasant one, too! The rogue, he -knows nothing pleases me so much as the sight of a pretty girl, and, -by Jove, she is pretty!’ Springing to his feet—for my uncle was never -bashful in the presence of the fair sex—he advanced to shake hands. -To his chagrin, however, she promptly turned round, and, walking -swiftly away, began to ascend the stairs. My uncle followed her. On and -on she led him till she came to the drawing-room; there she paused, -and with the forefinger of her left hand on her lips, glanced coyly -round at him. She then quietly turned the door handle, and signalling -to him to follow, stole into the room on tiptoe. Charmed with this -piece of acting, the naïvety of it appealing very strongly to his -susceptible nature, my uncle hastened after her. The moment he crossed -the threshold, however, he recoiled. Standing in the middle of the -room was an old woman with a hideous, white face and black, leering -eyes. There were no signs anywhere of the young and beautiful lady. -She had completely vanished. My uncle was so shocked by the spectacle -before him that he retreated on to the landing, and, as he did so, the -drawing-room door swung to with a loud crash. He called my father, and -they entered the room together; but it was quite empty, the old hag had -disappeared as inexplicably as the girl. That evening there was to be -a party, and the table in the dining-room groaned beneath the weight -of one of those inimitable ‘spreads,’ in vogue some fifty or sixty -years ago. With somewhat pardonable pride my mother took us all—my -father, uncle and myself—to have a peep at it, before the guests -arrived. As we drew near the room, we heard, to our astonishment, -the plaintive sound of a spinet. My mother instantly drew back, -trembling, whereupon my uncle, forcing a laugh, said, ‘This is one of -the occasions upon which a gentleman should go first.’ He threw open -the door as he spoke, and we all peered in. What I saw will never be -effaced from my memory. The room exhibited a complete wreckage—the -cloth was half off the table, the massive silver candlesticks were -overturned, and the floor was strewn with piles of broken glass, china -and eatables—everything was smashed and ruined. In the midst of the -debris, her face turned towards us, lay a very beautiful girl. There -were unmistakable evidences of a ghastly wound, but her eyes were -partly open, and the strange light which gleamed from their blue depths -revealed an expression which could only have been hatched in hell—a -hell, peopled not with passive torture-torn sufferers, but with wholly -abandoned beings actively engaged in licentiousness and everything that -is destructive and antagonistic to man’s moral and mental progress. -Standing over the woman, and holding a kind of stiletto in his hand, -was a tall, fair man, in whose agonised and remorseful features we -recognised at once a most startling likeness to my uncle. No detail -was wanting—there was the deep scar on the temple, the curiously deep -dimple in the chin; indeed, saving for the old-fashioned clothes, no -likeness could have been more exact. Standing by his side, her hideous, -scowling face thrust forward, her evil eyes glaring at us with the same -vindictive insolence, was the old woman I had seen that night in the -hall. Then, my father, uttering some exclamation, crossed himself, and, -as he did so, the figures abruptly vanished, whilst the whole house -echoed and re-echoed with loud peals of mocking, diabolical laughter. -That was the finale; we left immediately afterwards, and from that day -to this the house, I believe, has stood almost uninterruptedly empty.” - -This is the gist of Mrs. Blake’s account of the happenings, and as I -never found her anything but strictly truthful, I believe them to have -been given me without any conscious exaggeration. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -I AM PURSUED BY PHANTOM FOOTSTEPS - - -Before I left the west of Ireland, I set out one day to investigate a -case of haunting by fairies, which was alleged to take place nightly at -the junction of four cross roads on the southern slope of the Wicklow -mountains. - -I found a spot that seemed to correspond with the description of the -scene of the haunting given me by my informant, and kept a vigil -there for two consecutive nights without experiencing any of the -anticipated results. However, I intended giving the place another -trial, and accordingly set out; but when within half a mile or so of -my destination, I began to feel very tired, and having a bad cold on -me besides, I decided to put up at a cottage I espied a short distance -off, instead of pursuing my way further. - -The cottage stood a little back from the main road, perhaps a hundred -yards or so, and was connected with it by a narrow lane. The situation -was one of intense loneliness; the nearest village was a good two miles -away, and few people, other than occasional cyclists, ever passed -along the high road after nightfall. At the time I am speaking of, the -cottage was tenanted by a couple named Mullins. The man was a drover, -and his wife one of the tallest women I have ever seen; she possessed, -moreover, a pair of green-grey eyes, and these were remarkable, not -only for their curious colouring, but for the impression they gave one -that they were perpetually trying not to see too much. Apart from these -peculiarities, she seemed ordinary enough, and I felt I was in the -house of very worthy and hard-working people. - -I went to bed early and was given the only spare room in the cottage. -It faced the front and was immediately over the tiny parlour. As the -linen was spotless and felt thoroughly dry, I had no scruples about -getting in between the sheets, and, stretching myself out, I was soon -fast asleep. - -I awoke with violent palpitations of the heart to find the room bathed -with moonlight; and, as all was absolutely silent, I concluded it must -be far on into the night. Suddenly I heard footsteps—footsteps in the -distance, running at a well-regulated pace. They rang out sharp and -clear in the still air, and gradually became more and more distinct. -I was wondering who the person could be, out at such an hour, when a -dog, apparently in the yard at the back of the house, set up the most -unearthly howling. The next moment I heard Mrs. Mullins speak, and, -inadvertently, I listened. - -“John,” she said, “do you hear the dog?” - -“I should be deaf and dumb if I didn’t,” Mullins replied sleepily. -“What is it?” - -“What is it, indeed! Why the dog never barks like that unless there -is a spirit about. Do you remember those knocks on the door the night -Uncle Mike died, and how the dog howled then? There’s something of the -same sort about to-night. Listen!” - -The steps very were near now. I listened intently. The runner, I -thought, must be wearing very extraordinary boots, for every step, so -it seemed to me, was accompanied by a peculiar and almost metallic -click. - -“John,” Mrs. Mullins suddenly resumed, “do you hear those steps? What -are they? It’s the first time in my life I’ve heard anyone running -along the high road like that at this time of night. Hark! They’ve got -to the turning—they’re in the lane—they’re coming here! Get up at -once; go and bolt the front door. The thing’s evil—evil, I’m sure, and -it’s someone of us here it’s after.” - -The steps grew rapidly nearer, and Mullins, stumbling hastily down the -stairs, bolted both the doors and swung to the little wooden shutters. -A moment later, and I heard the steps come right up to the door. There -was a momentary pause, then a series of terrific knocks. - -“Cross yourself, John; for God’s sake cross yourself!” Mrs. Mullins -cried. “And may the Holy Virgin protect us.” She then started praying -loudly and vehemently, and, whether it was the effect of her prayers -or not, the knocking gradually diminished in violence, and then ceased -altogether. - -“Come on up, John,” Mrs. Mullins called out; “the thing, whatever it -is, has ceased troubling us, and we may go to sleep in peace.” - -Mullins, needing no second bidding, joined his wife, and once again the -whole place was wrapped in silence. - -I must confess that, whilst the knocking continued, I had no desire -whatever to look out of the window, but the moment it was over I got up -and peered out. I could see right down the lane and for some distance -along the high road. - -There was no sign of anyone or anything that could in any way account -for the disturbance—the landscape was brilliantly illuminated with -moonlight, every stick and stone being plainly visible, and all nature -seemed to be sleeping undisturbedly, as if no interruption in its -ordinary routine had occurred. I got back into bed, and, falling into -a gentle doze, slept soundly till the morning. After breakfast, Mrs. -Mullins said, “You’re not thinking of spending another night here, sir, -are you?” - -“Why, no,” I replied. “I must be back in Dublin at my work by this -afternoon.” - -“I’m glad of that, sir,” she went on; “because I couldn’t let you stay. -I suppose you heard the rapping, sir?” - -“I did,” I replied; “and the footsteps—how do you account for them?” - -“Only in one way,” she said; “they came after you. At least, that was -my impression, and my impressions are seldom wrong. I seemed to see -some terrible form—half animal and half human—something indescribably -grotesque and unnatural—something, my instinct tells me, was wanting -to get at you.” - -Her description of the figure reminded me so strongly of the queer -thing that tried to strangle me in the house near the Waterloo Road, -that I narrated my experience to her. - -“You may depend upon it, sir,” she said when I had finished, “that the -ghost you have just told me about and the one that came to the cottage -last night are the same. I have heard that spirits will sometimes -attach themselves to persons who have been staying in the house they -haunt, and that they will leave the house with them and follow them -wherever they go. I only hope and trust that this one will never do you -any harm, and that you will succeed in ridding yourself of it, but my -husband and I feel, asking your pardon, that we should not like to have -you sleep here again.” - -I did not tell her that even had she been willing, nothing on earth -would have induced me to stay, for whether she was right in her theory -about the steps or not, the neighbourhood had lost all its charms for -me. Indeed, when next I had a ghostly visitation, I hoped I should be -quartered in a less isolated spot. - -My aunt, Mrs. Meta O’Donnell, tells me that a relative of hers once had -a remarkable encounter with fairies on the road between Ballinanty and -the village of Hospital in County Limerick. - -He was driving home one evening in his jaunting car, unaccompanied save -by his servant, Dunkley, who was sitting with his back to him, when a -number of little people—fairies—sprang on the car, and clambering up, -tried to pull him off. - -Finding that, owing to the vigour with which they pulled, he was -actually slipping from his seat, he appealed to his servant for -assistance; and the latter, doing as he was told, held on to him with -all his strength, and thus prevented the little people from dragging -him to the ground. Mrs. Meta O’Donnell is absolutely sure that her -relative never took stimulants of any sort, and that he was in a -perfectly normal state of mind when this event happened. - -Nor is this road haunted only by fairies, for Mrs. Meta O’Donnell again -tells me that this same relative of hers, when driving home on another -occasion—this time with several friends—saw a man on horseback, in -a hunting coat, suddenly leap the hedge, and, after riding for some -distance by the side of the car, abruptly vanish. Two of the men who -were with him, she believes, also witnessed this phenomenon. - -It is a long step, seemingly, from the fairy to the banshee, but -these two types of spirit have at least one trait in common, namely, -exclusiveness; and the banshee, even more emphatically than the fairy, -will have nought to do with the alien. It will attach itself only to -the family of bona-fide Irish origin, only to the clan that has been -associated with Irish soil for many generations. - -With the kind permission of Mr. Ralph Shirley, I will here introduce, -making only slight alterations, a few extracts from an article of mine -on the banshee, which appeared in the “Occult Review” for September, -1913: - -“Contemporary with fairies and the Feni, phantoms typical of the great -lone hills of Wicklow and Connemara, and of the bare and wind-bitten -cliffs of Galway, may well have been the banshees, which, attaching -themselves for divers reasons to various chieftains and sons of -chieftains, eventually became recognised as family ghosts or familiars. - -“Many people have fallen in the error of imagining all banshees are -moulded after one pattern. Nothing could be more fallacious. The -banshee of the O’Rourkes, for example, does not resemble that of the -O’Donnells; there are many forms of the banshee, each clan having a -distinct one—or more than one—of its own. Some of the banshees are -fair to look at, and some old, and foul, and terrifying; but their -mission is invariably the same, i.e., to announce a death or some great -family catastrophe. - -“The banshee is never joyous; it is always either sad or malevolent. -Sometimes it wails once, sometimes three times—the wail in some -degree, but not altogether, resembling that of a woman in great trouble -or agony; sometimes, again, it groans; and sometimes it sighs, or -sings. In some clans the demonstrations are both visual and auditory, -in others only visual; and in others, again, only auditory. There is no -really old clan but has its banshee, and few members of that clan who -are not, at some time or other of their lives, made aware of it. - -“How well I recollect as a child being told by those who had experienced -it, that a dreadful groaning and wailing had been heard the night prior -to the death of a very near relative of mine in Africa. I enquired what -made the wailing, and was informed ‘the banshee,’ or the ghost woman, -who never fails to announce the death of an O’Donnell. - -“Years later, when in the extreme West of England, my wife and I were -awakened one night by a terrible wail, which sounded just outside our -door. Beginning in a low key, it rose and rose, until it ended in a -shrill scream, that in time died away in a horrible groan. The idea of -the banshee at once flashed through my mind, for I felt none other but -a banshee could have made such a sound. - -“Still, to satisfy my wife, I jumped out of bed and went on to the -landing; all was dark and silent, and outside their bedrooms were -assembled the rest of the household, terrified, and eager to have -an explanation of what had happened. We searched the whole house -and the waste land outside, but there was nothing which could in -any way account for the noise, and in the morning I received news -of the death of someone very closely related to me.... Whilst some -writers are inclined to treat the subject jocularly, and attribute -the banshee either to obviously absurd physical causes, or to the -abnormally imaginative powers they insist are the birthright of all -Irishmen, others dive into the pseudo-profound compilations of modern -Theosophy, and reappear with the pronouncement that banshees are not -spirits at all—not entities hailing from the superphysical world—but -mere thought germs, created by some remote ancestor of a clan, and -wafted down from one generation to another of his descendants, an -idea as nonsensical as it is extravagant, and which will not for an -instant hold water when looked into by those who have had a bona-fide -experience of the banshee or any other ghostly phenomenon. Indeed, -it is only the latter who are capable of making observations of any -value on such a subject, and all effort to describe or account for the -superphysical by those who have never experienced it, no matter whether -those efforts are made by theosophical savants, professional mediums -or scientific experts, are, in my opinion, weightless, colourless and -futile. - -“A geologist may describe the hydrosphere, and an astronomer the moon, -and their descriptions may be swallowed with tolerable composure and -assurance, because we know that the laws of similarity and analogy, -when applied to the physical, generally hold good; but no scientist -can teach us anything about spiritual phenomena, because such things -are actually without the realm of science, just as the game of marbles -is entirely without the province of theology. It is our sensations, -and our sensations _only_, that can guide and instruct us when dealing -with the superphysical. I have heard the dying screams of a woman -murdered beneath my window; I have heard on hill and plain the cries of -coyottes, panthers, jackals and hyenas; and I have many times listened -to the dismal hooting of night birds, when riding alone through the -seclusion of giant forests; but there is something in the banshee’s -cry that differs from all these, that fills one with a fear and awe, -far—immeasurably far—beyond that produced by a sound which is merely -physical. Imagine then what it is to be haunted all one’s life by such -a grim harbinger of woe, to have it ever trailing in one’s wake, always -ready and, maybe, eager to make itself heard the moment it detects, by -its extraordinary and unhuman powers, the advent of death. One curious -idiosyncrasy of the banshee is that it never manifests itself to the -person whose death it is prognosticating. Other people may see or hear -it, but the doomed one never, so that when every one present is aware -of it but one, the fate of that one may be regarded as pretty well -certain. - -“And now once again, whence comes the banshee? From heaven or from -hell? What is it? It is impossible to say; at the most one can -only speculate. Some banshees appear to be mournful only; others -unquestionably malevolent; and whereas some very closely resemble a -woman, even though of a type long passed away, others, again, differ so -much from our conception of any human being, that we can only imagine -them to be spirits that never have been human, that belong to a genus -wholly separate and distinct from the human genus, and that have only -been brought into contact with this material plane through the medium -of certain magical or spiritual rites practised by the Milesians, but -for some unknown reason discontinued by their descendants. This appears -to me quite a possible explanation of the origin of the banshee. - -“One realizes, when dabbling in spiritualism to-day, one of the -greatest dangers incurred is that of attracting to one certain -undesirable, mischievous, and malignant spirits—call them elementals -if you will—which, when so attracted, stick to one like the proverbial -leech. And what happens to-day may very well have happened thousands -of years ago; in all probability, the Unknown never changes; its ways -and habits may be as constant as those of Nature, guided by laws and -principles which may at times vary, but which, nevertheless, undergo no -material alteration. The superphysical, attracted to the ancients as it -is attracted to us to-day, would adhere to them as it now adheres to -us. I cannot surmise more. - -“Supposing then that this theory accounts for the one class of banshee, -what accounts for the other—the other that so nearly tallies with the -physical? Are the latter actual phantoms of the dead; of those that -died some unnatural death, and have been earth-bound and clan-bound -ever since? Maybe they are. Maybe they are the spirits of women, -prehistoric or otherwise, who were either suicides or were murdered, -or who themselves committed some very heinous offence; and they haunt -the clan to which they owed their unhappy ending; or, in the event of -themselves being the malefactors, the clan to which they belonged. From -all this we can conclude that, whilst the origin and constitution of -banshees vary, their mission is always the same—they are solely the -prognosticators of misfortune. A sorry possession for anyone; and yet, -how truly in accord with the nature of the country—with its general -air of discontent and barrenness, with its rain-sodden soil and gloomy -atmosphere—as an unkind critic might say, could anyone imagine the -presence of cheerful spirits under such conditions? - -“But the banshee has the one admirable trait which the average -Englishman obstinately refuses to recognize in the material Irish—the -trait of loyalty and constancy. It never forsakes the object of its -attachment, but clings to it in all its vicissitudes and peregrinations -with a loyalty and persistency that is unmatchable. It is thoroughly -Irish, essentially Irish; the one thing, apart from disposition and -character, that has remained exclusively Irish through long centuries -of robbery and oppression; and which, in spite of assertions to the -contrary, never has been, nor ever will be shared by other than the -genuine clansman. - -“The banshee is most fastidious in its tastes—it will have none of -the pseudo-celt; none of the individual who, possessing an absolutely -English name, and coming entirely of English forefathers, terms himself -Irish merely because his ancestors happen to have settled in Ireland. -That is nothing like exact enough for the banshee. Others may talk -of it and write of it, but they can never honestly claim it; for -the banshee belongs wholly and exclusively to the bona-fide O’s and -Macs—and them, and them only, will it never cease to haunt so long as -there is one of them left.” - -My last experience with a ghost in Dublin took place just after I had -been medically examined for the R.I.C., and to my intense grief had -been rejected, owing to varicose veins, which the examining doctor told -me were of a far too complicated nature to permit of an operation; -consequently, although I had been “cramming” for two years, and my -prospects of getting through the literary examination were deemed -extremely fair, it was futile to go up for it, as all chance of my ever -being in the R.I.C. was now at an end. - -On the night of my failure to pass the medical I had gone to bed early, -as I had a splitting headache, and, after vain efforts, had at length -succeeded in falling asleep. I awoke just in time to hear a clock from -somewhere in the downstairs premises of the house—I was then lodging -in Lower Merrion Street—strike two, and almost immediately afterwards -there came a loud laugh, just over my face, and so near to me that I -seemed to feel the breath of the laughter fan my nostrils. Nothing I -have ever heard before, or have ever heard since, was so repulsive as -that laugh—it was the very incarnation of jeering, jibing mockery; -of undying, inveterate hate. I felt that nothing but a spirit of -unadulterated evil could have made such a noise, and that it had come -to gloat over my misfortunes—to let me know how greatly it rejoiced -at the cruel blow I had suffered. I naturally associated it with the -ghost that had tried to strangle me, and my heart turned sick within -me at the thought that such a horrible species of phantasm was still -hovering near me. Should I ever be free from it? I was not quite so -frightened, however, as I had been on the occasion of its visit to me -in the house near the Waterloo Road, and determining to prevent myself -from falling into that kind of paralytic condition again, in which all -my muscles and faculties had remained alike spell-bound and useless, I -sat up. The room was in pitch darkness, and everything was breathlessly -still. I waited in this posture for some seconds, my heart beating -like a sledge-hammer, and then, deriving assurance from the fact that -nothing happened, I got out of bed and struck a light. The door was -locked on the inside, and there was nothing in hiding that could in -any way account for the noise. I went to the window, and, lifting it -gently, peered out into the street. There was no moon, but many stars -and lamp-lights enabled me to see that the street was absolutely -empty—not even a policeman was in sight. I leaned far out, and from -immediately beneath me, although no one was visible, there suddenly -commenced the sound of running footsteps. Ringing out loud and clear, -and accompanied by a queer familiar clicking, they seemed to follow -the direction of the street towards Ely Place. I wanted to get back to -bed, for I was lightly clad, and the air was cool and penetrating, but -something compelled me to keep on listening, and so I remained with my -neck craned over the window-sill, till the steps gradually grew fainter -and fainter, and suddenly ceased altogether. And with their termination -this early period of my ghostly experiences in Dublin terminated, too. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -SOME STRANGE CASES IN SCOTLAND - - -I returned to England in that “tub-like” old relic of mid-Victorian -steamboats, “The Argo”—long since defunct, but which for many years -sailed to and from Dublin and Bristol with as many passengers and -cattle as could be crammed, with any degree of safety, into her dingy -and clumsy-looking hulk. I remember the passage well, for two of my -fellow students were on board, and we spent nearly all the time on -deck, telling ghost tales, and earnestly discussing the possibility -of a future life. In the end we made a solemn compact, whereby it was -agreed that the one who died first would try his level best to give -some kind of spirit demonstration to the other two. Both my friends -died within a few years of that date, and within three weeks of each -other. The one, who had a commission in a cavalry regiment, was killed -at the Battle of Omdurman, and the other, who having followed in the -footsteps of his distinguished father, had become a novelist of great -promise, was kicked to death by a horse. The day after the death of -the former, as I was busily engaged writing the first chapter of my -novel, “For Satan’s Sake,” a portion of the mantel-piece in the room in -which I was working suddenly fell with a loud crash on to the grate. Of -course, the incident may not have had anything to do with the death of -my friend, but it was nevertheless remarkable, as previously nothing -in the nature of a flaw had been noticeable in the condition of the -mantel-piece. My other friend died—as I subsequently learned, i.e., -after the incident I am about to narrate had occurred—at ten o’clock -one Friday morning, and that afternoon as I was changing for football, -the grandfather clock on the landing outside my bedroom suddenly struck -ten. I went to look, and the hands pointed to three. There had been -nothing amiss with the striking before, and there was nothing amiss -with the striking after. - -These were the only phenomena I experienced at the time these two -friends of mine died. - - * * * * * - -On arriving at Bristol, I spent some weeks in the West of England and -then journeyed north to Scotland. My original intention had been to -spend a few weeks with an old Clifton friend of mine, whose father -owned an estate near Inverary; but, on arriving at Glasgow, I heard of -such a promising case of haunting in that city, that, unable to resist -the temptation of investigating it, I decided to postpone my journey -west. The case, as outlined to me in the first instance, was this:— - -A Glasgow solicitor, named James McKaye, desirous of taking a house -close to his office, went one morning to look at one in Duke Street. -He went there alone, and, carefully closing the front door behind him, -proceeded to wander from room to room, beginning with the basement. - -As he was going upstairs to the first floor, he suddenly heard -footsteps following him. He turned sharply round; there was no one -there. Thinking this was odd, but attributing it to the acoustic -properties of the walls, he continued his ascent. Having arrived on the -first landing, he went into one of the rooms. The steps followed him. -A brilliant idea then occurred to him—he stamped his foot. There was -no echo. He turned round and went into the next room, and the steps -once again accompanied him. Then he grew frightened. It was broad -daylight, the sun was shining brilliantly and the birds were singing; -but there was something in this house that jarred on him horribly—a -something that was completely out of humour with the golden sunbeams -and the cheerful chirping of the sparrows. The day was hot, and the -sun was pouring in through the blindless windows; but in spite of this -the rooms were icy, and he was deliberating whether it was worth while -to explore the house further, when he caught sight of a shadow on the -wall. It was not his own shadow. It was that of a man with his arms -stretched out horizontally on either side of him, and whereas the right -arm was complete in every detail, the left had no hand. James McKaye -now yielded to an ungovernable terror and rushed frantically out of the -house. - -One would naturally think that after all this McKaye would have vowed -never to go near the place again. Nothing of the sort. The house -fascinated him. He could not get it out of his mind; he even dreamed -of it; dreamed of it in connection with some mystery that he must -solve—that he alone could solve. Besides, there was not another house -in the town so conveniently situated, nor so cheap. Consequently, he -took it, and within a fortnight had moved in with all his family and -household goods. For the first few weeks everything went swimmingly, -and McKaye, who was shrewd, even for a Scot, congratulated himself upon -having made such an excellent bargain. - -Then occurred an incident which recalled sharply the day he had first -seen the place. He was writing some letters one morning in his study, -when the nurse-maid entered, white and agitated. “Oh, do come to the -nursery, sir,” she implored; “the children are playing with something -that looks like a dog, and yet isn’t one. I don’t know what it is!” And -she burst out crying. - -“You’re mad,” McKaye said sharply and, springing to his feet, he ran -upstairs. - -On reaching the nursery, the blurred outline of something like a huge -dog or wolf came out of the half-open door, and raced past him, so -close that he distinctly felt it brush against his clothes. - -Where it went he could not say; he was thinking of the children, and -did not stop to look. Oddly enough, the children were not a bit afraid; -on the contrary, they were pleased and curious. “What a strange doggy -it was, Daddy!” they cried; “it never wagged its tail, like other -doggies, and whenever we tried to stroke it, it slipped away from -us—we never touched it once.” - -Sorely puzzled, McKaye told his wife, and the two decided that if -anything further happened, they must leave the house. - -That night McKaye happened to sit up rather late; at last he got up, -and was about to turn off the gas, when he felt his upstretched hand -suddenly caught hold of by something large and soft, that did not seem -to have any fingers. He was so frightened that he screamed; whereupon -his hand was instantly released, and there was a loud crash overhead. -Thinking something had happened to his wife, he rushed upstairs, -and found her sitting up in bed and talking in her sleep. She was -apparently addressing a black, shadowy figure that was crouching on the -floor, opposite her. As McKaye approached, the thing moved towards the -wall, and vanished. - -Mrs. McKaye then awoke, and begged her husband to take her out of the -house at once, as she had dreamed most vividly that an appalling murder -had been committed there, and that the murderer had come out of the -room with outstretched hands, asking her to look at them. McKaye, who -had had quite enough of it, too, promised to do as she wished, and -before another twenty-four hours had passed the house was once again -empty. - -These were the bare facts of the case, and as they were given me by one -of his clients, I had no difficulty in obtaining an interview with Mr. -McKaye, who, I was told, still had the keys of the house. It was not, -however, so easy to obtain consent to spend a night on the premises, -and he would only permit me to do so on the condition that he himself -accompanied me, and that I promised to keep the visit a profound secret. - -The evening chosen for our enterprise proved ever memorable. - -The rain came down in torrents, and the wind—a veritable tornado—made -any attempt to hold up an umbrella utterly impossible. Indeed, it -was as much as I could do to hold up myself, whilst, to add to my -discomfort, at almost every step I plunged ankle-deep in icy cold -puddles. At length, drenched to the skin, I arrived at the house. - -McKaye was standing on the doorstep, swearing furiously. He could not, -so he said, find the key. However, he produced it now, and we were soon -standing inside, shaking the water from our clothes. Those were the -days before pocket flashlights had become general, and we had to be -content with candles. - -We each lighted one, and at once commenced to search the premises to -make sure no one was in hiding. - -The house, as far as I can recollect, consisted of four storeys and -a basement. None of the rooms were very large; the wall-papers were -hideous, and I remember thanking my stars that I was not called upon to -live in such hopelessly inartistic quarters. McKaye asked me if I could -detect anything peculiar in the atmosphere, but I could only detect -extreme mustiness, and told him so. I fancied he seemed very fidgety -and ill at ease; however, as he was a much older man than myself, and -had some experience of the house, I felt perfectly safe with him. After -we had been in all the rooms, we descended to the ground floor, and -commenced our vigil on the staircase leading from the hall to the first -landing. - -“I think we stand more chance of seeing something here than anywhere -else,” McKaye said; “and in the case of anything very alarming -happening, we are close to the front door.” - -[Illustration: “We both looked in the direction he indicated”] - -He spoke only half in fun and I observed that his fingers twitched a -good deal and that his eyes were never at rest. - -“Oughtn’t we to put out the candles?” I said. “Ghosts surely materialise -much more readily in the dark.” But he would not hear of it. All his -experiences, he said, had taken place in the light, and he believed -only spoof ghosts at séances required the opposite conditions. Then he -regaled me once more with all that had happened during his occupation -of the house. He was still telling me, when there came a loud rat-rat -at the door. - -“That’s a policeman,” he said; “he must have seen our light.” He spoke -truly, for, when we opened the door, a burly figure in helmet and cape -stood on the step and flashed his dripping bull’s-eye in our faces. On -hearing McKaye’s name the constable was instantly appeased, and, when -we mentioned ghosts, he laughed long and loud. “Well, gentlemen,” he -said, “you won’t never be alarmed by a happarition so long as you have -that dog with you. I bet he would scare away any number of ghosts, and -burglars, too. If I may be so bold as to ask, what breed do you call -him? I’ve never seen anything quite like him before,” and he waved his -lamp towards the stairs. We both looked in the direction he indicated, -and there, half way up the stairs, with its face apparently turned -towards us, was the black, shadowy outline of some shaggy creature, -which to me looked not so much like a dog as a bear. It remained -stationary for a moment or so, and then, retreating backwards, seemed -to disappear into the wall. - -“Well, gentlemen, good-night,” the policeman said, lowering his lamp, -“it’s time I was going.” He turned on his heel, and was walking off, -when McKaye called him back. - -“Wait a moment, constable,” he said, “and we’ll come with you.” - -He cast a swiftly furtive glance around him as he spoke, then, blowing -out the lights, he caught me by the arm and dragged me away. - -“But the dog, sir,” the policeman said, as the front door closed behind -us with a bang; “it ain’t come out!” - -“And it never will,” McKaye responded grimly. “You have seen the ghost, -constable, or at least one of them.” - -I have never had an opportunity of visiting the house again, but for -aught I know to the contrary, it still stands there, and is still -haunted. - -From Glasgow I went on to Inverary, where I had the most delightful -time, fishing and shooting. - -I then went to Perth, and there, quite by chance, met a Mr. and Mrs. -Rowlandson, who informed me that they were just quitting a badly -haunted house on the outskirts of the town. The name of the house -was “Bocarthe.” It was their own, and had only been built a year, -but they could not possibly remain in it, they told me, owing to the -perpetual disturbance to which they were subjected. They were just -beginning a detailed description of the manifestations, when I begged -them to desist. I would like, I explained, with their permission, to -investigate the case, and I thought it would be better to do so without -knowing the nature of the hauntings, as in these circumstances—should -my experience happen to tally with theirs—there could be no question -either of suggestion or of imagination. - -I had resolved to conduct all my investigations with an absolutely -open mind, and I intended, when once I had satisfied myself that -the phenomena were objective, to try and alight upon some code -whereby I could communicate with them, and learn from them something -certain—something definite, at all events, about the other world. To -what extent I have succeeded I shall make it the purpose of this volume -to reveal. - -But to continue: “What strikes us as so extraordinary about the whole -thing,” the Rowlandsons said, “is that a new house, with absolutely no -history attached to it, for we were the first people who ever inhabited -it, and we can assure you,” they added laughingly, “there were no -murders or suicides there during our occupancy, should be haunted. Our -neighbours declare that we must have brought the ghost with us.” - -I told them I thought it quite possible that such might be the case, -and narrated to them my experiences in Dublin. They appeared to be -greatly interested; and were, moreover, quite willing, provided I -promised them not to discuss the matter too openly, as they wanted to -let the house, that I should spend a few nights at “Bocarthe.” They -were, in fact, rather anxious to know if anything unusual still took -place there. Thinking, perhaps, that I might not like to go alone, they -gave me an introduction to a young friend of theirs, Dr. Swinton, who, -they thought, might be prevailed upon to accompany me; and, before I -left them, all the preliminaries relating to my visit to “Bocarthe” -were satisfactorily arranged. - -That same day the Rowlandsons went to Edinburgh, where they told me -they intended living, and the following day at noon I wended my way -to the house they had vacated. As there was no story connected with -“Bocarthe,” I set to work to make enquiries about the ground on which -it stood, and instead of learning too little, I learned too much. An -old minister, who looked fully eighty, was sure that the ground in -question, until it was built upon quite recently, had been grazing -land ever since he was a boy, and that it had never witnessed anything -more extraordinary than the occasional death of a sheep or a cow that -had been struck by lightning. An equally aged and equally positive -postmistress declared that the ground had never been anything better -than waste land, where, amid rubbish heaps galore, all the dogs in the -parish might have been seen scratching and fighting over bones. Another -person remembered a pond being there, and another a nursery garden; -but from no one could I extract the slightest hint as to anything that -could in any way account for the haunting. - -When I entered the house, I thought I had seldom seen such a cheerful -one: the rooms were light and lofty, and about them all there was an -air of geniality, that hitherto, at all events, I had never dreamed of -associating with ghosts. - -Dr. Swinton joined me in the evening, but although we sat up till long -after dawn, we neither saw nor heard anything we could not account for -by natural causes. We repeated the process for two more nights, and -then, feeling that we had given the house a fair trial, we concluded it -was either no longer haunted, or that the hauntings were periodical, -and might not occur again for years. I wrote to Mr. Rowlandson, upon -returning the keys of the house, and, in reply, received the following -letter from him:— - - No. —, C—— Crescent, - Edinburgh. - November 8th, 1893. - -Dear Mr. O’Donnell, - - Many thanks for the keys. No wonder you did not see our ghost! It - is here, and we are having just the same experiences in this house - as we had in “Bocarthe.” If you would care to stay a few nights - with us, on the chance of seeing the ghost, we shall be delighted - to put you up. - - Yours, etc., - ROBERT ROWLANDSON. - -I was obliged to return home very shortly, in order to decide -definitely and speedily what I intended to do for a living; but -although I knew I had little or no time to waste, I could not resist -the Rowlandsons’ kind invitation to try and see their ghost, and -accordingly accepted. - -They lived in C—— Crescent. When I arrived there, I found the entire -household in a panic, the ghost having appeared to one and all during -the previous night. - -“It was so terrible,” Mrs. Rowlandson said, “that I can’t bear even -to think of it, and shall certainly never forget it. One of the maids -fainted, and was so ill afterwards, we were obliged to have the doctor, -and all have given notice to leave.” - -“Did nothing of the sort happen before you went to ‘Bocarthe’?” I -ventured to ask. - -“No,” Mr. Rowlandson replied, “not a thing. We were then sceptics where -ghosts were concerned, but we’re certainly not sceptical now.” - -“Do you think it possible,” I said, “that the ghost is attached to some -piece of old furniture? I have read of such cases.” - -Mr. Rowlandson shook his head. - -“No,” he said, “we have no old furniture, all our furniture is modern -and new; at least, it was new when we came to ‘Bocarthe.’” - -“Then, if the ghost is neither attached to the house, nor to the -ground, nor to the furniture, it must surely be attached to some -person,” I remarked. “I have read that one of the dangers of attending -Spiritualistic Séances is that spirits occasionally attach themselves -to people, and can only be got rid of with great difficulty. I suppose -no one in the house has gone in for Spiritualism?” - -“I can safely say I haven’t,” Mr. Rowlandson laughed; “and you haven’t, -either, Maud, have you?” he said, looking at his wife. - -Mrs. Rowlandson flushed. - -“The only Spiritualist I ever knew,” she stammered, “was—you know, -dear, whom I mean——” - -Mr. Rowlandson raised his eyebrows and stared at her in astonishment. - -“I don’t,” he said. “Who?” - -“Ernest Dekon!” - -“Dekon!” Mr. Rowlandson ejaculated. “Dekon! Why, of course, I might -have guessed Spiritualism was in his line. Some years ago, Mr. -O’Donnell,” he went on, turning to me, “my wife met this Mr. Dekon at -a ball given by a mutual friend, and from that time, up to his death, -he persecuted her with his undesirable attentions. I never knew anyone -so persistent.” - -“He resented your marriage, of course,” I remarked. - -“Resented it!” Mr. Rowlandson responded; “I should rather think he did, -though to everyone’s surprise he came to it. Ye Gods! I shall never -forget the expression on his face, as we caught sight of him in the -vestibule of the church. Talk about Satan! Satan never looked half as -evil.” - -“And Mr. Dekon was a Spiritualist!” I said. - -“He was very keen on séances,” Mrs. Rowlandson interposed. “Most keen, -and was at one time always trying to persuade me to go to one with him.” - -“I never knew that,” Mr. Rowlandson exclaimed. - -“Perhaps not,” his wife said demurely. “You see, you don’t know -everything. However, I never went.” - -“And how did he die?” I ventured. - -“Suicide,” Mr. Rowlandson said. “He shot himself, and was dastardly -enough to leave a note behind him, pinned to the toilet-cover of -his dressing-table, stating that his death was entirely due to the -heartless conduct of my wife.” - -“When was that, Mr. Rowlandson?” I asked. - -“Let me see,” Mr. Rowlandson soliloquised. “We have been married not -quite eighteen months. About fifteen months ago—shortly before we came -to ‘Bocarthe.’” - -“I know what’s in your mind,” Mrs. Rowlandson observed. “You think that -very possibly it is the spirit of Ernest Dekon that is troubling us. Do -you really think it could be?” - -“From what you have told me,” I said, “I should say that it is more -than likely. The mere fact of his having been a Spiritualist would -mean that he had, in some measure, got in touch with the Unknown; so -that on passing over with his mind solely concentrated on revenge, he -would, in all probability, speedily become closer acquainted with those -spirits whom he had known here—not a very high class, but apparently -the only class that a séance can attract—and these would undoubtedly -aid him in his attempt to come back and annoy you.” - -Mrs. Rowlandson gave vent to an exclamation of dismay. “I have always -felt,” she said, “that there might be some mysterious connection -between Ernest Dekon and the dreadful thing we have seen.” - -“Of course,” I added, “that is only a suggestion on my part. When does -the phenomenon usually appear?” - -“At all times, and when we least expect it,” Mrs. Rowlandson said. “For -example, if I am going upstairs alone, it either springs out at me or -peers down at me from over the banisters. Or, again, it rouses us in -the middle of the night by rocking our bed! Always some alarming trick -of that kind.” - -“Then you could hardly expect it to manifest itself if we all sat here -in the dark?” - -“Hardly.” - -“You haven’t a photograph of Mr. Dekon, I suppose?” I hazarded. - -“A photograph of that scoundrel,” Mr. Rowlandson cried. “If he had -given her one, it wouldn’t have remained long in her possession, I can -assure you.” - -“Well, he never did,” Mrs. Rowlandson said, forcing a smile, “but I can -describe him.” - -“I don’t know whether that will do much good,” I observed. “Because -I understand that if one of the lower order of earthbounds, usually -called Elementals, wanted to ‘fool’ us, it could easily impersonate -him. Dekon’s phantom would not, of necessity, be very like his material -body; it would depend entirely on how much of the animal there was in -him; if a great deal, then one might expect to see a creature with -a pig’s, or some other kind of beast’s, head, with only a slight -facial resemblance to Dekon. Can you describe his hands? Because I -believe spirits that have lost all other resemblance with the physical -body might be identified by some peculiarity in the formation of the -fingers.” - -“Yes,” Mrs. Rowlandson said; “I do remember his hands distinctly. They -were so ugly! They were long, and red, and the tips were club-shaped; I -am sure I should recognise them anywhere.” - -This conversation took place in the interval between tea and dinner. -After dinner we sat in the drawing-room, discussing plans for the -night, and finally came to the conclusion that when bed-time came we -should retire to our respective rooms, and sit there in the dark, -waiting and watching for whatever might happen. It was furthermore -agreed that directly anyone saw or heard anything, they should at once -summon the others. - -We sat up rather late, and it was close on midnight before Mrs. -Rowlandson rose, and we all—there were two guests besides myself, -a Colonel and Mrs. Rushworth—took our candlesticks, and followed -her upstairs. We had mounted the first flight, and had turned the -bend leading to the second—the house seemed all stairs—when Mrs. -Rowlandson halted, and, looking back at us, said, “Hush! Do you hear -anything?” - -We stood still and listened. There was a thump, that apparently came -from a room just at the top of the stairs—then another—and then a -very curious sound, as if something was bounding backwards and forwards -over bare boards with its feet tied together. At a signal from Mr. -Rowlandson, we immediately blew out our lights. A church clock solemnly -struck twelve. We heard it very distinctly, as the Rowlandsons, being -enthusiasts for fresh air, kept every window in the house wide open. -The reverberation of the final stroke had hardly ceased when a loud -gasp from someone in front of me sent a chilly feeling down my spine. - -At the same moment the darkness ahead of us was dissipated by a faint, -luminous glow. As I watched, the glow speedily intensified, and -suddenly took the shape of a cylindrical column of six or seven feet -in height, and this in turn developed with startling abruptness into -the form of something so shockingly grotesque and bestial that I was -rendered speechless. - -It is extremely difficult to give a very accurate description of it, -because, like the generality of occult phenomena I have experienced -in haunted houses, it was a baffling mixture of the distinct and yet -vague, entirely without substance, and apparently wholly constituted -of vibrating light that varied each second in tone and intensity. I -can only say that the impression I derived was that of a very gross or -monstrous man. - -The head, ill-defined on the crown and sides, appeared to be abnormally -high and long, and to be covered with a tangled mass of coarse, -tow-coloured hair; the nose seemed hooked, the mouth cruel, the -eyes leering. The general expression on the face was one of intense -antagonism. The body of the thing was grey and nude, very like the -trunk of a silver beech, the arms long and knotted, the hands huge, the -fingers red and club-shaped. The latter corresponded exactly with Mrs. -Rowlandson’s description. - -This hideous, baleful apparition was the spirit of animal man, -the symbolical representation of all carnal lusts—it was Ernest -Dekon—soulless. - -But although this spirit was without substance, it was composed of -complex forces—forces both physical and mental. It could shut and -open doors, move furniture, rap and make sundry other noises, and it -could also convey the sensation of intense cold, and the feeling of the -most abject fear. I now found myself wondering if it possessed other -properties: Was it sensible? Could it communicate in any way? - -I was thus deliberating, when the figure seemed to move forward; then -someone shrieked. Mr. Rowlandson struck a light, and simultaneously -the apparition vanished. The effect it had had on us all was novel -and striking—we were all more or less demoralized; and yet no two -of us had seen the ghost the same—and some, Mr. Rowlandson and Mrs. -Rushworth, had not seen it at all. - -We went back again into the drawing-room and discussed it. Mrs. -Rowlandson was the first to speak. She, too, had been particularly -impressed by the hands, and she was sure they were the hands of Ernest -Dekon. - -“I can say nothing about the face,” she cried, “as it did not appear to -me, but having seen the hands, I am firmly convinced that the ghost is -Ernest Dekon, and that it is Ernest Dekon who is tormenting us. Can’t -any of you think of a plan to get rid of him?” - -“Cremation is the only thing I can think of!” cried Colonel Rushworth, -who had hitherto been silent. “That is the means employed, I believe, -by the hill tribes in Northern India. When a spirit—a spirit they can -identify—begins to haunt a place, they dig up the body and burn it, -and they say that as soon as the last bone is consumed the haunting -ceases. They have a theory that phantoms of dead people and animals can -materialise as long as some remnant of their physical body remains. -Where did this Ernest Dekon die?” - -“In Africa,” Mr. Rowlandson said. - -“That’s capital! If we can find the cemetery, there ought to be no -difficulty in getting at the body. The officials are, as a rule, open -to bribery. Anyhow, we might try it as an experiment.” - -I left Edinburgh next day, but I heard some months later from Mr. -Rowlandson. - -“You may recollect Colonel Rushworth’s suggestion,” he wrote. “Well, -the hauntings have ceased. We are shortly returning to ‘Bocarthe’!” - -From this I gathered that an attempt to exhume and cremate Ernest -Dekon’s body had been made, and had proved successful. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -I TRAVEL ACROSS THE UNITED STATES, AND DO SOME GHOST HUNTING IN SAN -FRANCISCO - - -Upon leaving Scotland I seriously considered my future, and at length -decided to go to Oregon and fruit farm. Though the expedition, through -no fault of my own, proved a failure, and I had to return to England -within a comparatively short time, I managed, whilst in America, to -see and learn a good deal. Apart from visiting Crater Lake, which in -those days was one of the wildest spots imaginable, far out of the -beat of any but the most adventurous tourist, and seeing the Rogue -River Indians in their native element, I spent several weeks in the big -cities, and when in San Francisco obtained the services of a guide, -and did a nightly tour of China Town, and several of the lesser known -subterranean haunts of that city. - -It was in San Francisco that I had my first experience with an American -ghost. I had been out tramping all day along the southern side of -the bay, and it was close on midnight before I got back to the city, -feeling thoroughly done up and very footsore. The last chime of twelve -o’clock sounded, as I swung wearily round 117th Street into a narrow -thoroughfare leading to the obscure quarter of the town in which my -finances forced me to live. As I came within sight of the end house -of a block of low old-fashioned buildings, I received something of a -shock. I had passed by it that morning and had noticed that it was to -let. I was quite sure of this, because there was something about the -house that had especially attracted my attention. I was struck with its -utter loneliness, its air of past grandeur—so oddly at variance with -the modern and mediocre buildings around it—and, peeping in at the -windows, I had taken stock of its big oak-panelled apartments devoid of -furniture and bestrewn with dust and cobwebs. - -Now, to my astonishment, I perceived a bright glow—a kind of -phosphorescent light—emanating from one of the rooms on the ground -floor. I approached nearer, and, as I leaned against the verandah and -peered in, it suddenly seemed to me that the room was no longer empty, -but richly carpetted and full of ponderous, old-fashioned furniture. -I also seemed to see in the centre of the room a long table covered -with a snowy cloth, on which were arranged, in rich profusion, many -handsome silver dishes containing a selection of the choicest food. I -was dumbfounded. Twelve hours ago there was not a soul to be seen about -the house nor a particle of furniture in it, and now!—well, it looked -to me as if it never, never had been empty. - -Whilst I was thus meditating, my face glued to the window, I thought -that a sudden blaze illuminated the room, and by degrees I became -conscious of the glare of countless candles, some of the candelabra -branching from the walls, and others—of chased silver—standing on -the table. I then saw the door at the far end of the apartment open, -and a young and charming girl, dressed à la mode de Marie Antoinette, -her gown high-waisted and her hair poudré, hurriedly enter. She gave -a quick glance at the table, and then, advancing to the fireplace, -where, for the first time, I perceived the cheery glow of a huge log of -wood, gazed at herself in a large, richly-framed mirror. The reflection -evidently pleased her, for she turned round all smiles; and then her -eyes fell on the window, and on me. - -In an instance her countenance changed. Putting a finger to her lips -with a great air of mystery, she beckoned to me to come in. I started -back in confusion. Again she beckoned, and with such pretty pleading in -her eyes that, despite my travel-stained clothes, I yielded. I walked -to the front door; she opened it, and in hushed tones, in which I -detected a slight French accent, she bade me welcome. - -“We are having a fancy-dress dance,” she said, “but none of the guests -have as yet arrived, and I want you to come into the ball-room while I -rehearse some of the dance music.” - -She led the way across a big, deserted and strangely silent hall, up -a flight of thickly-carpeted stairs, along a dimly lighted corridor, -peopled with nothing but odd shadows, to which I could see no material -counterparts, and into a room obviously prepared for a ball. - -“There is no one about but you and I,” she said laughingly. “Only we -two; but someone else will arrive soon. It’s not half-past twelve, is -it?” - -“No,” I said; “twenty past.” - -“Ten more minutes!” She sighed deeply, and her expression, which up -to now had been one of gay mischief, changed to one of immeasurable -sadness. Then she nodded, suddenly burst out laughing, and casting the -most bewitching look at me from out her long, thickly lashed blue-grey -eyes, sat down at the piano and began to play a Strauss waltz. - -Fascinated though I was by her extreme archness and beauty, I could -not stifle the thousand and one uncomfortable thoughts that speedily -crowded into my mind. - -Who was this strangely friendly and peculiarly solitary girl? Surely -someone must have helped her prepare the house and supper. Where were -they? Besides, she couldn’t possibly live in that house alone. - -And yet, apart from the music—which seemed to reverberate through -every stick and stone of the building—there was no other sound. I -might have been alone with her on some desert island in the far Pacific. - -A feeling of intense but wholly unaccountable fear gradually crept over -me. - -“It is close on the half hour,” she suddenly whispered. “Listen!” - -She paused for a moment, and I heard a door from somewhere in the -lower part of the house open and shut. Then came the sound of muffled -footsteps, stealthily feeling their way upstairs. Up and up they came, -till they arrived outside the door of the room we were in. There they -stopped, and I instinctively felt that their owner was listening. - -Presently the girl recommenced playing, and I saw the door-handle -began to turn. Slowly, very slowly, the door then opened, and on the -floor of the room there appeared a black shadow—vague, indefinite and -grotesque. The girl looked over her shoulder at it, and I caught an -expression in her eyes that appalled me. Turning to the piano again, -she played frantically, and the faster her fingers flew, the nearer -crept that shadow. - -Suddenly it seemed to shoot right forward, there was a wild scream of -terror, a terrific crash, and all was in absolute darkness. - -I groped my way frantically towards the door. Something—I could not -define what—came into violent collision with me; I staggered back half -stunned; and, when my brain cleared, I found myself standing in the -street, weak with exhaustion, and—hatless. - -I visited the house the next day, when the sun was shining brightly -and there were plenty of people about. It was as I had first seen it, -untenanted and unfurnished. - -I must then have dreamed the whole thing. And what more likely! I was -excessively tired at the time, so tired that I felt I could hardly -crawl home—and without a doubt I had dropped off to sleep resting -against the verandah. - -Just out of curiosity, however, I determined to find out if the -interior of the house in any way resembled the interior I had seen in -my dream, and, with that object in view, I applied to Mr. C.——, the -owner, for permission to look over it, frankly telling him why I was -doing so. As he appeared to be interested, I described my dream to him -in detail, and he afterwards told me the following story:— - -“About fifty years ago, a very rich French family occupied the house; -and at the coming of age of their daughter they gave a fancy-dress -ball. Among the guests was an Italian, who, being a rejected suitor of -the daughter’s, had not been invited. He appeared in some grotesque -and alarming costume, and when the dance was at its height suddenly -overturned a large oil lamp. - -“In a moment the whole floor was ablaze; and before anyone could stop -him, he had seized the daughter of the house and hurled her into the -midst of the flaming mass. Both he and the girl were burned to death, -and the house, although it was thoroughly restored, has never let -since.” - -Having concluded his story, Mr. C.—— said he would like to go with me -to the house, and accordingly we set out together. - -Though my experience had been only a dream, the coincidence connected -with it, which only needed my identification of the scene to be -complete, was startling enough, and I grew more and more excited as we -neared our destination. When we arrived, Mr. C.—— insisted upon my -going first; and once inside, recognising every feature in the house, -I led him first to the room in which I had seen the supper-table laid, -and then upstairs to the ball-room, where, to my unspeakable surprise, -lying in the middle of the floor, I found my hat. - - * * * * * - -What a strangely fascinating city was old San Francisco—that is -to say, San Francisco before the last great fire and earthquake! -Consisting of street upon street, terrace upon terrace of quaintly -irregular buildings, to me its atmosphere—as no other atmosphere ever -has been—was impregnated with the superphysical. I stayed for a few -days in a vast hotel in 117th Street, in which I was the only visitor. -I shrewdly suspect it was haunted, although I cannot truthfully say -that I ever saw a ghost there, and when I retired to bed up flight -after flight of stairs, and past dimly-lighted passages teeming with -doors—doors with nothing, nothing material at least, behind them—the -only sounds I heard were the hollow echoes of my own footsteps as I -went on ascending higher, higher, and higher. - -Hearing, however, that I was interested in ghosts, the landlord of the -hotel introduced me one day to a Mr. Sweeney, who kept a drug store in -Market Street. - -“The only experience I ever had with the Supernatural,” Mr. Sweeney -began, in answer to my interrogations, “took place in this very room. -Exactly twelve years ago I engaged the services of a young man called -Edward Marsdon. He was very amiable and capable, but highly-strung and -hypernormally sensitive. He had been with me about six months, when -he came into the parlour one evening with a face like a corpse. ‘I’ve -poisoned someone,’ he gasped. ‘Poisoned someone?’ I ejaculated. ‘Good -God, what do you mean?’ ‘What I say,’ he replied. ‘A young fellow -came into the store about an hour ago and handed me a prescription. -It was signed by Dr. Knelligan, of 111th Street. I made it up, as I -thought, all right, and gave it him. A few minutes ago, I found I -had put in salts of lemon instead of paregoric.’ ‘Are you sure?’ I -asked. ‘Certain!’ he said, ‘as the bottle of salts of lemon is on the -table in the laboratory with the stopper out. I must have used it in -mistake. The young man will die, if, indeed, he is not dead already, -and I am ruined for life.’ ‘We both are,’ I said tersely. ‘Ring up -Dr. Knelligan at once, and ask him for the young man’s address. When -you get it, drive round at once and see if you are in time.’ It was -of no use scolding him for carelessness—he was upset enough already, -and a ‘blowing up’ just then might, I thought, result in another -tragedy. The only thing to be done was to hope for the best. He rang -up Knelligan, got the address, drove round to it, and discovered that -the young man had just left. The landlady had no idea where he had -gone. To Marsdon this was the last straw. He came back in a state -of utter collapse, trembling all over as if he had ague, and, after -telling me what happened, he went upstairs and slammed his door. About -a quarter of an hour later, my wife, the servant, and I all heard -Marsdon, so we thought, come downstairs and go out. The servant then -went up to his room to make the bed, and hearing her scream out, I ran -upstairs, to find her standing in the middle of the floor, wringing her -hands, whilst Marsdon was sitting in a chair—dead! He had been dead -some minutes. That, Mr. O’Donnell, was the beginning of the strange -occurrences here. If it was not Marsdon whom we all heard go out, who -could it have been? There was no one in the house but we three, and the -body in the chair upstairs, so that it must have been Marsdon’s ghost. -Well, from that day on, we had no peace. - -“Footsteps, which we all recognised as Marsdon’s, for he had a most -peculiar lumping kind of walk, trod up and down the stairs all hours -of the day and night, and frequently when I was in the laboratory -mixing medicines I was strongly conscious of some presence standing -close beside me and watching everything I did. One day my wife saw -him. She was going out, and wanting some money, she called to me. As -I did not answer, she went in search of me, and finding me, as she -thought, standing on the hearthrug of the parlour with my back to her, -she touched me on the shoulder. The next moment she discovered her -mistake. The person whom she had mistaken for me turned round, and she -found herself confronted with the white, scared countenance of Edward -Marsdon. She started back with a loud shriek, and Marsdon walked -out of the room, and apparently right through the servant who came -running in to see what was the matter. My wife asked the maid if she -had seen anything, and the latter said, ‘No, only a dark shadow seemed -to fall right across me, and just for a second or so I felt miserably -depressed.’ A week or so afterwards he was again seen; this time by my -wife and the maid. They met him on the stairs. He appeared to be under -the influence of some very painful emotion, and he passed them at a -great rate, and so near that they felt his clothes—apparently quite -material—brush against them. He disappeared in the laboratory, and -on their entering it immediately afterwards, there was no one there. -Something of this nature—either auditory or visual, or both—now -happened pretty well daily, until one morning a young man came to the -store to see me. ‘I am the young man,’ he said, ‘to whom your assistant -gave that unfortunate mixture. I have just returned to San Francisco, -and have heard all about it. The medicine was perfectly all right. I -drank it directly I left here, and it did me the world of good. There -was not even the suspicion of poison in it. Marsdon was labouring under -some extraordinary delusion. If only he had told my landlady about -it when he called and found I had gone, she could have given him the -glass I had drank out of, which doubtless contained some dregs of the -stuff—at any rate, a sufficient quantity for analysis. I am told there -are rumours afloat that his apparition has been seen several times -since he died; not that I believe in such things as ghosts.’ - -“‘Whether you believe in them or not,’ I said quietly, ‘it is a fact -Edward Marsdon has both been seen and heard.’ ‘Then I hope,’ he said, -‘my visit here to-day will put matters all right, and that his poor, -wandering spirit, learning that I am alive and well, will find rest, -and trouble you no more.’ He then bid me good-morning and walked -towards the door. ‘My God!’ he suddenly cried, coming to an abrupt -halt, ‘there he is!’ I looked, and as sure as I am sitting here, Mr. -O’Donnell, there was Edward Marsdon, just as I had known him in life, -standing on the pavement with his face glued to the window, peering -in at us. The expression in his eyes was one of infinite joy and -astonishment. - -“I took a step or two towards him with the intention of speaking, when -he immediately vanished, and from that day to this the hauntings have -entirely ceased.” - - - - -CHAPTER V - -A HAUNTED OFFICE IN DENVER - - -After leaving San Francisco, I visited Sacramento, where I bought a -pair of braces, suspenders as they call them there, that lasted me for -years. They were the very best half-dollar’s worth I ever had, and I -still have the remains of them stowed away in a big trunk amongst other -mementos of the long past. - -I can’t imagine any city in America hotter than Sacramento in the -summer, or more unpleasantly cold in the winter, apart from which there -was nothing about the place that caused it to be very deeply impressed -on my memory, saving that I met a man in one of the streets one day who -was so exactly like an old Clifton College master called Tait that I -believed it was he, and accosted him accordingly. - -The man gasped at me in amazement. “Why, Jupp,” he said, “how on earth -have you managed it. It’s only ten minutes since I left you eating -your dinner in the Eagle Hotel on the other side of the town. Have you -wings?” - -The moment he spoke I knew he was not Tait, but it took me some time to -convince him I was not Jupp; and when he introduced me to the latter -half an hour or so later, I was not surprised, for I do not think -there could have been a more striking likeness to myself, even in my -own portrait. - -The coincidence was all the more remarkable since there was at Clifton -College, contemporary with Tait, a master named Jupp, of whose cane I -had the most striking recollection. In appearance, however, the Clifton -Jupp was not in the least bit like me. - -This was the only adventure of note, if one may so designate it, I -had during this visit to Sacramento. I went on from there to Denver, -where I met one or two relatives of friends of mine in England, and -did a little work as a “Free Lance” journalist. It was summer when I -had last stayed in Denver, and then the intense heat, combined with an -injudicious consumption of fruit and iced water, had brought on a mild -attack of cholera, which left me with a none too favourable impression -of the place. - -But now all was changed. The weather was much cooler; I was growing -acclimatised, and I did not feel altogether among strangers. -Consequently my apathy vanished, and, despite the fact that my -employment was anything but lucrative, I enjoyed this second stay in -Denver immensely. - -The town had not been built long. Indeed, ten years previously it had -only one anything like orthodox street; so that it was the last place -in the world where one would expect to come across a haunted house. Yet -I heard of three haunted houses at least whilst I was there. - -The one I think most likely to interest my readers I heard of in this -way. I had been to the Zoological Gardens, and was returning by tram, -when a journalist called Rouillac, with whom I had a very slight -acquaintance, came running up to me in a great state of excitement. -“O’Donnell,” he cried, “I have unearthed something that will interest -you—the case of a haunting in an office in Race Street.” He then -proceeded to give me an account of it. - -The office was rented by a Mrs. Bell, a typist who employed two girls, -Stella Dean and Hester Holt. - -One day Hester Holt failed to put in an appearance. - -“If she is ill,” Mrs. Bell said to Stella Dean, “she ought to have let -me know. There was nothing wrong with her yesterday, was there?” - -“Not that I am aware of,” Stella Dean replied. “When she parted from -me, just across the way, she went off in the best of spirits. I expect -she’ll turn up all right to-morrow.” - -The morrow came, and Hester Holt not arriving, Stella Dean was -despatched in the dinner-hour to find out what had become of her. She -returned looking very white and scared. - -“Why, Stella,” Mrs. Bell exclaimed. “What on earth’s the matter?” - -“Hester’s gone away without telling anyone where she was going,” Stella -Dean answered. - -“You don’t say so,” Mrs. Bell cried. “What can have happened?” - -“She never went to her lodgings after leaving here; at least, that’s -what the landlady says,” Stella Dean replied. “And she hasn’t written, -either—but I think you’d better call there yourself; I don’t like the -woman.” And Stella burst out crying. - -This was the beginning of the mystery. Mrs. Bell interviewed the -landlady, who stuck to her statement that she had neither seen Hester -Holt nor heard of her since she had left the house two days ago, -presumably to attend business. There had been no words between them, -she said, and Hester had seemed as usual, perfectly happy. She was a -singularly reserved girl, and never mentioned her family excepting when -she went away for her annual holiday. She then requested that all her -letters should be forwarded to the address of her married sister. - -The landlady, Mrs. Britton, gave this address to Mrs. Bell, and the -latter, writing off at once, received an answer by return of post to -say that Hester was not there and no tidings of her had been received -for over a month. The married sister, however, made an important -statement. She said that one person was sure to know of Hester’s -whereabouts, and that was Pete Simpkins, the young man with whom she -kept company, and was hoping eventually to marry. Mrs. Bell, now -keenly interested, hastened off and interviewed Simpkins. To quote -her own words, he seemed “a bright, intelligent young man,” and -exhibited unfeigned astonishment and perturbation on learning of the -disappearance of his sweetheart. - -“When did you last see her?” Mrs. Bell enquired. - -“The day she left you,” he responded. “I had been out in the country -all day, superintending the building of a large farm some ten miles to -the east of this city, and I was cycling home along a very unfrequented -route, when I met a buggy. Two girls were in it, and to my amazement, -they were Hester and Stella Dean.” - -“What!” Mrs. Bell cried. “Stella Dean? Are you sure?” - -“Absolutely!” Simpkins replied. “I can swear to it. It astonished me -because I knew they had been on very bad terms. I was engaged to Stella -before I met Hester, but I could not stand her temper. One day she was -so enraged with my dog because it snarled at her, that she seized my -walking-stick and beat it on the head till it was dead. I found her -standing over it, white with fury; and feeling that after what I had -witnessed I could never like her again, I broke off our engagement -there and then. After that I met Hester Holt at the same house where I -had first seen Stella, and we at once became friends. Stella Dean did -not like it, but she took on more than was necessary; and Hester told -me there had been several very painful scenes between them. Indeed, I -understood that out of business hours they were not on speaking terms; -hence you can judge of my astonishment when I saw them driving in the -buggy side by side.” - -“It’s all very mysterious,” Mrs. Bell observed. “If she does not turn -up soon, I shall have to inform the police.” - -The following day, Mrs. Bell asked Stella if she had gone for a drive -with Hester Holt the evening of the latter’s disappearance, and Stella -Dean promptly replied, “No; the last time I saw Hester was when she -left here that afternoon. She said good-bye to me as usual on the other -side of the road, and I have never set eyes on her since.” - -She admitted she had once been engaged to Pete Simpkins, but -emphatically denied that Hester’s keeping company with him had led to -any rupture between them. “Hester and I were always on the very best of -terms,” she said, “and it would be downright mean of anyone to allege -otherwise. Besides, I can produce proofs to the contrary.” - -The next day, as Hester was still missing, Mrs. Bell told the police. -The affair was at once inquired into, and Pete Simpkins’ story about -the buggy was corroborated. Someone else had seen the two girls driving -towards the outskirts of the town that same evening; whilst a car -proprietor also came forward and declared that he recollected Miss Holt -hiring a buggy from him, but that she had driven off in it alone. When -the buggy was brought back, he being out, his wife had taken the money -for it. But as it was then dusk, she could not possibly swear to the -identity of the lady who had paid her, especially as the latter had -been so muffled up, presumably on account of the coldness of the night, -that practically nothing of her face was visible. She could only say -Miss Dean resembled her both in build and height. - -[Illustration: “Who is that tall, good-looking girl, Stella, that I’ve -seen following you into the building...?”] - -Stella Dean was now asked if she could produce an alibi; and, -accordingly, her mother, a very decrepit old lady, declared that Stella -had come straight home from the office, and had remained indoors all -that evening. To add to the complexity of the affair, someone else -testified to having seen Hester Holt enter Mrs. Britton’s house with a -latch key rather late on the night in question; and this of course made -some people suspect Mrs. Britton, but the police could prove nothing, -and the matter was eventually dropped. - -All this happened about three months before I arrived in Denver. - -A week after the disappearance of Hester Holt, Mrs. Bell had a new -assistant called Vera Cummings, a very material, practical young lady, -the daughter of a farmer somewhere near Omaha. - -The day after her arrival, Miss Cummings was busy typewriting in the -office with Mrs. Bell and Stella Dean, when she suddenly exclaimed, -“How is it that I get convulsed with shivers whenever I sit next to -you, Miss Dean? I don’t when I’m sitting next to Mrs. Bell. Eugh! I -feel as if the icy east wind were blowing right through me.” - -“What nonsense!” Stella Dean replied; “you imagine it.” - -“No, I don’t,” Miss Cummings retorted; “I’m going to sit somewhere -else,” and she moved to the other side of the table. - -Mrs. Bell made no comment. An hour or so afterwards, Vera Cummings -abruptly observed: - -“My, Stella Dean, what long legs you have!” - -“What in the world do you mean?” was the surprised and rather indignant -retort. - -“Why, there’s no one else on your side of the table, is there?” Vera -Cummings responded; “and someone’s feet keep kicking mine.” - -“You’re dreaming,” Stella Dean said, and Mrs. Bell noticed she turned -very pale. - -Two days now passed uneventfully, but on the third day after the above -conversation, Mrs. Bell and the two girls were sitting talking—it was -close on the interval for tea, and work was just then very slack—when -Vera Cummings remarked, “Who is that tall, good-looking girl, Stella, -that I’ve seen following you into the building on several occasions. -I’ve watched her keeping close behind you till you get to the elevator, -and then she disappears. Where she goes I can’t imagine.” - -“A tall, good-looking girl following me to the elevator,” Stella Dean -repeated, her cheeks ashy. “What do you mean? I’ve seen no one. You’ve -dreamt it.” - -“What was she like?” Mrs. Bell interrupted. - -Vera Cummings gave a minute description of her. - -“Are you sure, Stella, we don’t know anyone like her?” Mrs. Bell said -quietly. “That description seems to tally exactly with someone we once -knew. Someone who used to frequent this place. Can she have returned, -do you think?” - -“I don’t know who you mean,” Stella Dean said crossly. “I tell you, -I’ve seen no one.” - -The next morning they all three arrived simultaneously, and went -up together in the elevator. On nearing the office, the sound of a -typewriter was heard. They looked at one another in open-mouthed -astonishment. - -“It must be one of the other clerks in the building,” Vera Cummings -said. “She’s mistaken our room for hers. She’s an early bird, anyway, -for I reckon there’s no one else arrived yet.” - -“But the door’s locked,” Mrs. Bell whispered. “See, here’s the key!” -And she took it out of her pocket as she spoke. - -“Well, there’s no mistaking the sound, is there?” Vera Cummings -laughed. “Click, click, click—that’s a typewriter, sure enough. -Someone must have got in through the window. My, Stella, how white you -are!” - -Mrs. Bell glanced sharply at Stella Dean—there was not an atom of -colour in her cheeks, and the pupils of her eyes were dilating with -terror. - -Mrs. Bell then put the key in the lock and opened the door. The -typewriter was working away furiously, but there was no one at it, the -room was absolutely empty. It stopped the moment Mrs. Bell crossed the -threshold. - -That afternoon Stella Dean complained of a headache and went home -early. She was in bed for several weeks, and during her absence from -the office the strange phenomena there entirely ceased. The morning -she returned, Pete Simpkins met her and Vera Cummings just outside the -office building. He was bubbling over with excitement. - -“She’s come back!” he cried. “Come back, and never sent me a word. I -_am_ glad though.... Hoorah!” - -“Come back!” Stella Dean said, drawing herself up stiffly and regarding -him with an angry stare. “Who are you talking about?” - -“Hester Holt!” Pete Simpkins ejaculated. “She’s just gone into your -place. Didn’t you know?” - -Miss Dean made no reply. She simply pushed past him and walked in. Vera -Cummings, however, dawdled behind. - -“What’s Miss Holt like?” she asked anxiously. - -Simpkins described her. - -“Why that’s the girl I used constantly to see following Stella,” she -said. “Where she disappears to is a mystery, but it’s only one of the -many funny things that have happened since I’ve been here.” - -She then told him about the typewriter and the feet under the table. -Pete Simpkins repeated the story to his friends. Rouillac got hold of -it, and hence, as the reader already knows, it was handed on to me. - -Rouillac was most anxious that I should go with him to the haunted -office straightaway, but it so happened that I had work to finish in a -given time, and it was therefore arranged that he should call for me -one day the following week. - -At the hour appointed, he came. “I fear it’s no use,” he said; “the -office is closed, and it is impossible to get permission to go there. -It’s come about like this. The day after Stella Dean returned to -work, Mrs. Bell was away—ill—and the two girls were alone. Some -time after they had started work, it might have been eleven o’clock -or thereabouts, Vera Cummings got up to get a drink of water, and in -passing chanced to look at Stella Dean. The latter was leaning forward -in her chair and staring with an expression of the utmost horror in her -eyes at a despatch case on the floor, which was oscillating violently -to and fro. Vera noticed that the despatch case was marked on one side -with the letters ‘H. H.’ ‘That’s odd,’ she cried. ‘What makes it do -like that—it can’t be due to vibration, because there’s nothing going -by outside. How do you account for it, Stella?’ - -“‘I don’t know,’ Stella Dean gasped, making a vigorous attempt -to appear unconcerned; ‘perhaps they’re shunting something heavy -downstairs.’ - -“‘But we should hear them,’ Vera Cummings replied. ‘I believe it’s -Hester Holt; she’s dead, and for some mysterious reason her spirit -haunts this room.’ - -“‘Nonsense,’ Stella Dean stammered. ‘How can you be so silly! There are -no such things as ghosts.’ - -“After a while, the case stopped shaking, and the two girls went on -with their work. Lunch time came and they both rose to get ready to go -out. Vera Cummings had put on her hat, and was walking to the door, -when she heard a sharp cry. She turned round, and there was Stella Dean -standing in front of the looking glass and gazing at the reflection of -a pale face, with two dark menacing eyes glaring fixedly at her from -over her shoulder. Vera recognised the face at once. It was that of the -girl she had so often seen following Stella, the girl Pete Simpkins had -told her was Hester Holt. - -“She was so frightened, for she knew for certain now that the thing -she was looking at was nothing earthly, that she ran out of the room, -and as she crossed the threshold, the door slammed behind her with a -terrific crash. Ashamed of her cowardice, she tried the door-handle. It -turned, but though she pressed her hardest, the door would not open. -She called to Stella, there was no reply. Greatly alarmed, she ran to -the elevator and fetched the man in charge of it. They both pushed the -door, and still it would not open. They were deliberating what to do, -when they saw the handle suddenly turn and the door gently swing back -on its hinges. They peered in. Stella Dean was lying on the hearthrug -in a dead faint. She died that same night.” - -“Died!” - -“Yes! Some people fancy she committed suicide, but her mother declares -that her heart had long been affected and that she died from syncope. -Anyhow, she’s dead, and the office is closed, as nothing will persuade -Vera Cummings to work there till Mrs. Bell is well enough to return. I -tried to get permission to spend a night there, but Mrs. Bell dare not -give it. She says the landlord is furious with her for allowing the -report to get abroad that the building is haunted, and threatens her -with a libel action if he hears anything further.” - -“That’s a great pity,” I said; “for few cases have interested me more.” - -“What do you make of it?” Rouillac asked. - -“Why,” I replied, “the same as you. There can only be one conclusion. -Stella Dean was madly jealous of Hester Holt, and during that drive in -the buggy she killed her. Whether the murder was premeditated or done -in a sudden fit of blind passion—you tell me her temper at times was -very uncontrollable—of course we cannot say. From your sketch of her, -however, I am inclined to think she planned the whole thing.” - -“But what could she have done with the body?” Rouillac said. “The -police searched everywhere.” - -“So they say,” I observed; “but the track Simpkins was on when he -passed the buggy affords countless opportunities for concealing a body. -It is full of deep ditches, creeks, and crevices, covered with a thick -and rank vegetation, and the police would take at least a century -to explore it. Besides, from what I know of the super-physical I do -not think for one moment that Stella Dean was haunted without some -poignant reason.” - -“Was haunted!” Rouillac observed. - -“You said she was dead, didn’t you?” I exclaimed. - -“Yes,” Rouillac replied slowly, “there’s no doubt whatever on that -point. She’s dead right enough. But when Vera Cummings passed by the -office this morning, she saw Stella Dean enter it—Stella Dean just as -she looked when alive, only very white and in abject terror. She passed -right in through the half-open doorway, and, as usual, Hester Holt -followed her.” - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -CASES OF HAUNTINGS IN ST. LOUIS, NEW YORK, AND CHICAGO - - -One of the most extraordinary men I have ever met was Ephraim B. -Vandergooch, who, at the time of my travels in America, practised -dentistry in 6th Street, St. Louis. Dentists are not, as a rule, the -people to associate themselves with psychical research, and it is just -as well for their patients, perhaps, that they are not, for sitting up -all night in dark houses looking for ghosts has an unsteadying effect -on the nerves—it is apt to make one “jumpy”—and if a dentist’s hand -were to jump, it is more than likely that his patient would jump too. -Mr. Vandergooch, however, was an exception. He was a ghost hunter, and -his investigations had but a slight and temporary effect on his nervous -system. His hand was as steady as a rock, his wrists like steel. I went -to him to have a tooth filled, and during the operation I asked him if -he knew of any haunted houses in the town. - -He was a stranger to me then, and of course I expected a superior -smile, if not an actual sneer, for, as I have said, dentists are, as a -rule, anything but psychics. To my surprise, however, he took me quite -seriously, and said he knew of several haunted places in St. Louis, -and that nothing interested him more than really first-hand ghost -stories. He told me he had had an experience himself, and narrated the -following:— - -“A few years ago,” he began, “I learned of a haunting in a street of -rather older houses than these, close to here; and as the evidence in -this case was to a large extent corroborative, I decided to investigate -it. It was Christmas time, and the thought of earthbound spirits pacing -up and down cold, empty houses, when all around was warmth and jollity, -depressed me. I felt that I must, now that an opportunity had come, try -to see them, and if possible do something for them. - -“I set out on Christmas Eve, and I admit that when I left the -cheerfully lighted thoroughfare, and plunged into the dark silent -emptiness of the house, my heart almost failed me. Apart from ghosts -there were so many possibilities, and what more likely than that some -tramp or criminal had forced an entrance, and was hiding somewhere -on the premises. For a few seconds I stood and listened, and then, -feeling a trifle more assured, I closed the door gently and advanced -cautiously along the wide hall. At each step I took I became more and -more sensitive to an atmosphere of intense sadness and desolation—an -atmosphere of intense loneliness, loneliness that is without hope—that -is perpetual and absolute. It could be felt in all parts of the house, -but more particularly, perhaps, in the kitchen, which was built out at -the back on the ground floor. I had never been in such a dreary and -inhospitable kitchen. The night was bitterly cold and the bare stones -sent chilly currents up my legs and back, into my very brain. - -“To remain in such a hole till morning was assuredly courting pneumonia -or rheumatic fever. I looked at the range, it was covered with rust and -verdigris. If only it could be lighted! Then I uttered an exclamation -of joy, for lying in one corner was a pile of wood—boxes, shelves, -faggots, etc., intermingled with an assortment of other rubbish. In -my early days I had lived on a ranch out west, and the experience I -had had there now came in useful. In a few minutes there was a loud -crackling, and the kitchen filled with a ruddy glow. A couple of -dresser-drawers served me for a seat, and I was soon ensconced in a -tolerably snug position, from which, however, I was prepared to spring -at a moment’s notice. - -“The hours sped by, and the silence deepened. - -“At last, just about two o’clock, when I was beginning to think nothing -would happen, I heard a door slam somewhere upstairs. This was followed -by a series of creaks, and I heard someone cautiously descending the -stairs. A great fear now seized me, and had I been able, I should -doubtless have beaten a hasty retreat. Instead, I was possessed with -a kind of paralysis, which rendered me quite helpless and prevented -me from either moving a limb or uttering a sound. The creaks came -nearer—down, down, down, until quite suddenly they stopped, and I -heard a cough. - -“It was repeated—cough, cough, cough. The cough of a delicate, -neurotic woman. At first it simply startled me—it sounded so distinct, -so reverberating, so real. Then it irritated me, and then it infuriated -me—almost drove me mad. ‘God take the woman,’ I raved. ‘Will she never -cease.’ - -“Cough, cough, cough. A nervous, hacking cough, a worrying, grating -cough, an intensely silly, murder-instilling cough. I could see the -owner of it—upstairs, hidden from me by impenetrable darkness, and -yet quite distinct—a slight, pale, excessively plain little woman, -with watery eyes and a quivering mouth. Heavens, how the mouth maddened -me! On she went—cough, cough, cough! She was still coughing, when I -suddenly became aware of a presence close beside me, and I saw in the -glow from the dying embers the figure of a man seated at a table in the -middle of the kitchen. He appeared to be trying to write, but to be -unable to collect his thoughts. Every now and then he paused, dashed -his pen down, and clenched his fists furiously. At first I could not -understand his behaviour, and then it all of a sudden occurred to -me—the coughing, of course. That perpetual noise, that everlasting -hacking—it distracted, demented him. I watched him with feelings of -infinite sympathy. At last, unable to stand it any longer, he sprang -from his seat and dashed upstairs. - -“I heard him race up two steps at a time. No madman would have raced -faster or more nimbly. Then came a strange variety of sounds—a -gratuitous course in phonetics—an altercation, more coughing, oaths, -bumping, a scream, a thud, a little feeble cough, silence, and then -rapidly descending footsteps—a man’s footsteps. I did not wait for -them. The spell that had hitherto held me limb-tied now abruptly left -me, and I fled out of the building—home. - -“The next day—Christmas Day—I made my report to the owner of the -house, and told her exactly what had happened. - -“‘Good heavens!’ she exclaimed, ‘and he’s married Maisie! Swear that -you will never tell a soul, no one, not even your most intimate friend, -and I will give you an explanation of what you witnessed.’ (“All this -happened years ago,” Mr. Vandergooch remarked, “so it’s all right my -telling you now.”) I promised, and she at once began. - -“‘Ten years ago the occupants of the house you’ve been in were -a well-known dramatist and his wife, whom I will call Mr. and -Mrs. Charles Turner. Mrs. Turner was exactly like the woman you -imagined—frail, small and very plain; whilst her husband would tally -with the man you saw in the kitchen—a tall, muscular, handsome man. He -obviously married her for her money, poor soul, for there was nothing -in her to attract him, and everyone could see how she irritated him, -especially when she coughed—in fact, he often said to me, ‘You don’t -know, Mrs. Wehlen, how Eva annoys me. Whenever I am in the midst of -my work, trying to concentrate my thoughts, she starts her infernal -coughing—I can hear her all over the house—hack, hack, hack.’ ‘She -can’t help it, poor thing,’ I replied. ‘You ought to feel sorry for -her.’ ‘Feel sorry for her,’ he said. ‘You’d feel sorry for her if you -were tormented as I am. I believe she does it on purpose.’ - -“‘Well, one evening—to be precise, it was Christmas Eve—Mrs. Turner -was found at the foot of the hall staircase with her neck broken. -There was no direct evidence as to how she came there, but as one of -the stair-rods was found loose, it was presumed that she fell over it, -and, accordingly, a verdict of accidental death was returned. Charles -Turner left the house directly afterwards, and a few months ago married -my niece, Maisie. As far as I know, what you have seen has never been -seen by anyone else, but coughing in the house has been heard, and it -is quite plain to me now that Charles Turner murdered his first wife. I -only pray to Heaven he won’t serve Maisie the same.’ - -“But he did,” Mr. Vandergooch added, “for she, too, was found at the -foot of the staircase with her neck broken! In all probability she had -possessed some idiosyncrasy that worried and annoyed him; or, possibly -having once taken to murder, he felt he must go on with it—the habit -of homicide being, no doubt, just as fascinating as the habit of drugs -or of drink. - -“Nothing, however, was proven, and, for all I know to the contrary, -he may still be alive, still be killing people to appease his -hyper-sensitive and outraged nerves.” - -This experience of Mr. Vandergooch made me think; and eventually led to -my devoting no small amount of attention to psychology and criminology. -From what a variety of influences, it seemed to me, any one act might -be induced, and to what innumerable and varied causes any one crime, -for instance murder, might be traced. A minute bone pressing on a -certain section of the brain, a stomach continually overladen with -beefsteak and other animal food, over-excited nerves, the sight of -some locality, such as a wood, an object, such as a knife, all may -lead to the same thing—the desire to kill; whilst, at the same time, -the superphysical, through the agency of some evil spirit continually -whispering to its selected victim the arrestive, the compelling -thought, almost enforces any and every sort of crime. Seeing, then, -that in every act of cruelty or violence it is more than likely that -either one or other of these factors has been at work, is it fair that -we should so readily condemn and therewith rest content? - -True, it may be, and, I believe, it is expedient to punish the -criminal, but surely it is even more urgent that we should make -ourselves thoroughly acquainted with his case, so that we may if -possible discover the factor that conduces to his crime, and then -either destroy or counteract it. - -From St. Louis I went to New York, where I lodged in a fifty cent. -hotel in West Quay. - -It was not a particularly elevating neighbourhood, but it was one that -boasted of several haunted houses. I was taken to see one of them—a -small store that supplied seamen’s kits—by a fellow lodger, who, if I -remember rightly, bore the name of Boxer. The proprietor of the store -was a Swede; his name I cannot quite recall, it was, I believe, Jansen, -or something like Jansen. He was at first extremely reticent, but on my -assuring him that I was not in touch with any of the New York journals, -and would not connive at his story getting into print, he agreed to -tell me what had happened. - -Calling his wife, a plain, stolid-looking woman, dressed in a neat -and spotlessly clean print gown, he led the way upstairs to the top -landing. There he stopped opposite a closed door, in front of which -stood a large oak chest. “That’s the room,” he said; “we’ve barricaded -it like that to prevent the children going in. When we first came here, -my wife, and I, and our youngest child, Bertha, slept there. But we -none of us liked the room, and we soon began to have very disturbed -nights. I had ghastly nightmares, and so had my wife. - -“And Bertha too,” Mrs. Jansen chimed in; “she used to dread being left -alone in the room even for five minutes, and used to cry till one or -other of us went to her.” - -“That’s right enough,” Mr. Jansen interrupted; “and Bertha’s never -behaved like that since we moved her into another room.” - -“Well, we experienced nothing more disturbing than bad dreams for the -first fortnight or so, and nothing happened until we were both aroused -one night by hearing Bertha scream. We lit a candle and got out of bed. -‘What is the matter,’ I asked; ‘are you in pain?’ ‘No, Poppa,’ she -said. ‘Not in pain, but so frightened. I kept hearing the bed creak, -and I thought one of you was coming out of it to kill me.’ - -“‘Why, what nonsense,’ I said. ‘You’ve been dreaming again, child.’ -Then, turning to my wife, I remarked, ‘If she has many more of these -nightmares we had better send for the doctor. Don’t you think so?’ -My wife made no answer, but suddenly gave a cry and pointed at the -bed. ‘Otto!’ she cried. ‘Look at the clothes! We never left them like -that. What’s happened to them?’ I looked. The clothes were all heaped -together down the centre of the bed exactly in the shape of a human -body, with the face turned towards us. - -“We all three stared at it in open-mouthed silence, and the longer we -gazed, the more pronounced grew the features, until they at last became -so lifelike, so evil, that my wife and I instinctively shrank back -against the child’s cot, and tried to hide the thing from her. My wife -declares she saw it move.” - -“It did,” Mrs. Jansen said. “I saw it distinctly shift nearer to us. So -did Bertha.” - -“I know you were both agreed on that point,” Mr. Jansen went on. “All I -can say is I didn’t see it do that, but I started praying, and whether -it was the effect of my prayers or not, the clothes gradually became -clothes again, and, after soothing Bertha, we scrambled back into bed, -feeling rather ashamed we had been so frightened. - -“The following evening after Bertha had been put to bed, we heard -her scream again, and we ran up and found her quivering under the -bedclothes. She said our bed had begun rattling, just as if we were -moving in it. On turning to examine it, we found the clothes just as we -had seen them in the night, with one of the pillows pressed and moulded -into the speaking likeness of a face. - -“As I looked at it, the features became convulsed with such an -indescribable expression of hellishness that I backed against the table -and upset the light. - -“On re-lighting it, the thing on the bed had disappeared, and the -clothes were once again normal. That same night, some time after -we were in bed, I awoke to find myself being roughly shaken by the -shoulders. It was my wife, but, perhaps I had better let her go on with -the story.” - -“I shook him,” Mrs. Jansen explained, “because a feeling had suddenly -come over me that I must kill Bertha. The very first night we slept in -the room I became obsessed with a passionate desire to see someone die, -a desire that I can assure you was absolutely novel to me, because I -flatter myself I am naturally kind-hearted and extremely sensitive to -seeing other people suffer.” - -“She’s kindness itself,” Mr. Jansen observed. - -“Well,” Mrs. Jansen went on, “the feeling became so unbearable, that -fearing I should actually be compelled to kill someone, I awoke my -husband and begged him to tie my hands together; which, after some -hesitation, he did. Bertha was crying bitterly, and told us she had -again heard creaks in the room, just as if someone was getting out -of bed to murder her. That was the last time we slept in the room. I -felt it was a positive danger to spend another night in it, and so we -removed into the one we are sleeping in now.” - -“And has it never been occupied since?” I asked. - -“Yes, for one night,” Mrs. Jansen replied. “A niece of mine, Charlotte, -came to stay with us, and as we had nowhere else to put her, she had -to sleep there. We went to bed rather late that night, and I dreamed -three times in succession that Charlotte was creeping down the stairs -with some strange weapon in her hand, with which she intended killing -Bertha. Bertha was then sleeping alone in the room facing ours. - -“The third dream was so vivid that I awoke from it bathed with -perspiration. I told my husband, and he said, ‘Well, that’s curious, -for I thought I heard someone moving about overhead. I’ll go and -see if anything is amiss.’ He opened the door, and, going on to the -landing, discovered Charlotte tiptoeing cautiously down the stairs, -holding a long, glittering pair of scissors in her hand, and with an -expression on her face similar to that on the face in the bedclothes. -‘What are you doing here?’ my husband demanded, and Charlotte at once -dropped the scissors and began crying. She told us that no sooner -had she got into bed, than she felt like another person. It was -just as if someone else’s soul had crept into her body. All her old -sentiments and ideals vanished, and the maddest and most unholy ideas -presented themselves in rapid succession to her mind. A blind hatred of -everyone in the house possessed her, and she was seized with the most -ungovernable craving to kill. For a long time she fought against this -mania, until at last, unable to restrain it any longer, she got out of -bed and sought some weapon. Cold hands, she declared, seemed to guide -her to the scissors, and armed with them, she crept downstairs, just -as I had seen her in my sleep, determined to butcher Bertha first, and -then, if possible, my husband and myself. - -“She pleaded our forgiveness and begged to be allowed to go home -first thing in the morning. ‘I do not feel I am responsible for my -behaviour,’ she said. ‘I never had the slightest inclination to do -anything of the sort before. I am sure it’s that room. There’s some -sinister influence in it, and if I go back to it, I’m certain I shall -do something dreadful.’ - -“She spent the rest of the night on the sofa in the parlour, and -shortly before noon returned to her parents. - -“After that we locked up the room and had this chest placed against the -door, as you now see it.” - -“Do you know the history of the house?” I asked. - -“Only that before we came here,” Mrs. Jansen said, “there were several -sudden deaths. I do not think any of them were actually attributed to -murder, though they were all due to rather extraordinary accidents. -Originally, I believe, the house was an inn, kept by a woman who bore a -very evil reputation, and we have always wondered if the hauntings had -anything to do with her.” - -“I suppose you couldn’t tell whether the face formed by the bedclothes -was a man or a woman’s?” I remarked. - -“Not, perhaps, by the actual features,” she responded, “only by the -expression. I can’t explain how, but it was an expression which at once -explained to me its sex, and that sex was not masculine.” - - * * * * * - -As I have said, this was not the only case of haunting in West Quay -that I heard of during this visit of mine to New York, but it is the -only one of sufficient interest to note here. Two equally interesting -cases, perhaps, came my way when I was travelling West. The one was in -Boston, the other in Chicago. I will deal with the Chicago one first:— - -A banker in Chicago, to whom I had a letter of introduction, hearing -that I was interested in ghosts, showed me a house close to Michigan -Avenue where he had had a somewhat novel experience. - -“Some years ago,” he said, “that house had the reputation for being -very badly haunted, and not by one ghost, but by dozens. It was -then occupied by an eccentric old millionaire, whom I will call Mr. -Hoonigan. Mr. Hoonigan had a very curious hobby. In a room, which he -named Duckdom, he had a collection of the most exquisitely wrought -models of women, clad in costumes which must surely have cost thousands -of pounds. They were all made in Paris, and many of them had once stood -in windows in the Rue de Rivoli. I have never seen anything to equal -them; their eyes, hair, and finger nails were not only beautifully -coloured and moulded, they were most natural and life-like. Mr. -Hoonigan worshipped them. He used to spend hours a day sitting before -each of them in turn, fondling their hands and making love to them in -the most exaggerated fashion. Mad! Yes, of course, he was mad; but his -madness did not always take such a harmless form. In a room opposite -Duckdom, which he named Devildom, he had collected the models—some -fifty or more—of murderers, and other criminals of the lowest type, -besides a heterogeneous assortment of the most revolting objects. -Amongst these objects were images of the South Sea Islands and Mexican -gods; figures in wood and stone, representing ghosts and demons; -cases full of mummies and skeletons; weapons that had once belonged -to murderers and still bore traces of their victims’ blood; scalping -and flaying knives; and a variety of ancient instruments of torture; -whilst to accentuate the horror of the room as a whole, paintings such -as only a brain in the most advanced stage of morbid disease could have -conceived covered the walls. Mr. Hoonigan did not make a practice of -showing his collections promiscuously, he was far too jealous of them, -and I do not suppose there were ten people in Chicago who knew of their -existence. Indeed, it was only with the very greatest difficulty that -I got his permission to view them. He allowed no servants to sleep in -the house, and when I went there one evening to see his treasures, he -opened the door to me himself. ‘Do you see this?’ he cackled, pointing -to the brown muzzle of a revolver, which showed itself from under -his coat. ‘Well, I have two more of them, and the house is full of -pitfalls, all admirable inventions of my own, and warranted to upset -the calculations of even the most experienced cracksman.’ ‘Have you -ever been troubled by burglars?’ I asked, glancing over the shoulders -of the queer old figure before me, and letting my eyes wander round -the great hall, dimly lighted and full of many suggestive nooks. ‘Yes, -several times,’ he said, ‘and once, one actually got in. He is here -now.’ ‘Here now!’ I cried. ‘Why, you surely don’t mean to say that -you’ve reformed him and kept him as your servant?’ - -“Mr. Hoonigan chuckled, and his yellow fangs reminded me unpleasantly -of the blunt and rusty teeth of a saw. ‘Not exactly,’ he said. ‘He fell -into one of my traps. You will see him later in my little chamber of -horrors. He’s been there ever since.’ (This seemed a trifle indiscreet; -but Mr. Hoonigan knew he could trust me. You see, I was his banker, and -business means business in Chicago.) - -“‘But come,’ he continued, ‘I will show you Duckdom first, because you -will then the better appreciate its opposite. There is nothing like -contrasts to teach you true enjoyment.’ He stepped into an elevator, -and we went up, passing storey after storey, all dark, silent and -deserted. At last we stopped, and getting out, entered a brilliantly -illuminated room. ‘Here they are!’ Mr. Hoonigan exclaimed. ‘Let me -introduce you to my fair women friends.’ I looked round, and there -before me was a vast assemblage of women, all of them richly dressed -in the very latest fashion. All beautiful, however, and all most -artistically posed; some sitting, some standing, some lying at full -length on rugs and sofas. They were so absolutely natural that it took -me some seconds to realise they were only models—models in wax. Mr. -Hoonigan approached one, and taking its hand, pressed it reverently. -‘When I die,’ he said, ‘I shall be placed here, and the room shall be -hermetically sealed. I want no other heaven.’ He then took me across -the landing to another room. I had been prepared for a shock, but not -for the kind of shock I got when the door opened, and a hell, seething -with devilry—ten thousand times more devilish than the devilry of -Dante’s Hell—was suddenly thrust under my very nose. I recoiled, and -Mr. Hoonigan, perceiving my fright, playfully pushed me in. When we -were well in the midst of them, he pointed with great glee to several -of the most notorious murderers, and insisted upon my picking up and -examining their weapons. He then made me sit on a garotting chair, -which he had quite recently purchased in Cuba, and when I was thus -seated, he thrust a skull on my knee, which he said was that of a Red -Indian Chief, who had for certain skinned alive with his own hands a -whole family of whites. - -“By this time, as you may think, I had had enough of it, but, as Mr. -Hoonigan truly remarked, there was so much to be seen; besides, he -must, he said, whilst I was there, show me a stock of engravings which -he had just bought in Madrid. They dated from the reign of Philip -II., and represented, in grim detail, all the horrors of the Spanish -Inquisition. But this was not all. Their chief interest, according -to Mr. Hoonigan, lay in the fact that the inquisitors—to quote Mr. -Hoonigan’s own words—‘just as an appetiser—an hors d’œuvre, don’t -you know,’ used to give them to their victims to examine before they -commenced to torture them. - -“At the conclusion of this exhibition I managed somehow to get away, -and was walking to the elevator, when I saw something slink past us. I -turned round, and in the gloom could only see, indistinctly, the form -of a man of medium height, with a thick-set, brutal figure, and ambling -gait. I could not see his face. He seemed to walk right through the -door, which was shut, into the room we had just vacated. ‘What is it?’ -Mr. Hoonigan asked. Somewhat nervously, I told him. ‘Ah,’ he said, -‘that’s only one of them, and one of the least terrifying. You didn’t -know, I suppose, that the house is haunted. From your description I -should say that what you have just seen is the ghost of the burglar I -told you about. But there are other ghosts—if you like to term them -so—that are most troublesome. I have had to give up sleeping on this -landing. I sleep on the ground floor now, with the electric light full -on, all night.’” - -The case of the Boston ghost came to my notice in a very direct -fashion. I only stayed in the town two nights, and chance led me to -put up in an hotel which I learned bore an undeniable reputation for -being haunted. It was in rather a poor neighbourhood—at least poor -for Boston—and there were few visitors; indeed, on the landing where -I slept, no one. I spent all my first day in the town sight-seeing and -visiting relatives whom I had never met before, and I did not get back -to the hotel till very late. The place was dimly lit and oppressively -silent. - -“Am I the last in?” I asked the night porter, who rubbed his eyes -wearily and yawned. - -“Yes, sir,” he said; “the other guests have been gone to bed two hours -or more. It’s close on one.” - -“What part of Ireland do you come from?” I enquired. - -“County Limerick, to be sure,” he said; “but you couldn’t tell I was -Irish!” - -“At once,” I said. “What were you over there?” - -“I was working on the roads,” he said, “and before that I was in the -Army—in the Inniskillings.” - -“What date?” I enquired. - -He told me, and it then transpired that he had enlisted in that -regiment when one of my uncles was a major in it, and he remembered -him well. We were thus talking away and recalling episodes of the long -past, when I heard a familiar sliding kind of noise, and broke off in -the middle of a sentence. - -“Surely, that’s the elevator,” I exclaimed. “I hope our talking has not -disturbed anyone.” - -[Illustration: “But there are other ghosts—if you like to term them -so—that are more troublesome”] - -“I don’t think so, sir,” he said. “At any rate, I shouldn’t trouble -myself about it.” His voice sounded so strange, I thought, and there -was such an odd, furtive look in his eyes, that I became curious, and -walking across the hall, arrived on the other side, just in time to see -the elevator come slowly and softly down. - -To my astonishment there was no one in it. - -“How’s that happened?” I remarked. “No one called it, and had they done -so we must have seen them.” - -“I can’t say, sir,” the porter replied, looking very uneasy. - -“Well, it’s certainly rather odd,” I ejaculated. “Anyhow, it’s chosen -to come down at a very convenient moment.” And, getting in, I went up. - -The following night I returned late, and entered the vestibule of the -hotel just as the elevator stopped. - -“Does it come down at the same time every night?” I asked the porter. - -“Yes, sir,” he muttered, “every night.” - -“And the reason?—there must, of course, be some reason. An elevator -can’t start off unless someone or something starts it.” He was silent. -“I see there’s some mystery attached to it,” I persisted. “What is -it? Tell me.” He remained obdurate for some seconds, but eventually -succumbed. - -“For goodness sake, don’t let on, sir,” he said, “because the boss has -forbidden any of the staff to mention it, and if he found out I’d told -you, he’d sack me at once. This hotel is haunted. Several years ago, -before my time, a visitor arrived here late one night and was found by -the day porter dead in the lift. How he died was never exactly known; -it was rumoured he had either committed suicide or been murdered. It -was never found out who he was or where he came from, and, as he had no -money on him, he was buried like a pauper. Well, sir, ever since then -that elevator has taken it into its head to set itself in motion at the -same time every night. Sometimes the gates clang just as if someone -were getting in and out. At first I usedn’t to like it at all. You can -imagine, perhaps, what it’s like to know that you are the only person -about in a place of this sort—and then to hear the elevator suddenly -beginning to descend. However, by degrees, I got accustomed to it, and -if that was all that happened, I shouldn’t mind.” - -“What else does happen?” I asked. - -“I can’t tell you, sir. Would you like a bit of exercise?” - -“I don’t mind,” I said. “Why?” - -“Will you try the staircase, then, instead of the elevator? Count the -stairs and note carefully when you come to the forty-first.” - -I agreed. The stairs were narrow and tortuous, the light meagre, and -soon I began to feel very, very far from my friend the porter, and -very much alone in the building. This feeling increased the further I -proceeded, until, at last, it became so unbearable that I involuntarily -halted. I had conscientiously counted the steps. I was at the -thirty-ninth. I looked around me. High over head was a kind of funnel -formed of black, funereal, and apparently never-ending banisters; below -me was a similarly constructed pit. The flickering gas-light brought -into play innumerable shadows. I tried to look away from them, for -their gambols were unpleasantly emphasized by the ominously oppressive -silence, but they fascinated me to such an extent that I was forced -to watch them, and, whilst I was thus engaged, I became suddenly -aware of a presence. Something I could not see was standing on the -staircase, a few steps ahead, barring my way. I advanced one step, and -with a tremendous effort I struggled on to the next one. Then the most -frightful, the most overwhelming, diabolical terror seized me, and -turning round, I tore downstairs. - -“Well,” the door porter said, “you’ve come back. Couldn’t pass it. No -one who tries to do so at this time of night ever can.” - -“What is it?” I gasped. “What is the beastly thing?” - -“I don’t know,” he replied; “no one knows. This place was once a -madhouse, I believe, and perhaps——” - -“Ah, well,” I said, “I can understand it now. Thank goodness I’m -leaving to-morrow, and as it’s a choice of two evils, I’ll go up in the -lift.” - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -A HAUNTED WOOD AND A HAUNTED QUARRY IN CANADA - - -All my ghostly experiences in the United States were of indoor -hauntings, consisting mostly of the visitation of phantasms of the -dead, who in earthly form had either suffered or committed some deed of -violence. I never met with a psychic experience out-of-doors, though I -only too well realised the possibilities of such when I was sleeping -by myself on the ranche in Oregon, or riding alone through the giant -forests of the Cascades mountains. - -I believe all the loneliest parts of America, the great, bold Rockies, -the vast Californian and Oregon forests are periodically visited by -ghosts—ghosts of murdered soldiers, of scalp-raising Indians, of tramp -suicides—of all manner of evilly-disposed white and red people, and -of neutrarians, spirits that have never inhabited earthly bodies, and -which are as grotesque and awe-inspiring as the fantastically carved -boulders and queerly shaped tree trunks with which those parts are so -lavishly bestrewn. - -America, indeed, affords one of the wildest fields in the world for -the genuine ghost hunter. I use the word genuine advisedly, for I -would differentiate between the ghost hunter who is genuine, and the -professor of physics, who expects the Unknown to be subservient to -his beck and call. I say, then, for the ghost hunter with a kindly, -sympathetic nature, the ghost hunter whose thoughts are more often on -the spiritual than the material plane, and who would earnestly seek the -chance to succour and comfort a lost soul, the United States of America -gives the greatest scope. - -From what I have heard, for I have never been there, Canada also is a -much haunted country. An account of a haunting there was given me by a -French Canadian, Bertram Armand, whom I met with his wife one day at an -hotel in New York. Though born and educated in Canada, he had served in -the French Army, and had spent a considerable portion of his life in -France and Algiers. He had now retired, and it was on the occasion of -his quittal of the Army and return to Canada that the event I am about -to narrate, and which I give as nearly as possible in his own words, -occurred:— - -“My home,” he began, “was in a small town called Garvois,[2] to the -South-West of Winnipeg, which, at the time of my adventure, some ten or -twelve years ago, was nothing like the size it is now. - - [2] I am not sure of the proper spelling of the word, as the - writing in my original notes has become so very illegible - in places. - -“I had got out of the train at Winnipeg, and dined at an hotel, and the -evening was well set in before I rose from my comfortable seat before -the fire and prepared for my long tramp. - -“‘If you take my advice, sir,’ the landlord said, ‘you will avoid the -wood of Garvois after dark.’ ‘And why, pray?’ I asked. ‘Because, sir,’ -he responded, ‘because it bears an evil reputation.’ - -“‘An evil reputation!’ I laughed. ‘Ma foi! it must bear a very evil -reputation, a positively devilish reputation, to frighten an old -soldier like me. Why, man alive, I have served in the French Army -in the wildest regions of Algiers for years. A wood with an evil -reputation, mille tonnerres,—that’s a joke I shan’t forget in a -hurry.’ Then seeing him look glum, I remarked, for I had no wish to -hurt his feelings, ‘I can appreciate your intended kindness, but you -see I have been away from home for ten years—ten whole years, and I -am dying to see my father. He is the only relative I have—therefore -you can gather that I want to go by the quickest route, and the road -through the wood, if I remember rightly, is twice as short as that by -the plain. Is it not so?’ - -“The landlord shrugged his shoulders. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘the road over -the plain is longer—certainly it is longer—and if you go by it you -won’t arrive at your father’s house till morning, but, monsieur, if you -go by the wood you may never reach home at all.’ - -“‘I will risk it,’ I laughed; ‘there can only be robbers or wolves, -and I am prepared for either. I have these!’ And I tapped the ends of -two six-shooters. ‘At all events, if anything happens, I will haunt -the wood, and you may come and see me. Au revoir!’ I waved my hand as -I spoke, and putting my pack in the proper place on my back, I stepped -airily on to the broad, brown track leading to Garvois. - -“Within an hour of my departure, the weather, which had been abominably -cloudy for the time of the year, took a sudden turn for the worse, and -the rain descended in torrents. I chuckled grimly, Mr. O’Donnell, for -what after all are the discomforts of sodden clothes and squishy boots -compared with what a soldier has to undergo in Africa—in the Sahara, -where the sun is hell and the insects—devils. Rain, Mon Dieu! What’s -rain! On and on I tramped, whistling gaily and running my hand over my -pack now and again to see that everything was safe. I had a present -there for my father, whom I loved more than anyone else in the world. -‘You see,’ he added with a smile, ‘I hadn’t met Jacqueline then.’ - -“Well, so long as I kept to the main track there was not much to -complain about—it had recently been attended to, but the moment I -turned off it, and on to the side one leading to the wood, my troubles -began. Deep ruts, big holes, huge earth mounds, and sharp-edged stones -made it bad enough in dry weather; it was now a quagmire—a quagmire -that afforded every possibility of soon becoming dangerous. - -“I had seen nothing like it since I was in Algiers, but, bah! a soldier -can get used to anything. ‘It is a mere nothing,’ I said to myself. ‘I -can dive, I can swim; it will take more than cold water to kill me; -and if it were twenty times as bad I would face it.’ Ten years is a -long time to be away from one’s home, Mr. O’Donnell. I trudged on, and -was soon ankle-deep in black mud. At eight o’clock I was confronted -by a long line of huge, black trees, that bent their dripping tops -as if they had orders to salute me. Coming to a halt, and leaning -against a slender, isolated pine, that creaked and groaned in the rough -night air, I ruefully surveyed the prospect in front of me. The track -through the wood was twelve miles—nothing of a walk if I had been -fresh and the weather dry, but in my present condition a seemingly -impossible one. For the last hour or so I had experienced nothing but -a recurrence of slips and falls, I had done nothing but plunge in and -out of abysses, and I had been completely battered to pieces by the -wind. And the rain! I can stand any amount of heat, Mr. O’Donnell, but -wet, no, it gets into every pore of my skin and completely demoralises -me. I was exhausted, almost at the end of my tether, and I felt a -very little more would see me on the ground, absolutely done. Now, of -course, I am used to sleeping out of doors all night; but, then, Canada -is not France, neither is it Africa, and the warmth and dryness of the -Sahara had made me terribly susceptible to chills. A night in this -wood would mean for certain either pneumonia or rheumatic fever—and I -might never get home to see my father. So what alternative was there? -Only to tramp back again over that dreadful track, and take the long -route over the plains. I couldn’t do it; I hadn’t the strength. I -would struggle on. I did so—I took the plunge. The desert, with the -lights twinkling far away on its extremities, was speedily hidden -from view; trees shut me in on all sides; I was at last in the forest. -I had never known what it was to be nervous, but the silence I now -experienced disquieted me. I had never felt anything like it. It struck -me as an assumed silence—assumed purposely to cloak a deep-rooted and -universal resentment. Moreover, I had an uncomfortable suspicion that -it was the prelude to something hostile—to some peculiar antagonistic -demonstration, the very nature of which was at present enigmatical. -It was a silence savouring of a world other than ours—of a world -I knew nothing about—indeed, at that period of my life I was an -atheist, and neither believed in a God or a future existence. The -rain pattered heavily on the foliage overhead, and the wind groaned, -but the voices—the voices of the beings in this Unknown World—were -still, absolutely still. In the gloom the trees assumed strange shapes; -their motions, too, were strange—so strange that I did not think -they could possibly have been caused by the wind. You may think I am -hyper-imaginative, Mr. O’Donnell, but I do not think I am; my wife -would tell me if I were, for she has never been slow in pointing out my -faults, have you, Jacqueline?” - -Mrs. Armand smiled. “No, Mr. O’Donnell,” she said, “he has many faults, -but exaggeration is not one of them; indeed, he is so precise as to be -sometimes dull.” - -Mr. Armand continued: “I saw lights, too, Mr. O’Donnell,” he said; -“all kinds of coloured lights, which I did not then attribute to -possible spirit agency. I simply did not know what they were. I was not -afraid, but I became wary, and moved furtively forward, as if I had -been scouting in some enemy’s country. Every now and then I fancied I -heard soft steps that I could associate with nothing human, stealing -surreptitiously behind me. I paused and looked carefully over my -shoulder, but there was nothing visible—only the gloom. At length the -darkness became so intense that I could no longer see the track. I -continued to advance, however, and after plunging through a succession -of bogs and briars was finally brought to a peremptory halt by a stone -wall. This wall was four feet or so in height, but what lay on the -other side of it, or where indeed it began or ended, it was impossible -to decide, and I was wondering what on earth I had better do next—for -my energy was nearly spent—when a voice suddenly called out, ‘Keep -along by the wall and I will meet you at the wicket gate!’ Overjoyed, -I obeyed. The wall swerved sharply round, and a few yards beyond, -with one hand on the gate and in the other a dark lantern, stood the -slight, muffled-up figure of a woman. In a few words I explained the -situation—how in the blinding rain and darkness of the forest I had -lost my way, and was too exhausted to go any further. ‘I don’t mind -sleeping anywhere,’ I pleaded, ‘so long as I can lie where it is dry -and rest till morning. An attic, barn, anything will do.’ - -“‘I think I can offer you something better than that,’ the woman -responded, as she led me through the gate and along a narrow winding -path to a large, low, rakish-looking house, whose black walls, rising -suddenly out of the ground before me, seemed startlingly familiar. -My guide halted—a key turned, a door flew open—there was a rush of -strange, musty air, and almost before I had time to realise it, I was -inside the building. ‘I must apologise for the absence of light,’ the -woman said, ‘but under the circumstances the omission is unavoidable. -If we had been expecting you, it would, of course, have been different. -If you will follow me, I will take you to your room.’ I tried to see -her face, to make out what she was like, but I was frustrated in my -desire by the way in which she held the lantern. Nor was I any more -fortunate in the discernment of my surroundings; I could see the -ground at my feet, but no more; all—everything—was shrouded in an -impenetrable, sable mantle. The curious feeling that I had been there -before, that I knew the house well, again came over me, although prior -to now I had never seen any habitation in the wood, nor even known -that one existed. I argued it was probably a scent—some peculiar -odour in the atmosphere that had conjured back memories of some other -and quite distinct place; but I had not much time for speculation, as -the woman’s movements were very quick, and I had barely scraped the -thickest of the mud from off my feet before she had begun to ascend -a luxuriously-carpetted staircase. We crossed what I took to be a -landing, and stepped some score or so paces down a corridor, finally -halting before a half-open doorway. - -“‘There is your room,’ she said. ‘You need have no fear—the linen is -well aired, and of course,’ she added, slightly sniffing, ‘you may, if -you like, open the windows. We have been obliged to keep them closed, -owing to the damp. Good-night!’ - -“She turned to go, and just for the fraction of a second I saw her -face. It was exquisite. My wife will pardon me for saying my wildest -dreams of woman’s beauty were not merely rivalled, they were surpassed. -I doubt even if so great a painter of feminine charms as Richter could -have done her credit. Who was she? I kept asking myself that question -long after she had left me, and the echoes of her high-heeled shoes -along the passage and down the stairs had ceased. Who was she? Ma foi! -The vision of such loveliness would never leave me. I would enjoy them -over and over again in my sleep. Indeed, I was so obsessed with her -face that I paid little or no heed to the novelty of the situation. At -other times I might have queried the desirability of being in a strange -bedroom in a strange house—in the dark. But the knowledge she was near -at hand was quite enough for me. I was already in love with her—and -the queerest, the most perplexing of predicaments were as nothing to -me. I soared above—God alone knew how high above—dilemmas. Still, -when I came to argue it out with myself, it was a bit of a nuisance my -matches were sodden and I could not use them. I would have preferred -seeing the bed upon which I was to lie, and a spot where I could lay -my clothes. I was so afraid of soiling the upholstery that I undressed -where I stood, and then, making a guess at the direction of the bed, -walked cautiously forward. By a piece of luck, which struck me as -somewhat extraordinary, I collided with the bedstead—a large brass -one—almost immediately. - -“It was the work of a second to throw back the sheets and scramble in -between them, and then, with my mind full to overflowing with visions -of my newly-found goddess, I entrusted both her and my father to the -safe keeping of the Virgin and the Saints—this though I had no faith -in a future for myself—and sank into a deep refreshing sleep. - -“How long I remained in that condition I never knew. I woke with a -start to find the room no longer dark, but partially illuminated with -a fitful red glow which proceeded from the stove, now full of lurid -logs. Thinking I must be dreaming, I rubbed my eyes. But no; the fire -was still there, and even as I gazed at it I caught the sound of -approaching footsteps—the sharp rat-tat of high-heeled shoes. Nearer -and nearer they came, right up to the entrance of my room, when, to -my astonishment and no little embarrassment, the door gently opened, -and in tip-toed the object of my admiration. In one hand she carried a -long-handled iron spoon, and in the other a candle. I was entranced. -Now that she had taken off her hood and cloak, beauties hitherto -concealed stood out in dazzling fulness and bewitched me. Never had I -seen such a wealth of rich golden hair, such a perfect nose and chin, -such tiny ears, carmine lips, white teeth, black-lashed, china-blue -eyes, white tapering fingers, rosy, almond-shaped nails, and such a -heavenly figure. My wife, Mr. O’Donnell, bears me no animosity. You -don’t, do you, Jacqueline?” - -“No, no,” Mrs. Armand laughed. “I understand you. All men are the same. -Go on and tell Mr. O’Donnell more about your goddess.” - -“You are right,” Bertram Armand exclaimed. “She was a goddess—at least -my idea of one, then. What did she want? I sat up in bed, and was about -to speak to her, when she laid a finger on her lips and smilingly -bade me be silent. She then glided to the grate, and taking from her -pocket a small lump of lead, carefully put it into the spoon, which -she balanced with the utmost care on the brightest of the faggots. -That done, she again smiled meaningly at me, and walking to the dainty -dressing-table, strewn profusely with rings and bracelets, looked long -and critically at herself in the mirror. It was while she was thus -occupied that I suddenly became conscious of something or someone close -to me. In a moment my heart ceased to beat; in deadly fear I glanced -round, and perceived, lying by my side, an old man with long, grizzled -hair and beard, whose features were somehow vaguely familiar to me. -He was sound asleep—a fact betrayed by his breathing, which was loud -and stertorious. A slight movement from the other part of the room -attracting my attention, I looked up, just in time to see the girl -flash me a look of subtle warning. - -“‘Don’t wake him, whatever you do,’ her eyes said; ‘he _must_ sleep on.’ - -“‘Don’t wake him,’ I repeated to myself; ‘why, of course I won’t. I -wouldn’t do anything—no matter what—if you told me not to; I would -obey you even at the risk of life and soul!’ Dieu en ciel! How lovely! - -“Cautiously—first one daintily clad foot and then the other—the girl -approached the stove. She lifted the spoon carefully from the fire, -bore it steadily before her to the bed, and gaily motioning to me to -keep quiet, she gently turned the sleeper’s head over on the pillow, -and with a dexterous movement of her clever, supple fingers, poured -the seething, hissing lead into his ear. There was an agonising -scream—the eyes of the old man opened convulsively, and in the brief -glimpse I caught of them, I recognised my father. - -[Illustration: “I looked up, just in time to see the girl flash me a -look of subtle warning”] - -“Almost simultaneously came a loud crash, blinding darkness, and I was -once again in the forest—God knows how—pursuing my way laboriously -along the mud-laden track. - -“At early dawn I arrived within sight of Garvois—Garvois bathed in a -cold grey mist, and a little later I dragged myself with difficulty -towards the wicket gate leading to my father’s house. To my intense -surprise it was padlocked, but the mystery explained itself at -once—standing upright in the garden was a notice-board, bearing the -inscription, ‘To be Let or Sold.’ I swayed on my feet as I looked at -it, and with a bursting heart reeled away to the nearest house—the -house of my old friend, Henry Crozier. - -“Henry had just awakened—he invariably got up at five—and shuffling -downstairs, he opened the door. - -“‘Le diable!’ he exclaimed, ‘if it isn’t Bertram! Ma foi! I was -dreaming of you last night. So you’ve come back!’ - -“‘Come back to find the place empty!’ I murmured. ‘But, tell me, my -friend, where’s my father?’ - -“Henry’s eyes grew round with astonishment. ‘What!’ he said. ‘What! -you don’t know?’ Then, seeing my look of utter stupefaction, he added: -‘My poor Bertram! Your father is dead! He died a fortnight ago, the -very day after his marriage with Mademoiselle Marie Dernille, the niece -of his last housekeeper. What killed him? Apoplexy. It does not do to -dispute the doctor.’ - -“‘But the woman—the woman? What was she like?’ I stuttered. - -“‘Why,’ Harry enunciated slowly, ‘she was what some people would call -beautiful, though, as God is my judge, I did not admire her. Fair, very -fair, a mass of washed-out yellow hair, painted lips—oh, yes, anyone -could see they were painted—and big, very big eyes—china-blue and -smiling—name of a name—eternally smiling.’” - - * * * * * - -This was Bertram Armand’s account of his experience. In answer to my -questions he told me that he had searched the wood thoroughly, but -there was no house of any sort in it, and afterwards, having had his -father’s body secretly exhumed, and finding lead in the ear, he had -obtained an order for the arrest of his step-mother. She was, however, -nowhere to be found, and he supposed that, having got wind of the -affair, she had escaped out of the country. - -Armand told his story with every appearance of sincerity, and as I -could see that his wife believed it, I have no doubt at all that it was -true. - - * * * * * - -The case of another haunting in Canada was told me on my way out to the -States, on board one of the White Star Liners. - -My place at table was next to a Doctor and Mrs. Fanshawe, both -Canadians, who, hearing that I was interested in everything connected -with the superphysical, told me that they had had several rather -curious experiences. The doctor took from his breast-pocket a small -leather purse, and, opening it, showed me a dull, blue stone. - -“Are you a geologist?” he asked. - -“No,” I replied. “I know nothing whatever about stones. What is it?” - -“No one has ever been able to tell me,” he said. “I have shown it to -several Professors at the English Universities and they have each -classified it differently. Not one of them, I believe, had ever seen or -even heard of a stone like it. And for a very simple reason. In Canada -there is much soil that has never been disturbed, and many tracts of -land no white man has ever trod. - -“But let me explain how the stone came into my possession. Five years -ago we took a house situated about four or five miles from Montreal. -It was a long, low, two storey house, standing a little back from the -road, and connected with it by a semi-circular sweep of gravel road. -Opposite the house was a large pit, where quarrying had recently been -begun, but had been discontinued, owing to the calcinous nature of the -rock, which rendered it of little use for building purposes. Incessant -rains had formed a deep pool in the bottom of the pit, and the water -possessed this idiosyncrasy—the weather made no difference to its -temperature—it was icy cold in summer and winter alike. - -“Viewed in the day-time, the quarry struck one as ordinary enough. It -was at dusk, when the shadows from the trees and bushes swept across -the road and dimmed the mouth of the great pit, that it impressed one -as unsavoury. I remember marvelling at this metamorphosis the first day -of our arrival. It was July, and the landscape was vividly aglow with -brilliant, scintillating sunbeams. A more radiant scene you could not -imagine. ‘One might make a capital swimming bath of this,’ I remarked -to my wife, as we wandered to the edge of the pit and peered down into -the silent, sparkling water. - -“‘Yes,’ she laughed. ‘Supposing we start right away. I never appreciate -a bath more than after a journey.’ - -“That was in the morning. In the evening the place produced a very -different impression. We had dinner—the sort of scratch meal one must -expect when one is ‘moving in,’ and I had strolled out alone. I first -of all explored the premises. There was a big garden with an orchard -alongside, and a small field beyond; and I pictured to myself how nice -it would all look when the grass was properly cut and the flower-beds -planted by my wife, who, by the way, thoroughly understands landscape -gardening. You do, don’t you, Mabel?” - -Mrs. Fanshawe nodded, and her husband resumed his story. - -“I lit another cigar and walked out into the road to have a look at -the quarry. I hardly recognised it. It seemed, since the morning, to -have undergone a complete change. The banks appeared higher and more -precipitous, the water blacker and infinitely deeper, and there was a -cold dreariness about the place that made me shiver. I thought I had -never viewed anything so utterly forlorn and murderous. On the opposite -bank were a few rank sedges and several white trunks of decayed trees. -I had not noticed them before, but now, as I gazed down at the pool, -I saw their re-modelled and inverted images outlined with a clearness -that more than rivalled that of their material counterparts. - -“I was pondering over this phenomenon, when I suddenly felt I was -being watched, and, raising my eyes, I perceived on the bank facing -me, just out of reach of the water, a boulder of ebony-black and -grotesquely-wrought rock. I could not see anything behind it, but I was -convinced that something was there, something that was crouching on its -haunches and glaring savagely at me. I also felt convinced that this -thing, which I could not actually see—though I knew for certain it was -there—was some strange hybrid of a man and animal; a thing with limbs -like ours, but the face of some fantastic, mocking, malevolent beast. - -“Filled with a great uneasiness and all manner of vague fears, I -hurried back to the house, where all was bright and cheerful, but I -could not rid my mind of the impression it had taken from the pool, and -that night my dreams were troubled and alarming. - -“I said nothing about it to my wife, but two days later, when I was -mending my fishing-rod in the study, she came to me in a great state -of agitation. ‘Why, what’s the matter, Mabel?’ I asked anxiously; -‘you look very white! Are you ill?’ ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’ve only had a -shock.’” - -At the doctor’s request, Mrs. Fanshawe then took up the thread. - -“I was walking down one of the side-paths of the garden,” she said, -“looking for Ephraim (Ephraim was our gardener), when I heard a great -rustling of leaves. I turned round and saw a violent agitation going -on in the branches of an apple-tree. Much mystified, as I could see no -cause for it, I approached nearer, and as I did so I distinctly heard -some heavy body drop to the earth with a thud; I then felt something -brush past me. I can’t exactly describe the sensation it caused, -because it is beyond words. I can only say I felt I was being touched -by something immeasurably foul and antagonistic. I reeled right back, -and that moment someone spoke. It was the gardener who came running -towards me to ask if he could go home, as his wife had suddenly been -taken ill.” - -“That was all that happened, then?” - -“No,” Mrs. Fanshawe replied. “That night, after we had been in bed some -time, we were awakened by hearing our Newfoundland dog, Pat, bark. I -went downstairs to see what was the matter with him—he slept in the -house—and found him standing in the hall with his hair all erect, -looking at the window by the front door. - -“I called to my husband, and he came down with his revolver. We then -both went to the window and looked out, but could see no one. ‘I’m sure -Pat sees something,’ I observed; ‘he is beside himself with terror.’ -‘What is it, Pat?’ Dick said, and was about to stroke him, when there -came a violent hammering at the door. We looked at one another in -dismay. ‘Who’s there?’ Dick cried, and, there being no reply, he -fired—the bullet going right through the door. We threw it open—there -was no one there. We then searched the garden (nothing would persuade -Pat to accompany us), but we found no one. - -“For a week after this incident we were undisturbed; then all sorts -of noises were heard in the house—soft footsteps, heavy breathing, -the rattling of door handles, and—most alarming of all—loud crashes -on the door panels. The servants were terrified. One of them roused -us one night by loud shrieks, and going to her room, we found her in -hysterics. All the clothes had been stripped off her bed and thrown -in a promiscuous heap on the floor. When she recovered sufficiently -to speak, she told us something had come into her room and tried to -suffocate her—she felt just as if all the breath in her body was being -forcibly sucked out of her. She had seen nothing. We told her it was a -nightmare, and tried to soothe her, but our endeavours met with little -success, and in the morning she was seriously ill. She died within a -fortnight, and on the same day as the gardener’s wife.” - -“Did the gardener’s wife live on the premises, too?” I asked. - -“Practically,” Mrs. Fanshawe replied. “She and her husband occupied a -cottage close to.” - -“Did both women usually have good health?” - -“Rather,” Dr. Fanshawe laughed; “they were as tough as -horses—rosy-cheeked, strong-limbed, typical young Canadians. Heart and -lungs absolutely sound. I diagnosed their cases and was much puzzled. -On the top of violent shocks, which had apparently upset their whole -constitution, they had developed acute anæmia. Why do you ask?” - -“Merely because of an idea,” I replied; “but pray let Mrs. Fanshawe -finish her story, and then, if you like, I will tell you what my idea -is.” - -“Well,” Mrs. Fanshawe continued, “I haven’t much more to relate. On -the night after our maid’s funeral, we were again disturbed by Pat -barking. I got up and went to the bedroom window. The weather was very -unsettled. Clouds scurried across the moon, that hung like a great -silver ball over the St. Lawrence River, which I could see winding its -mighty course in the distance; spots of heavy rain were falling, and -the wind whistled dolefully through the leaves of the maples. - -[Illustration: “The Thing came right up to the window, and then raised -its face”] - -“Suddenly I heard the sound of heavy footsteps crunching their way -along the gravel drive. ‘It will be nothing visible,’ I said to myself, -and then I got a pretty acute shock. Coming towards the house with -short, quick steps was a tall figure, with its head bowed low. Its arms -and legs were very long and bony, the feet and hands enormous. It was -quite nude, and from all over its body, which was of an exaggerated -whiteness, there emanated a strange, phosphorescent glow. I called to -Dick, and he at once joined me. The Thing came right up to the window, -and then raised its face. If I live to be a thousand years old I shall -never forget what I saw. The proportion of the face was not human, and -it was partially covered with hair, but the eyes were the same shape as -ours, only very much bigger. They were pale, almost white, I thought, -and their expression——” - -“Don’t talk of it,” Dr. Fanshawe interrupted. “One can only say it was -too damnable, too utterly vicious and loathsome for words.” - -“We were so overcome,” his wife went on, “that for some seconds neither -of us could articulate a syllable. We both stared at it in hideous -fascination. At last it made some slight movement, and Dick, released -from the spell that held him, fired at it. The bullet must have gone -right through it, for we saw the gravel on the path immediately behind -it spurt up and scatter. However, the figure was unharmed, and it moved -on towards the front door. Dick fired again, but with no better result. -A fearful horror now seized us, lest it should get into the house. I am -not a religious woman, but I prayed, and as I did so I saw Dick throw -something. What he threw seemed to strike the thing full in the face, -and it vanished. As we got back into bed, I said to Dick, ‘That was -very odd! What did you throw?’” - -“‘A stone I picked up near the quarry this morning,’ he replied. ‘I -don’t know why I threw it, but directly you started praying, a feeling -came over me that I must.’ - -“We were not disturbed again that night, but slept better than we had -done for some time, and in the morning Dick found and showed me the -stone—the stone you are looking at now. We had it fixed to the front -door, and after that we were not troubled again.” - -“There was no history attached to the place,” Dr. Fanshawe added, “and -no one we spoke to had ever heard of its being haunted. Now, what do -you make of it?” - -“A fairly satisfactory case,” I replied, “because I think this stone -affords a clue to part of the mystery at least. When I was out in the -West, I was told by some Indians of the Rogue River tribe, whom I was -delighted to fall in with, that when a place of theirs was haunted, -they kept the ghost quiet by burying a piece of blue rock, which is -to be found in the lava beds of that district, but is very rare. Now -in all probability this custom is not confined to the Indians of -one tribe, but is more or less universal; therefore we need not be -surprised to find a piece of this blue rock buried elsewhere.” - -“But there are no Indians in this neighbourhood,” Mrs. Fanshawe -remarked. - -“Not now,” I said, “but undoubtedly there were once. My supposition is -that this place has a history. It was once badly haunted by spirits of -the most dangerous type, which, for want of a better name, I will style -neutrarians. - -“These neutrarians are spirits that have never inhabited material -bodies, and are only to be found in very remote and isolated districts, -where the soil has rarely if ever been disturbed. They are invariably -antagonistic to all forms of animal life, probably, because, if they -were created first, which is quite feasible, they regard man as an -interloper, and, probably, also because they covet man’s body and are -jealous of him. Many of the Indians believe that man is descended -from the gods, and neutrarians from devils, and that the latter -feel the distinction and hate man accordingly. Neutrarians vary -considerably both in appearance, habits and constitution. Whilst some -can apparently reveal themselves at will, others can only do so by -stealing vitality from human beings or animals. Let us now see how all -of this applies to the present case. When you came to your house you -did not get the impression it was haunted; it was only when you looked -at the quarry—it was there you received your first impressions—and -they were, in all probability, correct. I believe a great deal in -first impressions, particularly with regard to the superphysical. This -theory, too, namely, that the hauntings originated in the quarry, finds -support in the fact that you found the blue stone close to the quarry, -and that the figure you both saw coming along the carriage drive was -coming from that direction. The blue stone, I believe, had been buried -there and was dug up when the quarry was made; thus the stopper, so -to speak, which kept the ghost in check being removed, the hauntings -of course recommenced. Belonging to the species that cannot manifest -itself without drawing vitality from some form or other of animal life, -this neutrarian first attacked the gardener’s wife, and then the maid, -selecting these two on account of their unusual robustness. Had you not -thrown the blue stone at it, and afterwards fixed the stone to your -door, it is more than likely that you would both have succumbed.” - -“Then many diseases that have defied diagnosis, and there are -countless such,” Dr. Fanshawe exclaimed, “may very probably be due to -neutrarians.” - -“I think it is very likely,” I said. “I have noticed, for example, -houses, where several people have been medically stated to have died of -cancer, have been haunted by disturbances of a parallel nature to those -you experienced.” - -“But are such hauntings to go on for ever?” Mrs. Fanshawe asked. “Is -there no means of putting an end to them, saving by blue stones? How -about exorcism?” - -“I am not sure on that point,” I said. “I certainly do not think -that neutrarians or the spirits of imbeciles can be exorcised -satisfactorily, as I have known several cases of hauntings by these -spirits in which exorcism has been practised, and in no instance has it -had any effect whatsoever. I should say hauntings by neutrarians might -last indefinitely; I see no reason why they should not. Have you made -any enquiries lately about the house?” - -“No,” Mrs. Fanshawe replied, “not for some time. When we get back to -Montreal, we will do so, and let you know.” The conversation ended here. - -A year later I received a letter from her husband. “I have been to -the house,” he wrote, “and the present occupants are leaving almost -immediately. There have been three deaths there during their tenancy, -and they complain of exactly the same disturbances that alarmed us. I -have lent them the blue stone.” - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -HAUNTINGS IN THE EAST END - - -Having come to the conclusion that it was quite impossible to earn a -living in America, I returned to England as a steerage passenger on the -German liner “Elbe.” - -It was the last homeward journey she was destined to go, for she was -run into on her next outward voyage by the “Crathie,” several hundred -miles off the East Coast of England, and sunk with an appalling loss of -life. The weather being particularly rough, we were about nine days at -sea; and the fact that our quarters were extremely close, consisting -of little more than a square foot to each person, coupled with food -that I could not eat, made me sincerely thankful when the time came to -go ashore. Apart from these details I had nothing to complain of in -the way I was treated, for the crew—though barely concealing their -hearty contempt for all but the first-class passengers—were to me -civil enough. At the same time the experience—an experience I had not -bargained for—was one I certainly do not desire to go through again. - -I shall never forget how glad I was to find myself once more in an -English restaurant, sitting down to a good, square English meal. I -spent two nights in Southampton, travelling thence to London. - -On arriving at Waterloo, I found myself almost as embarrassed as I had -been in New York, for my knowledge of London was extremely limited. -I had only been there—excepting when I was up for my Sandhurst -Exam.—for an odd day occasionally, and then I had always stayed at a -private hotel in Cambridge Street, Hyde Park. Now, however, my funds -being no longer equal to the West End, I was forced to look elsewhere -for a lodging. After a wearisome search, I at last found a room in -Tennyson Street, S.E. That room will take a lot of forgetting. It was -very small, very dark, and very beetly. I could hear whole armies of -blackbeetles parading the floor and scaling the walls. Occasionally, -one dropped with a thud seemingly close to me, and I sprang out of bed -in terror, lest it had landed on the counterpane. I honestly believe I -am as much afraid of cockroaches as I am of ghosts. - -I only stayed in that house three days, and then moved into the attic -of a coffee tavern in York Road. That was midway in the ‘nineties, and -York Road then was very different from what it is now. In the day-time -it was full of frowsily dressed men and women and the fœtid steam from -the cheaper kinds of restaurants. - -I well remember one shop that boasted of hot rabbit dinners for -fourpence; and big pork pies, that had a peculiar fascination for -blue-bottles, were sold there, all the year round, for threepence. I -often wondered how many people those pies killed, and how any man could -be such a villain as to sell them. - -But if York Road was mean and squalid in the day-time, it was -infinitely worse at night. I have never in any other street in London -seen such an endless procession of women of the unfortunate class. They -were nearly all German, and their hard, cruel faces should have been -a sufficient warning to anyone to give them a wide berth. I haven’t -the slightest doubt that many of the young men who were foolish enough -to be enticed by them were ruthlessly robbed, and not infrequently -murdered. - -One very nasty incident took place just under my window. It was in the -depths of December, and the snow lay thick on the ground. Will anyone -who experienced it ever forget that Christmas of 1894. I was laid up -with influenza, and was lying awake coughing, when I heard a loud -shriek, followed by an oath, and a series of groans and gurgles. Then -someone whistled, and a cab came up, after which all was quiet for a -few minutes, when a crowd collected and a babel of voices arose. - -In the morning my landlady, with a very white face, told me she had -seen it all through her window; she slept in the basement, and had been -too horrified to move. It appears that, shortly before midnight, a man -had hidden in the doorway of the house, as if waiting for someone, -and about ten minutes later a woman had come along, whom he hurled -to the ground, and stabbed. When the woman had ceased groaning, the -man whistled, and a cab came up. The driver, getting down from his -seat, helped lift the woman into the vehicle; he and the murderer then -climbed into the box, there was the crack of a whip, and the cab was -gone. A few minutes afterwards a couple of policemen appeared on the -scene, talked for some time, and then walked away, after which the -street remained silent till dawn. - -I went out and looked at the scene of the incident. There was abundant -evidence on the doorstep and window-sill as to what had taken place, -and seeing the people next door looking at it, I asked them if they -had heard anything in the night. They shrugged their shoulders. “It’s -quite a common occurrence in this neighbourhood,” they said, “and it -would never do for us to take any notice of it. If we did, we should -certainly, sooner or later, share the same fate as that woman.” Thus, -no attempt was made to bring the miscreant to justice, and the matter -ended. - -During the time I was with her, my landlady was robbed twice. On the -first occasion two boys came into the front part of the shop and asked -for some sandwiches. Whilst the landlady’s daughter, who was alone -behind the counter, was serving them, one of the boys snatched up a -ham, the other threw down a chair, and both flew out of the shop. -The girl rushed after them, but of course fell over the chair. Her -cries brought her brother Bert and me to the rescue, and we set off -in pursuit of the thieves. Although they had got some distance, Bert, -being an astonishingly fast sprinter, had nearly caught them up, when -the foremost of the boys abruptly halted, and, whirling round, flung -the ham right at him. He ducked, and the ham landed with a splash in a -puddle of rain water. Picking it up, we bore it triumphantly home, and -it was soon resting on the counter, I hope—since it was to be sold as -usual—none the worse for its adventure. - -Episode number two did not end quite so happily. A young man with a -clean-shaven face, and innocent, big blue eyes came to look for rooms. -He spoke with a strong American accent, and said he was travelling for -a well-known firm of jewellers in Boston. Whether it was the eyes, or -thoughts of gold bracelets and pearl pendants, I cannot say—perhaps -it was both; anyhow, the landlady’s daughter beamed on him, and from -that day forth I became a person of second importance, if, indeed, of -any importance at all. Whatever he said was law, and whatever he chose -to wear was “most elegant.” Then something happened, for which I was -not altogether unprepared. He came down one morning carrying a somewhat -bulky parcel, which he told the landlady’s daughter was his dress suit. -“It’s too small for me,” he said. “This bracing climate of yours has -given me such an appetite, I’ve grown fat. I’m going to take it to the -tailor down the street to see if he can enlarge it for me. By the way, -can you change me this sovereign?” He handed her a coin, and I saw him -smile tenderly. Then he went out of the shop with a pile of silver in -his hand—and never came back. The sovereign was of course a bad one, -and, worse still, the dress clothes were a new suit of Bert’s, one for -which he must have given at least three pounds. - -I was not idle all the time I stayed in York Road. I was thrown on -my own resources and had to find some means of making a livelihood. -Expensive though my education had been, it was of little practical use -to me now. The only subjects I knew anything about were those required -for the Sandhurst and R.I.C. Examinations, and they in no way fitted -me for business. A board-school youth with a knowledge of book-keeping -and shorthand stood a much better chance of obtaining a clerkship than -I did. It was a bitter revelation to me. I had always been brought up -with the idea that breed and manners were a valuable asset. - -I now discovered that without money and influence they were a handicap -rather than otherwise. The majority of employers I interviewed -were certainly not gentlemen, nor apparently did they care to have -anything to do with such; all they wanted was smartness in figures and -the capacity of standing prodigiously long hours and any amount of -bullying. I worked for a week in an office in Lewisham. My employer -was a kind of jobbing stockbroker with a florid face and yards of gold -watch-chain. My hours, as far as I can remember, were from nine to six, -with twenty minutes interval for luncheon. The second day I was there -I was kept at work till after seven, and the following day, by way of -retaliation, I took a good hour over my lunch. When I got back to the -office, I thought my employer would have died of apoplexy. I have never -seen a man in such a fury. - -“What do you think I pay you for?” he shrieked; “to eat?” - -“You haven’t paid me yet,” I responded; “it will be time enough to give -way to your emotions when you have. You kept me here last night an -hour longer than the time agreed. Very good! You get an hour less work -out of me to-day. What’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander.” - -He raised his thick, podgy hand, and I thought he was going to strike -me, which I hoped he would do, for I have always been very fond of -boxing, and a scrap with him just then would have been as nectar to me. -To my astonishment, however, he suddenly subsided, and, walking out of -the room, left me to go on with my work undisturbed. I left the office -punctually at six that evening, and for the few remaining days I was -with him, the prearranged hours were rigidly adhered to. That was my -one and only experience in business. I tried to get on the staff of a -newspaper, but although I wrote to almost every editor in London, I did -not succeed. I am convinced that no post, outside that of a reporter, -for which I had neither the training nor the inclination, can be -obtained without the investment of money or colossal influence. - -I managed, however, to do some free lance work, and I derived no little -interest and amusement, though not much remuneration, interviewing for -a weekly journal called “Theatricals.” The first man of any note I -met was the late Sir Augustus Harris, to whom I introduced myself on -the stage of Drury Lane. It was during a rehearsal of the pantomime, -at which, if I remember rightly, Harry Nicholls, Herbert Campbell, -Dan Leno, and many other favourites of those times were present. Sir -Augustus listened to what I had to say with great courtesy, and told -me to go to Mr. Neil Forsyth. I did so, with the result that I was -offered a small post on the staff of the theatre. I was grateful to Mr. -Forsyth, who was one of the very kindest men that ever breathed, but -apart from the smallness of the salary, there were obstacles in the -way, and so I had to refuse. - -About this time I met a girl with whom I became madly infatuated, and -when she refused to marry me, I seriously contemplated suicide. It was -this episode that gave me the central idea for my first novel, “For -Satan’s Sake,” in which I introduced the girl, and which is written -very much round my own life. - -I am only too thankful now that she did not accept me, for I do not -know how I should have kept her, and that, apparently, as far as she -was concerned, was the only thing that mattered. - -I fought a desperate battle with myself for some time, and in the -end came to the grim resolution to go on living. It was when I was -recovering from this state of excessive mental dejection that I came -in contact with an old acquaintance, a public schoolman, at whose -suggestion I decided to try schoolmastering, and consequently obtained -a post at Daventry Grammar School. - -But I must now return to the principal subject of this narrative, -namely, ghosts. - -During the year I was in York Road I thoroughly explored the East -End, and in the coffee houses and restaurants of Poplar, Deptford, -Tilbury and Whitechapel I heard many first-hand accounts of hauntings. -Though it is not generally known, the East End of London is far more -haunted than the West. On one of my nocturnal rambles, I made the -acquaintance of a Russian Jew, who had an extraordinary mania for -spiders, which he kept in specially designed boxes with glass lids. -On their half-holidays he used to set his children to work collecting -flies and other insects, and the whole family used to revel in watching -the spiders gorge themselves on their victims. You could see he was -innately cruel by the hard twinkling of his little black eyes, and the -spasmodic twitching of his flat, greasy, white fingers, but he was -something of a scholar and he had a devout dread of ghosts. “There is a -haunted house close to here,” he said to me one evening; “if you like -to come with me I will introduce you to the owner. He is a Chinaman, -called King Ho, or some such outlandish name, and he keeps an opium -den.” - -King Ho did not require much of an introduction, for, as soon as we -entered, he fixed his little slit-like eyes on me and said: - -“Well, what do you want? A smoke?” - -“No,” I said. “I’ve come to hear about your ghosts. I’m interested in -them.” - -“There are plenty of them here,” he murmured; “the house is full of -them. Sit down!” - -I obeyed, and the Russian Jew went back to his spiders and left me -alone with the Chinaman. - -It was a dirty, sordid, ill-ventilated place, reeking with a dozen -different odours, and suggestive of vermin _ad libitum_, and diseases -of an Oriental origin and unspeakable nature. A curtain was drawn -across one end of the room, and noticing that my eyes wandered off in -that direction, King Ho got up and pulled aside the drapery. Two wooden -berths, one above the other, were discovered; the top one was empty, -and the lower occupied by a corpse-like Chinaman, who was lying on his -side, facing us, with absolutely no expression in his eyes or mouth. He -might have been dead the best part of a week. - -“He’s away in the rice fields of his native home,” King Ho said, -“talking to his wife and playing with his children. He goes there every -night at this time”—and he glanced at the big, round, wooden clock -hanging on the wall. - -“You mean he is dreaming,” I said. - -“No, I don’t,” King Ho retorted. “I mean he’s there—his spirit, his -intelligence is there. That thing you are looking at is only his -material body. He, and I, and others we know, don’t set much value -on that, we can get out of it so easily. It’s the immaterial self we -esteem.” - -Then, seeing I was interested, he resumed his chair, and stretching -out his long, thin, yellow hand, he touched me on the arm. - -“Listen,” he said, “we, Chinamen, who come from the fields and -mountains, and grow up in close touch with Nature, can concentrate. -From our infancy upwards we think deeply. We think of the sky, the -stars, the sun, the moon, the mighty Hoang Ho River and the vast range -of the Pelings. We think of them in a sense quite different from the -sense in which you Londoners would think of them. You would regard -them as so many objects only—sky and land-marks. We think of them -as spirits that can act as magnets to our spirits—as intelligences -akin to ourselves, that can, when once we become thoroughly acquainted -with them, draw us to them. The Pelings live just as much as you and I -live—you might pull down their body, that great, elevated frame you -style the mountains, just as you might overturn that bench; but the -real, the spiritual Pelings would still remain. When once you grasp -the idea that all Nature lives—that everything, even to the chairs -and tables, have immaterial representatives, then you will begin to -understand the principle of the concentration we practise. You must see -the Pelings, the Hoang-Ho, the rice fields, not as they would appear -to the man in the street here, here in London, Piccadilly, but as we, -who live near them and know them, see them—as figures that can see -and hear, figures with intelligence, expression—intense expression in -their eyes. When you see them like that, you will get to love them, -and, when you love them, you will unconsciously concentrate on them, as -you do on all things that you love. Your love will not be in vain, it -will be reciprocated, and the love that reciprocates yours will, as a -magnet, draw you—you—your immaterial ego—your true self—towards it. -Now you begin to understand, I can tell by your face. The Chinaman—the -Chinaman of the plains and hills—like myself, _thinks_—he knows -Nature, and when he leaves China and comes over here, he concentrates -until he hears the voice of that Nature calling to him; and when he -hears it, his spirit is gently freed from his material body, and borne -silently and instantaneously to his home. - -“Now, he can think best when he can get some at least of the conditions -of his native surroundings—and the most important of them is silence. -Not silence such as you may understand it, but the silence of the -conscious, inanimate hills, and rivers, and plains—and the only way to -procure it is through opium—the opium I supply. Hence he comes here, -takes it, and lies over yonder, and thinks, till he hears the call and -his spirit is released.” - -“But the ghosts,” I interrupted, “the ghosts you spoke about.” - -“Wait,” he said. “Listen! Sometimes men have come here who have lost -the love of the spirit of the mountain and river. They have lost it -because they have liked too much this London of yours, and have imbibed -too deeply of that detestable immorality, which so weakens the spirit -that it cannot, even if it heard the call, get away from the flesh. I -tell those men that my opium will do them no good, but they take it; -they take it, and dream as Englishmen would dream—with their spirits -chained to their material bodies. When these depraved Chinamen awake -and realise that they can never, never again, be drawn by the mighty, -majestic love of the Spirit of the Mountain and River, and that they -can never again revisit the home of their childhood, so bitter is -their disappointment that they kill themselves—not always here, but -anywhere—in their lodgings, in the river, or in the docks. Their -spirits then invariably come here, where, undoubtedly, they renew their -vain efforts to get back to China—to the mighty, majestic Spirit of -the Mountain and River, whose love they have lost. Look in that top -berth and tell me what you see there?” - -“It’s empty,” I said. - -“Look again,” he replied. - -I did so, but still there was nothing there, only just the bare, dingy -panelling. - -“Well,” he asked, “what now?” - -“Nothing,” I said; “absolutely nothing.” - -“Go up to it and put one hand inside,” he remarked. - -I did so, and sprang back with a loud cry. I had touched a face! - -“Yes,” he said, as I stepped out into the semi-darkness of the -causeway, “it frightens some people, but it never frightens me, because -I know that the only consolation possible for these unhappy spirits is -to lie next to, or to come in contact with, the bodies of those whose -spirits are walking and talking with their fond ones in distant China.” - -Whilst I was at York Road I became acquainted with an Irish doctor, -whom I will call Flynn. He ran a surgery not far from King Ho’s house. -Flynn belonged to a famous secret society, whose fundamental object -was to carry on a doctrine of surreptitious hatred to England and all -things English. Though I had no sympathy with such a society—for I -have always held the opinion that, however badly England behaved to -Ireland in the past, the majority of the English people of to-day are -only too anxious to act fairly to her, and therefore it is better to -let bygones be bygones—I found Flynn a very original and entertaining -character. All his patients were either Irish or of foreign extraction, -and whenever any English person came to the surgery, he flatly refused -to attend them. - -One evening, when I was sitting chatting with him in front of a blazing -peat fire—Flynn would never burn English coal—two Swedish engineers -came into the surgery, and Flynn, who, for some peculiar reason, was -particularly partial to the Swedes, asked them to join us at supper. -The meal certainly was not in the approved style of the West End, -nor, perhaps, would it have appealed to the nouveau riche; for there -was no snowy tablecloth, no serviettes, no champagne, no liqueurs; it -consisted of boiled beef, suet dumplings, potatoes—boiled in their -skins, of course—and plenty, yes, plenty, of stout and whiskey; and it -was very welcome to the four hungry, healthy men, who did ample justice -to it. After we had finished, and pipes were produced, I brought up the -subject of ghosts—never very far from my mind—and one of the Swedes -laughed. - -“Ghosts,” he said, “there are no such things. Neither ghosts nor -fairies. I believe in nothing. There is no God, no devil, no heaven, no -hell. When we die, we die—there is no future life whatever.” - -“Let’s have a séance,” Flynn said, “and see if we can’t convince him. I -have the skeleton of a murderer in the room overhead. I will fetch it -down, and it shall sit round the table with us.” - -“All right!” the sceptical Swede, whose name was Nielssen, said. “Fetch -it down; fetch twenty skeletons you like, the more the merrier. Nothing -will convince me.” - -Flynn ran upstairs, and presently reappeared with a tall skeleton in -his arms. The table was cleared, and we all sat round it with our -hands spread out after the usual manner of table turners, the skeleton -being placed between the two Swedes, each of whom had hold of one of -its hands. Flynn then turned down the lights, and we started asking -the table questions, many of which, I fear, were of a very ribald and -frivolous nature. Every now and then it gave a big tilt, and Nielssen -shouted, “That’s for me! It’s my mother-in-law—she’s found out I’ve -been making love to my landlady’s daughter.” Once there was a rap, and -for the moment I was taken in. Then the other Swede, Heilborn, cried -out, “It’s only Nielssen. He did it with his foot; he’s incorrigible!” -This sort of thing went on for some time, Flynn and Nielssen constantly -playing some prank, and Heilborn and myself not always too serious. - -Suddenly the atmosphere of the room seemed to undergo a change, and, as -if by common consent, we were all silent. Then Nielssen uttered a sharp -cry of pain. - -“Strike a light quickly,” he cried; “my hand is being hurt frightfully!” - -We did so, and Nielssen gave vent to an expression of relief. - -“How did it happen?” Heilborn asked. - -“I don’t know,” Nielssen said faintly. He was evidently much shaken, -and spoke with the emotion of a man who has undergone some violent -shock. “I was only holding the skeleton the same as you, when I -suddenly felt its fingers close like a vice on mine. It was a grip of -iron. See, my hand is crushed almost out of shape!” He held it out, and -we all bent over it curiously. Compared with the other hand, it looked -singularly white and limp, and when Flynn touched it, Nielssen very -perceptibly winced. - -Flynn gave him some brandy, and after a little while he seemed himself -again; but he would not continue the séance. “There’s something very -odd about the skeleton,” he said. “I don’t believe in spirits, as you -know, but there must be something closely akin to one attached to this -thing,” and he gave it a vicious kick with his foot. - -A week later, when I called at Flynn’s house, he told me that Nielssen -was in bed. He had fallen downstairs and badly bruised his spine, -besides breaking a leg. “He’ll get over it all right,” Flynn said, -“but it will be some time before he can do anything. His account of -the accident is most remarkable; in fact, he declares that it wasn’t -an accident, that he was deliberately thrown. He swears that he -distinctly saw a skeleton hand suddenly catch hold of him round the -ankle, and that the next moment he felt himself whirling through the -air. He is most emphatic in his declaration that he will never again -scoff at ghosts or play with the invisible. And now,” Flynn added, -“the wretched thing has begun to plague me. I can’t get a decent -night’s sleep. As soon as I begin to doze I am visited by the most -disturbing dreams. I invariably hear knocking at the door, and when I -open it, something rushes in and strangles me. But the worst of it is, -I hear the knocking when I’m awake, too. Sometimes it begins directly -I get into bed, before my head has touched the pillow. Knock, knock, -knock!—the hard, sharp knock of bony knuckles on door, walls and -furniture. I am not actually frightened, but I don’t like it. What do -you make of it?” - -“If it’s not the skeleton, the spirit of some depraved human,” I -replied, “it’s some other equally low and vicious earth-bound, one -of the class that visit séances and attach themselves to the unlucky -sitter. You might try getting rid of the skeleton—have it cremated and -see what effect that has.” - -Flynn took my advice; the skeleton was reduced to ashes, and the ashes -buried many miles away from Limehouse Causeway, after which, the -disturbances, as far as Flynn was concerned, at any rate, entirely -ceased. Whether Nielssen was victimised again I cannot say. He rejoined -his ship as soon as he had recovered, and since then he has completely -passed out of my existence. - -There was a house I used occasionally to go to in Whitechapel, a -rendezvous of itinerant free lance writers like myself, where, -although I never actually saw any ghostly phenomena, I always had -very extraordinary impressions. The moment I crossed the threshold, I -fancied I was in a big funeral procession following a hearse. It was -a dull, winter’s day, I thought; there were inches of slush on the -ground, and the cold was intense. I could not see the faces of the -people walking beside me, but I instinctively knew that they wore an -expression of extreme relief, and that some even of them should-be -mourners laughed. We tramped on till we came to a steep hill, then -there was a loud report, and at once everything became chaotic. After -this my mind gradually cleared and the impressions abruptly ceased. -There was no variation in these impressions, they always began and -ended in precisely the same way; moreover, I invariably received -them whenever I entered the house. I mentioned my experience one day -to an habitué of the place, and he quite casually informed me that -several men who went there had had similar experiences, and he thought -the landlord, if approached tactfully, might offer some sort of -explanation. Acting upon this suggestion, I spoke to the landlord, and -learned from him that half a century or more ago the house was owned by -a wealthy tradesman, who, it was generally supposed, had made his money -by sweating his employés. When he died, all the hands had to attend his -funeral, but far from looking sad, as they followed the coffin, they -had exhibited every manifestation of joy. Just as the procession had -reached the summit of a steep hill, a half-witted man fired a gun from -a cottage window, and the horses drawing the hearse, taking fright, -dashed down the incline and into a wall at the foot of it. Strange to -say, no one was injured, but the coffin was thrown out and broken to -pieces. The event made a great impression upon the minds of all who -witnessed it, and the landlord informed me that I was by no means the -only person who, upon entering the house, had received a vivid mental -picture of the scene. - -I am often asked if I am a consistent medium. No, I am not. It is only -at times I see ghosts, only at times I receive vivid impressions, and -I do not believe that any person, however mediumistic, can depend upon -his or her psychic faculty for consistency. I have been to several -public séances, where professional mediums have had the audacity to say -they see spirits standing beside practically everyone in the assembly. -They rattle off the description of an alleged spirit, as if it were a -part in a well-rehearsed play—and play it undoubtedly is to anyone -who pauses to reflect. Genuine phantasms do not come to order quite so -readily. - -In olden times, when people were really psychic, those versed in the -art from their childhood upwards could only raise a ghost with great -difficulty, and often, only by resorting to spells, many of which were -of a very subtle and complex nature. And when, in the end, they did -succeed, such manifestations invariably had a very alarming effect on -the medium as well as the spectator. How is it, then, that so many of -the professional mediums of to-day can not only see visitants from -the other world, whenever they like, all around them, but can view -these ghostly visitants without being in the least disconcerted, -without—as the saying is—turning a hair? Have they really stronger -nerves than had Saul, and a closer, far closer intimacy with the -Unknown than had the Witch of Endor, or can it be that the Spirit -World has so participated in our age of quickness—our rapid forms -of locomotion—that a medium has only to raise his or her eyebrows -and a host of spirits at once whiz into the room? I do not think so. -I believe that such mediums—the mediums whose psychic vision is -apparently inexhaustible, and can be turned on and off to order—are -either unmitigated humbugs or hysterical dupes, who mistake the baldest -impressions for actual spiritual phenomena. - -The unmitigated humbug has only to describe the alleged presence with a -little elasticity, and the description will surely fit—albeit somewhat -loosely—one or another of our departed friends. Who amongst us does -not know someone on the other side passably good-looking, rather tall, -of medium colouring, and somewhat stout? And if we plead that we do -not, it is of no consequence—the medium glibly asserts that the spirit -he or she describes has got behind our chair by mistake, and is really -searching for someone else. But apart from this obvious fraud, can we -believe that any one of those whom we have loved and lost would so -degrade themselves and us as to appear at a public séance before a -company of strangers. Surely we would rather not see them at all, than -see them in such circumstances. At any rate, we would rather—much -rather—possess our souls in patience, until our departed loved ones -can appear to us in private—as they sometimes can—without the -intervention of any medium whatsoever. - -With regard to automatic or spirit writing, there is, I believe, just -as much fraud practised. The mere fact that Sir somebody or other -has a touching belief in one or two of these automatic scribes is -quite enough for most people, and, consequently, they never dream of -questioning the integrity of any medium who professes to convey to them -messages from the dead. It is sufficient that the man with the title, -the great man of science, believes. But they forget, often wilfully -forget, that the cleverest man is often the most simple; that a great -judge has not unfrequently had his pockets picked; and that eminence in -one direction by no means denotes ability in another. - -Snobbishness is responsible for much. The big man is credulous, and -because he is credulous the little man is credulous too. Hence, -consistency in the spirit world, in clairvoyance, in automatic -writing, is, for the moment, almost universally accepted, and direct -communication with the spirit world erroneously looked upon as an -every-day occurrence. It will be otherwise when the man in the street -wakes up and discovers the occult for himself. Experience will, I -think, teach him, as it has taught me, that although ghosts may on very -rare occasions come to order—and when they do, their coming is, I -believe, quite as surprising to the medium as it is to the audience—by -far the greater number of superphysical phenomena appear spontaneously; -and it is through such spontaneous appearances only that we can hope to -make any progress in our communication with the other world. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -NIGHT RAMBLINGS ON WIMBLEDON COMMON AND HOUNSLOW HEATH - - -If there are any places in London that should be more haunted than -others, assuredly those places are the parks and commons. When I was -living on the south side of the river, I spent many nights tramping -about Wimbledon, Clapham, Wandsworth, Tooting and Streatham Commons. -Since then I have lived at Blackheath, Hampstead, Hounslow and Dulwich, -so that I may say I know pretty nearly every inch of these places. I -can see myself now standing on Wimbledon Common close to a pool, in the -dead of night. No one about, and the reflection of the moon staring -at me from the unruffled surface of the water. I am trying to get -impressions of any event that may have taken place there. I got none. -Suddenly a hand falls on my shoulder; I swing round, and peering into -my face is the white, haggard face of a tramp. - -“You ain’t going to drown yourself, are you?” he said. - -“Why?” I asked, anticipating a severe rebuke from this withered and -worn scarecrow of humanity. - -“Why,” he said, “because don’t do it here! I can show you a much better -spot, where the water is deep, and where, when once you get in, you -can’t very easily get out.” - -“But how will that benefit you?” I enquired, wondering why he was so -eager. - -“You can let me have your clothes, can’t you?” he explained; “you won’t -want to take them with you into the next world. From what I hears -about it, sperrits don’t need neither coats nor trousers, and the few -shillings I shall get for them will do me a bit of good, and won’t hurt -you.” - -“But I wasn’t contemplating suicide,” I remarked. “I’m not tired of -life yet.” - -“Ain’t you,” he said, in extremely disappointed tones. “Then why are -you out here at this time of night?” - -“If it comes to that,” I observed, “why are you?” - -“I ain’t got nowhere else to go,” he said; “and there are no police out -here to disturb anyone.” - -“Nor ghosts?” I remarked. - -“Ghosts!” he chuckled. “I’m not afraid of ghosts. I shall soon be one -myself, I expect; but there is one spot here I don’t go near after -dark.” - -“Why?” - -“Why,” he said. “Come along with me, and maybe you’ll guess.” - -Had he been anything like my size I should not have gone, for his -appearance was very far from assuring, but, as he was a small man, -I felt comparatively safe. We walked side by side over the grass, -crossed a gleaming, white path, and steering in a slightly northerly -direction—I could tell that much by the stars—abruptly halted in -front of a shallow pit, on the other side of which was a big bush. - -“It’s there,” he said, pointing at the pit. “I’ve tried to sleep there -twice, and each time I’ve been woken up by hearing something heavy -fall close to my head. It seems to come from the bush. It’s the bush -that skeers me,” he added, “and though I don’t mind passing it in the -day-time, nothing on earth will persuade me to look behind it after -dark.” - -“Not even sixpence,” I said, fingering that coin in my waistcoat pocket. - -“Go on,” he said, “you haven’t sixpence, otherwise you’d not be here. -You’re joking. If anyone really did offer me sixpence now to do it, -well, I don’t say but what I mightn’t try.” - -He spoke so hungrily and looked so famished that I decided to part with -it, though sixpence to me just then had a particularly real value. I -showed it him. “Look behind that tree,” I said, “and I’ll give it you.” - -He set off at once. “No,” I called out, “that won’t do; you must go -through the pit.” He proceeded to obey, and was in the middle of the -hollow, when I distinctly heard something very heavy strike the ground -apparently close to him. I ran round the bush, just in time to see what -I thought was a black shadow shoot across the ground and disappear in a -neighbouring cluster of trees. When I returned, the tramp was still in -the pit, but I could see nothing there to account for the noise. - -“Well,” he said. “Did you hear it?” - -“I heard something,” I replied, “and there’s your sixpence.” - -I often went to Wimbledon Common afterwards, but never again saw the -tramp, nor found the hollow. - -My Blackheath and Greenwich Park experiences, or at least most of them, -are narrated fully in my “Haunted Houses of London,” so that I can only -refer briefly to them here. - -From the impressions I got, when walking on the Common at Blackheath, -I shall always believe that the superphysical influences there are -particularly demoralising. It always seemed to me that Blackheath—by -the way a curiously appropriate name—might be the rendezvous of the -very worst type of earth-bound phantasms of the dead, and of the most -vicious neutrarians. - -After leaving London and entering on my scholastic career, I was -first of all a master at Daventry, then tutor in an Irish family at -Aldershot, and then, in succession, a master in preparatory schools at -Wandsworth, Hereford and Blackheath. Of these various posts, I liked -that at Blackheath the least, partly because the headmaster there was -the most unmitigated snob, and my pupils hopelessly spoilt, and partly -because I had such a detestation of the heath after dark. - -My only consolation in those days was cricket and writing. Every -evening, after my work with the boys was done, I repaired to a room -over a library in Blackheath village, and it was there that I completed -my first novel, “For Satan’s Sake.” - -The book deals with the soul of a suicide, and was based, as I have -already stated, on my experiences in America and York Road, Lambeth. -I tried it with various publishers, but without success, and it was -not until six years later, when I was living in a small fishing town -in Cornwall, that I eventually got it taken. It so happened that a -well-known novelist came to see me one day, and when I told him that I -had attempted a book, he said he would like to see it. I fished it out -of the box, where it had lain undisturbed for years, and he went off -with it, subsequently showing it to a reader of a publishing firm—also -a well-known novelist—who was staying in the town at the time, and who -was so impressed with it, that he advised his firm to accept it. It did -not even then come out for over a year, and the anxiety of awaiting my -début as an author can better be imagined than described. The success I -prayed for was not showered upon me, but the book was well received on -the whole, and paved the way for other works to follow. - -And now, let me hie back to London and its commons. Though Hampstead -has, in all probability, its share of phantasms, my impressions there -have been of a more agreeable nature than at Blackheath. I spent the -greater part of several consecutive nights one summer sitting on a -bench in a very rustic glade on the heath, waiting for anything that -might happen. Once or twice between one and two something seemed to be -making a violent effort to materialise, and I fully expected to see a -figure suddenly appear before me. My impressions were that it would be -the figure of a woman, and that she would be carrying a white bundle -in her arms. I felt that she was in great trouble and wanted to ask -me for advice. I associated her worries with a big house that used to -stand somewhere near the summit of Hampstead Hill. I felt all this very -acutely, and I used to repeat aloud my willingness to do anything I -could to assist her. - -Strange to say, a few years later, I met a lady who told me that she -had had a curious experience in the same spot. She was walking through -it rather late one autumn evening, accompanied by her dog, a big black -retriever. When she came to the seat where I used to sit, the dog -started barking and showed signs of great terror. Somewhat alarmed, -she was about to hurry on, when a voice close to her said, “It’s only -me, Winifred; don’t be frightened. The boat I sailed in to America was -wrecked, and only the child was saved.” - -The lady looked round, but there was no one in sight. On reaching -home, she mentioned the incident to her mother, who exclaimed in -astonishment, “Well, that is odd! I was sitting on a seat, I should -think in that very spot, about forty years ago—we were living in D—— -House, on Haverstock Hill, at the time—when a letter was brought me -announcing the loss of a big sailing vessel in the Atlantic, on which -my maid, Winnie, as we used to call her, had sailed with her husband -to America. Only a very few of the passengers and crew survived, and -Winnie and her husband were both drowned. But I never knew they had a -child.” - -Hounslow Heath should teem with ghosts, for it once swarmed with -foot-pads, who, after committing every conceivable act of violence on -and around the heath, usually ended their career there on gibbets. I -once had rooms near the Bath Road, and spent many nights rambling -about the Heath in quest of ghostly adventure. One evening I kept -fancying I was followed everywhere by a tall, muffled figure, and when, -in alarm, I hastened over the grass on to the roadway, I heard a low, -cynical laugh. All the way home the steps seemed to pursue me, and when -I got into bed and prepared to blow out the light, I saw the curtains -by the window rustle and swell out, as if someone was behind them. It -was a long time before I ventured to blow out the light, and, when I -slept, I dreamed a dark, hooded figure was bending over me. - -On another occasion, as I perambulated the heath, where the trees were -thickly clustered and the undergrowth had become the densest tangle, I -caught a glimpse of two men playing dice. I heard their laughter and -the rattling of the box, as they shook it in the air and threw out -the dice. Then suddenly their gaiety was turned to wrath—there were -oaths and blows, cries and groans, and all became silent, save for the -soughing and moaning of the wind through the lofty tree-tops. But as I -came away from the heath, there was again that cynical laugh, and again -footsteps seemed to follow me home, and again the curtain by the window -of my room shook and swelled. - -I did not go to the heath one night; I lay awake in bed instead, and -about the hour I had usually returned I heard steps, long, swinging -steps coming down the little side road towards the house. My memory -at once went back to that night in Dublin, and I strained my ears to -catch the accompanying sound. I had not long to wait—it soon came, the -same old familiar click, click, click! In an agony of fear, lest the -steps should stop at the house and there should be a repetition of the -terrible knocking at the door, I lighted a candle and sat up. Nearer -and nearer they came, and then, when I felt certain they would stop, to -my infinite relief they went on. On past the house, the echoes ringing -out loud and clear in the keen, frosty air, until they reached the Bath -Road. - -I fully expected some misfortune would happen to me after this -occurrence, as the last time I had heard the steps had been at the time -of my failure to pass the medical for the R.I.C., and shortly before -my disastrous trip to America. Yet nothing of a specially untoward -nature happened. Apparently, the steps on this occasion merely heralded -another change in my vocation, for I shortly afterwards became imbued -with the desire to be an actor, and commenced what was destined to be -a lively, though very brief theatrical career, as a pupil in the Henry -Neville Studio, Oxford Street. - -Before, however, passing on to subsequent events, I must relate one -other—the only other—ghostly happening I experienced at Hounslow. In -a remote corner of the heath there was one spot that had a peculiar -fascination for me, and, whenever I returned from it, I dreamed the -same dream—that a beautiful girl in an old-world costume, with fair -hair, large, blue eyes and daintily-moulded lips, approached my bed and -leaned over me. She had the most appealing expression in her face, and -seemed to be anxious to make me her confidant. I was always about to -address her, when some extraordinary metamorphosis took place, and I -awoke, palpitating with terror. - -The dream greatly impressed me, and I tried my best to discover a -reason for it. I did eventually, but not until the year I published -“Some Haunted Houses of England and Wales,” when I got into -correspondence with a very old lady, whom I will call Miss Carmichael. -Miss Carmichael lived at Ealing, close to the Parish Church, and wrote -to me to the effect that, if I liked to call on her, she could tell me -a curious tale about an old house that used to stand on the outskirts -of Hounslow Heath. Of course I accepted this invitation. - -I found Miss Carmichael, when I called, lying on a sofa, crippled with -rheumatism, but otherwise in the full possession of all her senses, and -wonderfully vivacious, despite the fact that she was well over ninety. - -“The house I want to tell you about,” she said, “was called ‘The -Gables.’ It was a large, old-fashioned manor house with very extensive -grounds, and at the beginning of the last century it belonged to my -aged relative, Miss Denning. She never lived in it herself, but she -kept it in excellent repair, and at her death, in or about 1820, her -nephew inherited an apparently valuable property. Now, Tom Denning had -a great friend, Dick Mayhew, and it was from Dick Mayhew, who was also -a great friend of mine, that I heard the most detailed account of the -hauntings. I will try and tell you the story just as my friend told it -to me.”[3] - - [3] I have reproduced the gist of this narrative in my own - language. - - * * * * * - -“I was sitting in my stuffy office in Jermyn Street one spring morning, -when, who should suddenly walk in but Tom Denning, whom I had not seen -for some time. ‘Why, Dick,’ he said, ‘how fagged and run down you look. -A spell in the country is what you need, it would do you all the good -in the world. Supposing you come down to my place at Hounslow, and have -a blow on the Heath. I keep a couple of horses, and you can ride all -day if you like.’ - -“What surprises you spring on one,” I ejaculated. “I didn’t know you -were living so near London—and at Hounslow, too! Aren’t you afraid of -highwaymen. I hear they still visit the place occasionally. How long -have you been there?” - -“I haven’t been there yet,” Dick replied with a laugh; “at least, not -to stay. The property has just been left me by my aunt. It’s a queer -old house, just the kind of place a romantic beggar like you would -like, and if any house ought to be haunted, it ought. They say a murder -was once committed there by an ancestress of mine, a girl whose face -was as beautiful as she herself was evil, and that her spirit still -roams the house and grounds.” - -“I should certainly like to see her,” I said, “and so, I am sure, would -Greg.” (Greg was Dick’s bloodhound). - -“Well, I’ll give you both an opportunity,” Tom laughed. “Take Greg with -you, and a friend too, if you like, for I may not be able to join you -at once.” - -“I accepted, and in due course arrived at ‘The Gables,’ accompanied by -my cousin Ralph, who was then a Lieutenant in the Buffs, and Greg. - -“The grounds surrounding ‘The Gables,’ which stood near the edge of the -heath, were encompassed by a very high, red-brick wall, and consisted -of a broad, well-kept lawn in front, a small spinney on one side, an -extensive shrubbery on the other, and big kitchen gardens at the back. -The house itself, seventeenth century and covered with ivy from tip to -toe, was picturesque in the extreme. There were no servants, only the -caretakers, a middle-aged man and his wife, who occupied rooms in the -east wing. The west wing was reserved for us. - -“After dinner, in a hall so enormous that it made us feel positively -lilliputian, we wandered out into the garden. It was a glorious night, -the sky one mass of silver, scintillating stars, the air redolent with -the odour of spring flowers. ‘By Jove,’ Ralph remarked to me, as we -strolled across the lawn, ‘By Jove! No one would think we were so close -to that God-forsaken heath; why, it was only a few years ago that a -fellow in my regiment was set on there, and, after being robbed of all -he had on him, half beaten to death with bludgeons. It’s one of the -worst cut-throat spots round London.’ Then he uttered an exclamation of -surprise and jogged my elbow. - -“Coming towards us from the house was the figure of a young girl. She -wore a white dress with a dark cloak flung loosely over her shoulders, -and the moonlight playing over her face revealed a countenance of -extraordinary delicacy and beauty. Her eyes were large and childlike in -their expression, her lips daintily modelled, her teeth wonderfully -white and even, her hair golden. Whether it was the effect of the -moonlight on them or not, I cannot say, but her cheeks were absolutely -devoid of colour, almost strikingly pale, whilst I fancied I detected -in the slightly open mouth an expression of pain. I saw every detail -most distinctly, even to the shape of her fingers, which were very -pointed. She came on without apparently noticing us, and we watched her -trip past us and disappear in the spinney. - -“‘What a stunner!’ Ralph exclaimed. ‘I don’t know when I’ve seen a -prettier face! Sly fellow, Denning! I wonder who she can be!’ He had -hardly finished speaking when we heard the most awful scream, a shriek -of terror and despair, such as sent all the blood in my body to my -heart, and left the rest of me like ice. - -“‘My God! What’s happened to her?’ Ralph gasped. ‘She’s being murdered. -Quick!’ We dashed into the spinney, but despite the fact that we -searched everywhere, no girl was to be found. - -“Returning to the house, we made enquiries of the caretakers, who were -vehement in their denial of knowing the girl or of having heard her -cries. Much puzzled, we then retired to our night quarters. The room -that had been assigned to us, for we preferred to share one between us, -was situated about midway down a long, narrow corridor, lighted at the -further end by a casement window, across which sprays of ivy blew to -and fro in the cool breeze. - -“For a long time we sat in front of the fire chatting, but at one -o’clock Ralph got up, and exclaimed that it was high time we turned -into bed. - -“‘Hullo, look at Greg!’ he said, pointing to the dog, who was crouching -on the floor in front of the door showing its teeth in a series of -savage growls. ‘What’s the matter with him?’ - -“Before I had time to reply, we suddenly heard a regular, measured tap, -tap, tap, as of high-heeled shoes, coming along the corridor towards -our door. - -“‘That can’t be either the caretaker or his wife,’ Ralph whispered. -‘I wonder if it’s the young lady! Perhaps she’s going to pay us a -surreptitious visit. I only wish she would—the little darling!’ - -“Nearer and nearer came the steps, until they seemed to stop just -outside our door. Greg’s hair bristled, he gave a deep growl, and -retreated half way across the room. Then there came a loud knock on the -door, followed by the sound of a violent scuffle. Springing forward, -Ralph threw the door wide open. There was nothing there, only the cold -light of the moon, and the white, motionless faces of the Dennings’ -ancestors hanging on the walls. - -“‘It’s deuced odd,’ Ralph said. ‘I swear I heard steps and a knock, and -yet there’s nothing to account for it. Could it have been rats?’ - -“‘I don’t think so,’ I said; ‘rats wouldn’t have frightened Greg. Look -at him now; he has quite recovered.’ Greg had come to my side and was -licking my hand and wagging his tail. - -“In the morning I asked the caretaker’s wife if the place was haunted. - -“‘Haunted,’ she stammered. ‘No. Whatever made you think of such a -thing, sir! There ain’t no such things as ghosts. It’s them howls you -’eard.’ - -“Seeing there was nothing to be got out of her, Ralph and I did not -refer to the subject again, but spent our time reading in the library, -and wandering about the heath. - -“In the evening we sauntered out into the garden and tried to coax Greg -to come with us, but he resolutely refused, and so we had to leave him -behind. Just about the same time as on the previous evening, and in -identically the same place, we again saw the girl. - -“‘I’ll speak to her, hanged if I don’t,’ Ralph muttered, and taking -off his hat, he stepped forward and accosted her. Without apparently -perceiving us, she passed resolutely on, and, entering the spinney, was -speedily lost to sight. Almost directly afterwards, the same awful, -wailing scream rose shrill and high on the still night air. This time -we did not rush after her, but, walking hurriedly back to the house, we -sought the companionship of the bright and cheery fireside. - -“At one o’clock we were again seated in our bedroom, and the events of -the preceding night were repeated in every detail. - -“On the morrow Tom joined us. When we told him of the ghost, he became -intensely interested. - -“‘It must be my ancestress,’ he said. ‘The girl who was supposed to -have murdered somebody. I’ll sit up with you two fellows to-night and -we’ll have the door open.’ - -“After dinner we all three went into the garden. - -“‘It’s here we first caught sight of her,’ Ralph exclaimed, as we -halted on the lawn, ‘here, and precisely at this hour. Yes—by -Jove!—and there she is!’ - -“I looked, and there was the figure I knew so well, tripping daintily -towards us, her yellow hair and silver shoe buckles gleaming furiously -in the moonlight. - -“‘She wears a hood,’ Tom cried, ‘and it completely hides her face.’ - -“‘What!’ Ralph retorted; ‘she has no hood, you must be dreaming.’ - -“As before, the girl passed us and we lost sight of her amongst the -trees. The next moment, and we again heard her scream. Then we searched -everywhere, but with no result. She was certainly not on the premises, -and as there was no avenue of escape save by scaling a ten foot -wall, we could only conclude she had melted into fine air, in other -words—vanished. - -“‘I’ll get to the bottom of this mystery,’ Tom growled between his -teeth, ‘if I root up every tree in the garden.’ - -“‘What you’ve seen so far,’ Ralph observed, ‘is only the prelude. -There’s more to come, and I’m not sure if Act II. is not the most -exciting. What do you think, Dick?’ - -“‘Ask Greg,’ I replied. ‘I believe he knows more about it than we do.’ - -“On arriving indoors, we all three retired to the bedroom we had agreed -to share. The night was so exquisite that I sat by the open window. -Directly beneath me was the gravel drive, which lay like a broad, -white belt encircling the house, and beyond it, on the level sweep of -lawn, danced the shadows from the larch and fir trees in the paddock; -the only sign of life came from the bats and night birds that wheeled -and skimmed in silent flight in and out the bushes. There was very -little breeze, sufficient only to make the ivy rustle and the window -in the corridor outside give the faintest perceptible jar. I gazed at -my companions. Ralph lay on the sofa, sound asleep, a half-serious, -half-amused look on his handsome features, while Tom sat in an armchair -directly in front of the fire, his head buried in the palms of his -hands, as if wrapt in profound thought. A distant church clock boomed -one. Greg growled, and Tom, at once springing up, flung the door widely -back on its hinges. ‘There,’ he said. ‘Come what may, we’re ready for -it.’ As he concluded, there came a tapping. - -“Tap, tap, tap; someone in high-heeled shoes was walking over the -polished oak boards of the corridor in our direction. To me there was a -world of stealth and cautiousness in the sounds, that suggested a host -of conflicting motives. As the steps drew nearer, the door suddenly -swung to with a loud crash, and before we had time to recover from our -astonishment, someone rapped. With a shout of baffled rage, Tom leaped -to his feet and tore at the handle. The massive door at once flew open. -The corridor was empty—only moonbeams and pictures—nothing more. - -“The following day was wet, and we stayed indoors, all the morning and -afternoon, reading. As it cleared up a little towards supper-time, Tom -proposed going for a short walk. We slipped on our overcoats, and were -crossing the big entrance hall to the front door, when Tom suddenly -exclaimed, ‘Hang it! I’ve left my pipe upstairs. I say, wait a minute, -you fellows, till I get it.’ He started running, and then stopped -short, giving vent to a loud exclamation. Ascending the broad staircase -in front of us was a form, whose back view exactly resembled that of -the golden-haired beauty we had seen in the garden. Where she had -sprung from we could not say. We only knew she was there. - -“‘By Jove! I’ll see her face this time,’ Tom said. ‘I’ll see it, even -if I have to force her to turn round.’ He ran after her, and, mounting -the stairs two at a time, stretched out his hand to pluck at her -sleeve. She turned, and her face was to us a blank. What Tom saw we -never knew. Shouting, ‘Take the damned thing away from me!’ he stepped -back and fell; and when we ran forward, we found him lying at the foot -of the stairs—dead.” - -The property, Miss Carmichael informed me, passed to a distant -relative, who, after trying in vain to let it, pulled it down. The -ghost, it was rumoured, was that of a very beautiful ancestress of -the Dennings, who, after leading a life, evil even for those times, -disappeared. What happened to her material body no one ever knew, but -her spirit was supposed to haunt the house and grounds in dual form. -To the stranger, that is to say, to those outside her own family, -she appeared in all the radiant beauty of her earthly body, but to -the Dennings she seldom revealed her face. When she did, they beheld -something too terrible for the mind to conceive—and live. - -“I have heard,” Miss Carmichael added, “that the ghost has been seen -quite recently haunting the site once occupied by the house and -grounds, and also the borders of the heath.” - -And as Miss Carmichael was very emphatic on this last point, I may not -unreasonably conclude that the girl of my dreams was the actual ghost -of “The Gables.” - - - - -CHAPTER X - -MY VIEWS ON A FUTURE LIFE FOR THE ANIMAL AND VEGETABLE WORLDS - - -I mentioned in one of my former works that I believe many of the -figures we pass by in the streets are not men and women like ourselves, -but phantasms—phantasms of the living, that is to say, spirit -projections of people consciously or unconsciously thinking of being -where we see them—phantasms of the dead, and impersonating neutrarians. - -Mingling with the crowds in the parks and gliding in and out the trees, -I have often seen people with the pallor of corpses; I have followed -them, and they have unaccountably vanished. I believe Hyde Park, -particularly the northern side, to be as full of ghosts as any spot -in London, and I have heard many strange tales from the outcasts, the -tattered and torn brigade, who have slept all night under its trees and -bushes. The police are, I believe, expected to clear the Park before -locking-up time, and I’ve no doubt they try to do so, but they cannot -possibly look into every nook and cranny in that vast expanse, and -there are many in which one could easily hide and defy detection. I -have tried the experiment once, and I am not anxious to try it again; -there is no place so terribly depressing, so strangely suggestive of -suicide, and hauntings by the most grotesque type of neutrarians, as -London’s premier park by night. - -Some twelve or fifteen years ago, in my nightly rambles there, I -noticed that the seat beneath a certain tree, mid-way between the -Marble Arch and Lancaster Gate, was rarely occupied, whereas all the -other seats in that vicinity were invaded by couples. One evening, -the weather being warm and sultry, I went and sat there. I dozed off, -and eventually fell into a deep sleep. I dreamed that an old man and -a young girl stood under the tree, whispering, and that as I watched -them they raised their eyes, and looked in a horribly guilty manner, -not at me, but at the space next me, which I perceived, for the first -time, was occupied by a tiny child. Moving stealthily forward and -holding in their hands an outspread cloth, they crept up behind the -child, the cloth descended, and all three vanished. Then something made -me gaze up into the branches of the tree, and I saw a large, light, -colourless, heavily-lidded eye peering down at me with an expression -of the utmost malevolence. It was altogether so baneful, so symbolic -of cruelty, malice, and hate that I could only stare back at it in -mute astonishment. The whole shape of the tree then seemed to alter, -and to become like an enormous dark hand, which, swaying violently -to and fro, suddenly dived down and closed over me. I awoke at once, -but was so afraid of seeing the eye, that for some minutes I kept my -own eyes tightly shut. When I opened them, I saw, bending over me, a -very white face, and to my intense relief a voice, unmistakably human, -croaked, “No wonder you’re scared, sitting here at this time of night -by yourself.” - -The speaker was merely one of the many hundreds of tramps for whom the -Park was reception and bedroom combined. His hat was little more than -a rim, and his trousers cried shame on the ladies I saw every day with -their skirts plastered all over with buttons. His cheeks were hollow, -his eyes preternaturally bright, and his breath full of hunger. Still, -he was alive, and anything alive just then was very welcome. - -“I never sleep here,” he said; “none of us do.” - -“Why?” I asked. - -“Because it’s haunted,” he said. “You may laugh—so did I years ago, -afore I took to this sort of thing. But sleeping out-of-doors all night -has taught me more than any politicians, bishops, or schoolmasters -know; or any of those fine ladies that swell about in their carriages -know; I’ve seen sights that would make an hangel afraid; I’ve seen -ghosts of all sorts. They’re not all like us, neither. Some of them -ain’t human at all, they’re devils. You may laugh when you read about -them in them library books, but it’s no laughing matter when you see -them, as I’ve seen them, all alone and cold, in some wayside ditch. -This tree, I tell yer, is ’aunted—and it’s a devil that ’aunts it. Ask -my mates, any of them that you’ll find sleeping in the parks. There’s -many of them that ’ave experienced it. They’ve seen something hiding in -the branches, and when they’ve seen it, they’ve felt they must either -kill themselves or someone else. There’s a devil in the tree that -tempts one to do all kind of wicked things, and if you take my advice, -young man, you’ll sit somewhere else.” - -“I think I will,” I said; “and here’s something for your warning.” -I gave him threepence, the only coins I had on me just then, and, -overwhelming me with thanks, he shuffled away. - -Since that night I have often thought that the poor—the very -poor—know far more of the other world or worlds than do the rich, -and that they know more—far more—on other points than the rich. -The statesman talks of the people and the people’s needs, but what -does he know of the people and their needs? He rarely, if ever, goes -amongst them. Except in electioneering times, I doubt if any Member of -Parliament ever goes into the more squalid of our London districts. I -have seen one Member of the House of Lords eating whelks in a tavern -in the Limehouse Causeway, but he is an exception. Journalists go -there—but the leisured folk—never. - -It bores them; and yet how much they might learn, how much not only -of urgent human needs, but of coming storms. They might learn that -the East End brews whilst the West End sleeps, and that as surely as -the long-talked-of German war cloud—that war cloud they affected to -ridicule—has at last burst, so undoubtedly will the war cloud of -revolution; revolution hatched by malcontents of all nationalities in -East End doss houses and crowded coffee taverns. - -This is no empty prophecy. The cinders of the volcano have been hot for -some time—they are now burning hot—and the hour is fast approaching -when they will arise mightily in a red conflagration. Are we prepared -for it? It takes a very sound constitution to face a revolution with -perfect confidence. Are we sound? Can any constitution be sound when -the rich daily grow richer, and the poor, poorer. Where Art—all that -cries out for beauty, real beauty, beauty as it is seen and worshipped -by souls uninspired by lucre—is starved to death and crushed, limp and -lifeless, by the thumbscrews of a vain, shallow, mercenary mushroom -aristocracy on the one hand, and an equally selfish, crude, ignorant, -money-grabbing working class on the other. But let me say again it is -the East End, the ever watchful, never slumbering East End, that is -the thermometer of future events. And why? Because it is here that the -lean, hungry men of letters, who seldom, if ever, get their thoughts -transferred to print, are even now threshing out the nation’s destiny. -Threshing it out, consolidating it, whilst the monied men and women, -the present all-powerful nouveau riche—the beer, whiskey and tobacco, -peers and peeresses—the lords of the Stock Exchange, Banks and Divorce -Courts—those who have made their money out of the sins and follies -of the world, or by sweating and usury, are lolling in their soft, -upholstered chairs, smoking luxurious cigars and quaffing liqueurs. - -The war has done much: it has aroused patriotism, it has given rise to -self-sacrifice, but it has not touched the root of the gangrene, it -has not lessened our worship of the dollar. Individualism, as we know -it to-day, must collapse, and some better and purer system—a system -that does not encourage selfishness—must prevail. The people are dying -for change—for some great change that will give them fair play. This -is the people’s need—the need that you may hear voiced throughout -the length and breadth of the squalid East End. “We want a Government -that remembers its primary duties,” they cry. “A Government that is -father to its children, that loves, fosters and protects them. We have -never had one yet, but the hour may not be far distant when we shall -demand one.” This is what the people of leisure might learn, if they -visited the haunts I visit; and they might learn more beside. They -might learn of another world, a spirit world, such as is never alluded -to in the pulpits, with which people in the poorest parts—people who -are too poor to pay for beds—are forced to live in contact. Nights -in the parks and commons have taught these vagrants more, a thousand -times more, than they ever learned in Sunday or County Council Schools. -They have seen sights—spirits in the form of man and of beast, of -both and of neither—that have revealed to them how closely the other -world borders on this, and to what close supervision the inhabitants -of the other world subject some of us. They have learned, I say, what -no priest or preacher would, or could, teach them, namely, that the -hell of spirit-land lies on this earth, and that the worst of all -punishments is that of the poor phantasms of the dead, that glides in -and out the trees nocturnally, never meeting those it knew and loved, -but ever encountering the most terrifying of the spirits that are -hostile to man. - -[Illustration: “What gives me the worst fright is a tree....”] - -Our vagrants know, too, the power of these neutrarians, they know they -can adopt any shape, and tempt and goad man on to the committal of -any crime, however heinous. They have, moreover, acquired a further -knowledge—a knowledge denied and scoffed at by the ministry of all -Christian denominations—namely that all forms of animal and vegetable -life, all forms of flora and fauna, pass into the superphysical, and -live again. - -I myself first learned of a tree ghost from an old tramp, who came and -sat by my side on a seat on Clapham Common. - -“Do I ever see anything strange here at night?” he repeated in answer -to my question. “Yes, I do, at times, but what gives me the worst -fright is a tree that I sometimes see close to the spot where that man -was murdered some ten or twelve years ago. I never saw it before the -murder, but a few nights afterwards, as I was passing the spot, I saw -a peculiar glimmer of white, and, on getting a bit closer, I found, to -my astonishment, that it was a tall, slender white thing with branches -just like a tree, only it was not behaving like a tree. Although there -was not a breath of wind, it kept lurching with a strange, creaking -noise, and I felt it was watching me, watching me furtively, just as if -it had eyes, and was bent on doing me all the harm it possibly could. -I was so scared, I turned tail, and never ceased running till I had -reached home.” - -“Home!” I said. - -“Yes, a clump of bushes near the ditch, where I always turn in of -nights. It ain’t much of a home, to be sure, but it’s the only one I’ve -got, and I can generally count on lying there undisturbed till the -morning.” - -I gave him a few coppers, and he blessed me as if I had given him a -fortune. - -On Tooting Common I met a Northumberland miner, who had come to London -for the first time on a holiday, and, having had his pocket picked, -was obliged to spend the night out-of-doors. “Ghosts,” he said, when -I asked him if he had any experiences with the supernatural whilst -engaged in his underground work. “Ghosts! Yes, but of a nature you -don’t read about in books. Me and my mates, when working in a drift -at night, have heard the blowing of the wind and a mighty rustling of -leaves, and have found ourselves surrounded on all sides by numerous -trees and ferns that have suddenly risen from the ground and formed a -regular forest. They have not resembled any trees you see now-a-days, -but what you might fancy existed many thousands of years ago. There -has been no colour in them, only a uniform whiteness, and they have -shone like phosphorous. We have heard, too, all the noises, such as go -on daily in forests above-ground—the humming and buzzing of insects, -and the chirping of birds; and shafts and galleries have echoed and -re-echoed with the sounds, till you would have thought that those away -above us must have heard them, too.” - -I do not think the miner romanced, for what he said was only a -corroboration of what other miners have often told me. - -Of course, it is not every mine that is haunted in this way, or -every miner that sees such sights, for the Unknown confines its -manifestations to the few, but I firmly believe such phenomena do -happen, because as I state in my “Byways of Ghostland” (W. Rider & -Sons), I have seen several tree ghosts myself. If one form of life -possesses a spirit, why should we not assume that other forms of -life possess a spirit, too? Why should man have the monopoly of an -immaterial self, and alone of all creation continue his identity -after physical dissolution? On moral grounds? No! For man, generally -speaking, is in no sense superior morally to the so-called beasts -around him. He is often the reverse. Oddly enough, we have so long -accustomed ourselves to using the term immorality exclusively in -reference to our illegal relations with the other sex, that we have -come to regard these illegal relations as the only immorality existing. -It is a curious error. Immorality comprises theft, and theft not only -comprehends depriving people of their material goods, it comprehends -slander and gossip—_i.e._, depriving people of their character; -sweating—_i.e._, depriving people of the just rewards of their mental -and manual labour; and bread-snatching,—_i.e._, depriving people of -their only means of existence; beside many other acts of an equally -odious nature. The average drawing-room is invariably the rendezvous -of immoral people; nine out of every ten of the ladies one meets there -are robbers—they steal, almost at very breath, someone’s good name and -reputation, a far worse crime than the purloining of a loaf, for which -act of desperation a poor man would be sent to prison, and a hungry dog -beaten. In the drawing-room, too, one meets the girl with a few hundred -a year, who announces her intention of taking some post—maybe on the -stage, or on the staff of some paper, or in a business house, “just to -make a little money.” A little money at the expense of someone else’s -life! For that is what the want of occupation to the person with no -private income literally means. We see none of this mean immorality in -the animal world. Dogs steal bones from one another, it is true, but -they do not lie, and cheat, and intrigue; nor do they, when they have a -sufficiency themselves, snatch away the little that constitutes another -person’s all. - -Animals are accused of being cruel—of barbarously murdering one -another, as in the cases of the cat and mouse, the lion and deer, -etc. But they rarely kill, saving when they are hungry, and for -food man kills, too, in a fashion and with a method which is truly -disgusting. By studiously looking after the daily wants of certain -animals, such as cows and sheep, and by caring for them when they are -ill, man leads them to suppose he is their friend, and they learn to -trust him. Vain faith. He is kind to them only to suit his own ends. -He out-Judas’s Judas, and after nonchalantly accepting their most -lavish tributes of affection, he takes them unawares and kills them, -either with a poleaxe, or some other weapon entailing an equally -painful and lingering death. Do any animals behave quite so basely? -Besides, there is no cruelty in the animal world—not even the most -excruciating suction of the octopus, nor the sharp, agonising bite of -the flesh-eating parrot of New Zealand—that can for one moment compare -with the coolly planned and leisurely executed horrors of the Spanish -Inquisition; and the tiger, at its worst, is but a tyro in savagery -compared with the creature God is said to have made in His own image. - -From vices turn to virtues, and pause for a moment in reflection on -the many lovable qualities of the dog. Where in man do we find such -affection, forgiveness, general amiability, constancy and patience; -and in the case of the horse, such a willingness to labour without -any thought of recompense. It makes me positively ill, when I hear -hopelessly immoral men and women—gossips, slanderers, breadsnatchers, -usurers, sweaters—speak condescendingly of animals—of dogs and horses -that are on an infinitely higher moral plane than ever they have been, -or ever will be. But moral superiority is not the only superiority that -man fallaciously assumes. He lays claim to an intellectual superiority, -which is equally fallacious, equally a myth. No one who has ever -studied animal and insect life can but have been impressed with the -marvels of ingenuity and skill displayed therein. The web of the common -garden spider and the nest of the wren, for example, are every whit as -wonderful in their way as the architectural works of Inigo Jones or -Christopher Wren. On the grounds of a moral and mental inferiority, -therefore, the argument of a future life for the human species only, -fails. Another argument, an argument advanced by the most bigotted of -the religious denominationalists, is “that man only has a conscience, -and that conscience which he alone possesses is the only passport to -another world. Without conscience there can be no soul, and without -soul there can be no hope of a continuation of life after death.” -This, of course, is merely assumption, as is nearly all the teaching of -the Churches. Conscience, like religion, depends to a very large extent -on climate. A man born in the centre of Africa might not think it wrong -to do things that would appear appalling to a Plymouth Brother, and -vice versa. There is at present no fixed and universal standard of -right and wrong, any more than there is a fixed and universal standard -of beauty—for as each eye forms its own idea of feminine loveliness, -so each heart forms its own conception of honour and dishonour, virtue -and vice. We know that this is the case as far as mankind is concerned, -and we have nothing beyond assumption to assure us that it is not -so throughout the animal and insect world. If the animals have no -conception of a moral standard, how is it that they do not destroy one -another? That the instinct to injure people is innate in us is readily -proved by the joy nearly all of us take in saying disparaging things -of our neighbours. We go so far, and we would undoubtedly go the whole -hog and kill those we hate, if something more, perhaps, than the mere -fear of hanging did not hold us back. That restraining something is -unquestionably the fear of the Future, and it is that fear which I -am inclined to think is the origin of what we term our consciences. -Were we sure there was no future existence, there would be no moral -restraint (it would only be the prospect of legal punishment that would -deter us from injuring other people to our heart’s content), we should -have no consciences; and if this is applicable to mankind, why is it -not applicable to other forms of animal life? - -Is it not feasible to suppose that it is this same fear of the -future that acts as a preventive to animals killing one another -indiscriminately? That they do at times rob and kill for other -motives than to satisfy their hunger is indisputable, but these -exceptional cases prove what I am trying to maintain—that there is -some restraining influence that keeps the vast majority highly moral; -and I see no feasible arguments for not supposing this influence to -be a conscience begat by a deep-rooted fear of what may await them on -physical dissolution. - -And if this applies to the mammals, why not to the whole animal, -insect, and vegetable worlds—to everything that has life, for -Science has yet to prove that where there is life, there is not also -intelligence. - -The superior morality of animals to man, then, may be considered as -due to their more powerful consciences, and to their stronger fear -of the possibility of the superphysical. And why should they have a -much stronger fear? Because, unquestionably, they have a more intimate -knowledge of the Unknown than has man. No one who has had much to -do with dogs and horses can doubt this. Who that has ridden through -woods and jungles, or lonely country roads at night, has not seen -their horse suddenly stop and evince every evidence of fear. Though -the human eye has seen nothing to account for it, the horse obviously -has seen something, and it has only been by dint of the utmost coaxing -and petting that the sagacious animal has been persuaded to continue -its course. It is the same with dogs. Over and over again I have had -dogs with me in houses alleged to be haunted, and they have suddenly -manifested symptoms of the greatest, the most uncontrollable fear. I -have endeavoured to pacify them, to urge them to follow me, but it -has been in vain; though obedient and fearless as a rule, they have -suddenly become the most disobedient and incorrigible of cowards. Why? -Because I am certain they have seen and heard things which, for some -unaccountable reason, have been held back from me. - -If knowledge, then, of another life is any plea for the bestowal of an -unperishable spirit, animals should live again even more surely than -man. And so also should the vegetable world, for I have myself seen -trees violently agitated, as if with paroxysms of the most sublime -terror, before the advent of superphysical phenomena. - -And stronger than any of these arguments is that of the ghosts -themselves. There are innumerable and well-authenticated cases of -hauntings by the phantasms of dogs, horses, birds, insects, and trees, -and it is, perhaps, chiefly through these hauntings that we can -disprove the theory that man possesses a monopoly of the immaterial -planes; a theory which, were it not for his insufferable egotism and -conceit, he would never have advanced. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -A HAUNTING IN REGENT’S PARK, AND MY FURTHER VIEWS WITH REGARD TO -SPIRITUALISM - - -Before concluding my experiences in the parks and commons of London, I -will cite one other case, a case which serves to illustrate the theme I -have just been discussing. - -I was visiting the Zoological Gardens in Regent’s Park, one day in the -summer of 1898, and was so struck with the look of yearning in the eyes -of one of the lions, the desperate look of yearning to have just five -minutes’ gambol on the sunny lawn outside, five minutes in which to -stretch its poor, cramped-up limbs, and sniff, perhaps for the first -time, the fine fresh air of freedom, that I could not refrain from -mentioning what was passing in my mind to a white-haired old man and a -plainly dressed young woman, who were standing near. - -“Yes, sir,” the old man said. “It does seem hard on these huge animals -to be confined within the limits of such a very small space and to have -to pace up and down these little boxes, tantalised by the sight of -other creatures enjoying the privileges that are denied to them. It is -worse treatment than any meted out to criminals; in fact, the biggest -ruffian in jail does not suffer in anything like the same degree as -these animals. They have one thing to be thankful for, however—life -cannot last for ever. Death will be their kindest friend. It is the -rich man’s purgatory, but it is Paradise for all these creatures as -well as for the poor man.” - -“You believe in another world, then?” I remarked. - -“Believe in another world?” he answered sharply, “why, of course I do. -I have seen far too much of it to do otherwise, haven’t I, Minnie?” - -“Yes, Grandad,” the girl said simply. - -“We both have, Minnie and I,” the old man went on. - -“Spirits?” I enquired. - -“Yes, spirits. Ghosts, if you like,” he said. - -“Tell me. I’m not one of the scoffers,” I pleaded. - -He looked at me searchingly, and then said: “I used to be a keeper -here many years ago. I was devoted to the animals, and when they died, -I invariably saw their ghosts. So did some of the other keepers. Now -don’t run away with the idea that the Gardens are haunted, sir. As far -as I know, they are not. It was only to us who had so much to do with -them when they were alive that the spirits of these animals appeared. -I remember one instance in particular, about twelve years ago, just -before I left the Zoo. A young lion came here from East Africa. It -wouldn’t let any of the keepers go near it excepting myself, and it -was generally regarded as having a very uncertain temper. But I never -found it so. I knew that the reason of its restlessness was its hatred -of confinement. I knew it hated its cage, and I used to do all I could -to comfort it. There was a sort of mutual understanding between us. -When it saw me looking a bit anxious and worried, for my wife was -often ill, it used to come and rub its great head against me, as if -to cheer me up, and when I saw it looking more than usually dejected, -I used to stop and talk to it for a longer time than I talked to any -one of the other animals. Well, one day it fell ill, caught a chill, -so we thought, and evinced a strong dislike to its food. I discussed -its case with the other keepers, and they agreed there was nothing to -be alarmed about, as it was young and to all appearances healthy. We -all thought it would be well again in a few days. I had gone home as -usual one night, and was sitting in the kitchen reading the evening -paper, when something came over me that I must go for a walk. I told -Minnie, who was a little girl then, not more than nine or ten years -of age, and she begged her mother to let her go with me. We started -off with the intention of going to the Caledonian Road, as Minnie -liked looking at the shops there, but we hadn’t gone far before Minnie -suddenly exclaimed, ‘Grandad, let’s go to Regent’s Park.’ ‘Regent’s -Park,’ I ejaculated; ‘whatever do you want to go there for at this time -of night!’ ‘I don’t know,’ she said, ‘but I feel I must.’ ‘Well now,’ I -replied, ‘that’s odd, because the very same feeling has come over me.’ - -“We struck off down Crowndale Road—I was living in the neighbourhood -of the St. Pancras Road then—and got to Gloucester Gate just about -dusk. We had passed through, and were walking along the Broad Walk by -the side of the Zoo, when Minnie suddenly caught hold of my arm, and -said, ‘Look, Grandad!’ I followed the direction of her gaze, and there -coming straight towards us from the Zoo walls was a lion. I can tell -you it gave me a jump, as I naturally thought one of the animals had -escaped. It aimed straight for us, and upon its getting close to I -recognised it at once—it was the young lion that had been taken ill. -To my astonishment, however, there was nothing of the invalid about -it now. The expression in its eyes was one of infinite happiness. It -seemed to say, ‘I have attained my ideal; I am out in the open, in -the sweet, fresh air, and the wide darkness of the fast approaching -night.’ It came right up to us, and I stretched out my hand to touch -it, wondering what the passers-by would do when they saw it, and how -on earth we should get it back into the gardens. It bitterly grieved -me to think it would have to lose its freedom. I stretched out my -hand, I say, to touch it, and to my surprise my fingers encountered -nothing—the lion had vanished. I then realised what Minnie had known -all along—that what we had seen was a ghost. A ghost, and yet it had -appeared to me so absolutely real and life-like.” - -“How did you know it was a ghost?” I enquired of the young woman. - -“By the curious kind of light that seemed to emanate from all over -its body,” she replied. “I can only describe it as a kind of glow, -something like that of a glow-worm. It was not a bit natural.” - -“But you saw the figure distinctly?” - -“Yes,” she responded, “very distinctly, and I wasn’t the least bit -afraid.” - -“Let me tell you the sequel, sir,” the old man interrupted. “On my -arrival at the Zoo in the morning, one of the men came running up to -me. ‘It’s dead!’ he said. ‘Dead!’ I cried. ‘Who’s dead?’ ‘Why, that -young lion of yours,’ was the reply; ‘it died at eight o’clock last -night.’ - -“And, sure enough, when I went into the lion-house, there was the -animal lying stretched out at full length in its cage—dead. It had -died at eight o’clock, which was the exact time we had seen it in the -park.” - - * * * * * - -And now to pursue the thread of my own life, which must of necessity -run through this volume. While I was teaching at Blackheath, I not only -completed my first novel, “For Satan’s Sake,” but studied for the stage -at the Henry Neville Studio in Oxford Street. I shall never forget with -what joy, when my duties with the spoilt and tiresome boys were over, -I exchanged the terrible monotony of the schoolroom for the delightful -and interesting atmosphere of the Studio. Henry Neville did not teach -there himself, but periodically came to watch and help us with his -criticisms, which were always as kindly and instructive as they were -utterly free from pomposity and egotism. Easy and natural himself, he -tried to infuse something of his spirit into us, and with many of us, -I believe, he succeeded; for even those who did not believe that acting -could be taught, were bound to admit that the pupils of Henry Neville -were singularly free from the staginess almost always seen in amateurs, -and sometimes in professionals as well. - -Henry Neville’s brother, Fred Gartside, who gave me my first lesson in -elocution—an abler or more persevering instructor could not have been -found—left off teaching at the Studio soon after I joined. Mr. G. R. -Foss took his place, and is, I believe, still at the head of it. - -I have always looked upon G. R. Foss as one of the greatest stage -geniuses I have ever met. He is that rarest of all individuals—the -born actor—the man who can perform almost any _rôle_ with equal -success. He is the ideal stage manager, a past master in the knowledge -of all the technicalities adhering to the theatre, and the possessor of -a never-ceasing flow of wit and good humour. - -Among the pupils who were at the Studio with me, several have performed -in London. I toured with George Desmond, who was quite recently playing -in the West End, and I met Miss Yvonne Orchardson again, some two or -more years ago, when she was also acting in a London theatre, whilst I -constantly see that charming and talented old Nevillite, Miss Lilian -North, who delights London audiences with her sweetly told stories and -good recitations. Apart from many other personal attractions, Miss -North has the most beautiful hands; the fingers are long and tapering -and the nails exquisitely shaped. It is the rarest combination of the -psychic and dramatic hand, and such as I have very seldom seen saving -among Orientals. - -If I have spoken somewhat extravagantly of the Neville Studio, its -instructors and pupils, it is only what I genuinely feel, and I repeat, -again, that the hours there were some of the most delightful I have -ever experienced. When I had completed my course of instruction, I -went on tour in “A Night Out.” I then came back to London and remained -nearly a year in Town, writing in the day-time and playing in one or -other of the suburbs in the evening. I lived, for the most part, in St. -James’ Road, Brixton, where I wrote my second and third books, both -novels, and entitled respectively “The Unknown Depths” and “Dinevah the -Beautiful.” - -“The Unknown Depths,” founded to a large extent upon my own life, -introduces the subject of Spiritualism, or, as it is now more often -termed, Spiritism, and, whilst I was engaged on it, I attended many -séances. - -I am often asked to express an opinion on Spiritualism. - -I am very averse from any attempt to invoke spirits, either through the -aid of spells or mediums, by table-turning, or by automatic writing. -As I have already said, I believe that genuine spirits do occasionally -manifest themselves at séances, but that, when they do, the medium -is quite as surprised at the manifestation as the sitters, and in no -greater a degree, perhaps, responsible for it. I believe the spirit I -have named neutrarian is the only type of spirit that takes advantage -of a séance, that is to say, takes advantage of the peculiar magnetic -atmosphere created at a séance. It adopts the form, or attributes, of -some relative or friend of one of the sitters, and, thus disguised, -manifests itself merely for the sake of deceiving and misleading -over-credulous men and women. But unfortunately these spirits do not -stop at mere mischief. Having once gained a footing, so to speak, -they can attach themselves to certain people, and by tormenting them -continually, drive them in the end to madness and suicide. - -In addition to the danger of attracting undesirable neutrarians at -séances, there is the risk of being duped by mediums. I have met a -good many professional mediums—so-called clairvoyants, aura tellers, -psychometrists, materialising mediums, and the like, and none of -them have convinced me that they can do all that they profess to do. -Besides, even if they could, the mere suggestion that one’s spirit -friend or relative is tapping on a wall or blowing through a trumpet, -presumably to satisfy the curiosity of a number of strangers, and -incidentally to fill the coffers of an illiterate man or woman, only -fills one with disgust. If any departed friends of mine wish to visit -me, I am sure they could do so without the assistance of a so-called -medium and all their paltry paraphernalia. The usual argument in -defence of these mediums is that some well-known scientific man -believes in them. “If Sir somebody or other says I am genuine,” the -clairvoyant exclaims, “then I am genuine, and you’ve no right in the -world to doubt me.” - -The medium is wrong. I have every right. Scientists may be very shrewd, -perhaps infallible in their own legitimate calling, but, outside it, -their opinion need carry no more weight than mine, or yours, or anyone -else’s. - -It by no means follows that because a man is a Professor of Physics -he is also a great student of character. Poring over chemicals or -figures all day is a very poor training for reading the human mind. -An actor is a far more able exponent of psychology than any chemist -or mathematician, and this being so, it is the actor who should play -a prominent part in psychical research and not the scientist. If a -veteran actor were to say to me, “Look here, I have watched that woman -very carefully when she was supposed to go into a trance, and to speak -in an entirely different voice from her own, and I am convinced she -is merely acting,” I should be inclined to believe him. In his wide -experience of facial expression, posing, and assumed voices, it would -be comparatively easy for him to tell whether the medium was shamming -or not. A clever actress can disguise her voice effectually, and no one -would know it. She can speak with a French accent one moment and broad -cockney the next, and so naturally that few people would know she was -the same person. That is why, when I have listened to a clairvoyant, -in an alleged trance, speaking in the voice of Tommy Jones or some -other presumed obsessing spirit, I have been unmoved. There are a -dozen actresses of my acquaintance who could easily do the same. But -someone exclaims, “She actually spoke in Russian, a language she knows -nothing about.” “How do you know she is unacquainted with Russian?” -is my answer; no one can possibly tell that but herself. She has most -likely acquired a smattering of it, simply for this purpose. What -could be easier? I have a smattering of a good many languages, but I -could easily stimulate complete ignorance of any one or all of them; -I repeat, no one knows but ourselves how much we have seen, and read, -and heard, where we have been, and what we have studied, and, if we -are sufficiently clever, we can let the outside world know just as -much as we want it to know and no more. Some mediums are said to act -in one manner when they are obsessed, and in an entirely different -manner when in their normal condition. What futile rubbish! Who knows -when they are in their normal condition, or what their normal condition -really is? Most of us are complex. I myself have several distinct -personalities—and I defy anyone to enumerate them—any one of which -might be equally my true, my normal self. Moreover, I might go into -a trance, speak with the voice of a Spaniard, and behave like a Red -Indian, and those who saw me would think me obsessed. Yet they might -easily be mistaken. I might have secretly acquired a smattering of -Spanish, and one of my hobbies might be that of imitating, in private, -the ways and habits of a Sioux or Crow Foot. - -I know a clergyman who attracts large congregations by reason of his -eloquence and apparent piety, and who is believed in his parish to be -most moral and sincere. I also know him to spend several evenings a -week in an East End tavern, singing ribald songs and playing poker. -Which is his true self, which his normal condition? His congregation -believe him to be one thing, his East End cronies another, and he is -apparently quite as much at home in the church as he is in the tavern. - -Then, apart from the question of personalities, I believe another -evidence of trickery lies in the non-usefulness of any of the -communications alleged to be made by the spirits. If professional -mediums could receive bona fide communications from the other world, -I am quite sure that they would acquire some knowledge of a practical -nature, and that we should, in consequence, soon see them all -multi-millionaires. That they are not all Vanderbilts and Rothschilds -is, I think, a very strong argument that their alleged spirit friends -have told them nothing. - -And that is what it all amounts to—nothing. Automatic writing, -table-turning, and trances have taught us absolutely nothing concerning -either this or the other world, and the messages purporting to -come from the spirits have hitherto, at all events, consisted of -trivialities and commonplaces of such an unedifying nature that we -cannot dissociate them from factory girls and nursemaids. - -Our friends on the other side, who have passed through the valley of -the shadow of death, might reasonably be expected to know something -that we do not; and yet not even the smallest fragment of their -knowledge has so far been transmitted to us through any of the channels -resorted to by Spiritualists. Neither, as far as I know, have the -police benefited by any information imparted to them by mediums or -automatic writers. On the other hand, although the Unknown has refused -to confide to those claiming to be its chosen few any messages that -would right the wrong, bona fide phantasms of the dead have certainly -been known to appear spontaneously, to other than professional mediums, -with this intent. - - * * * * * - -I am acquainted with an old lady, who tells me that she often talks -with Charles Dickens, Napoleon Bonaparte, Cardinal Newman and other -eminents. I have enquired how, and she has reluctantly admitted that -the spirits of these eminents come to her at a séance conducted by a -professional medium, who, of course, is paid very liberally for her -services. The medium, I gather, sits behind a screen, where she is -supposed to wait, until she is obsessed. When everything is ready, -she glides out, and in a voice purporting to be that of Napoleon, or -of someone equally distinguished, she converses with this foolish and -conceited old lady. It seems incredible that anyone outside a lunatic -asylum could believe that the spirits of such great men as Napoleon, -Newman and Dickens should take the trouble to obsess a medium, in order -to chat with some nonentity, who is neither extraordinarily clever nor -particularly interesting. And yet there are dozens of people, apart -from the old lady I have mentioned, who know so little of genius and -eminence, and even ordinary talent, as to believe this incongruous -happening to be possible. I, myself, have heard a Spiritualist, who -lays down the laws respecting the Unknown, as if he were actually -the Creator, declare that, whenever he lectures, the hall is full to -overflowing with spirits. Amongst them, he says, are the shades of -Charles Dickens—there must be at least a hundred shades of Dickens, -for there is hardly a spiritualistic meeting or séance that I hear -of at which Dickens is not alleged to be present—Sir Isaac Newton -and Napoleon. (Soon, perhaps, there will be the Kaiser and the Crown -Prince. I hope so.) - -Family séances are, of course, quite another matter. I have not the -least doubt that when the friends and relatives of some departed person -meet together, and, concentrating very earnestly on that dead one being -present, create the right magnetic atmosphere, that sometimes a real -spirit manifestation does take place, and the phantasm of the deceased, -or what at any rate purports to be the phantasm of the deceased, does -actually appear. - -The phenomenon may possibly be a neutrarian—for, of course, there -is always that risk—or it may really be the soul, spirit, or -whatever else we like to call it, of the dead person. And here let -me urge again, the utter absurdity of attempting to dogmatise on the -Unknown. At one time it was the parson, who unfolded to us, with all -the sageness of one who had been there, the mysteries of the other -world. He not only told us what we must do and not do in order to -ascend to Heaven, but he went a step further: he told us what Heaven -was like, and what actually was taking place there. The parson of -to-day, however, does not seem quite so sure of his knowledge on -these points as he was formerly, and his statements have become far -less assertive; indeed, they have become somewhat tentative. It is -the Occultist now who dictates. He talks with an air of absolute -authority of Astral Planes, Elementaries, Elementals, vitalised shells, -Karmas, and goodness knows what besides, and uses such a variety of -high-falutin’ terms, that our brains at last become bewildered, and -we begin to wonder with Goldsmith how it is possible that one small -head can carry all he knows. But when we have boiled it all down, -when we have analysed his dissertation, we find that it is, in the -last resort, merely a repetition of all the old doctrines with which -we have been familiar from our earliest youth. The only difference is -that our Occultist, chiefly by discarding the old names of dogmas, and -adopting a superfluity of new ones, has made of these same doctrines a -hotch-potch of such rare quality, that few—if indeed any—of us can -digest it. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -A HAUNTED MINE IN WALES - - -While I was at Brixton, paying daily visits to various well-known -theatrical agencies in search of work, I ran across the manager of a -fit-up company, who wanted a man of about my age and build to play -second lead in a melodrama. I closed with his offer, and for the next -four weeks, which was as long as his funds held out, I paid three night -visits to various towns in Wales, winding up at Llandudno, no better -off financially than when I commenced, and having to pay my own fare -back to London. - -If, however, my excursion into Wales was unprofitable from the monetary -standpoint, it was by no means lacking in other respects, for, apart -from the experience I gained from playing four entirely different parts -a night, with two electric changes, I came across several interesting -cases of hauntings. - -One of my landladies, a kindly old soul to whom I had chatted about -ghosts, introduced me to an old man, Clem Morgan, whom she said had had -a curious experience in one of the neighbouring mines. The incident had -taken place some fifty years ago, shortly after a dreadful explosion, -whereby many scores of the miners had been killed and injured. I will -narrate the experience—merely altering the wording of it here and -there—just as Clem Morgan narrated it to me:— - -“A thousand feet down, close to the site of a great tragedy that -had thrilled the whole country to the very core, my mate and I were -at work. Pick, pick, pick; shovel, shovel, shovel; the sound of our -instruments must have been heard hundreds of yards away. - -“‘George,’ I said suddenly, leaving off work, ‘was it like this afore -the accident?’ - -“‘Like what?’ George grunted. He was a middle-aged man with a black, -stubby beard, and arms like the gnarled and knotted branches of an oak. -‘Like what?’ - -“‘Why, as lonely as this? Were you working with just one other man, or -were you with the rest of the gang?’ - -“‘With one other,’ George responded, ‘and just as soft as you. Why -can’t you let the matter drop? I’m sick to death of hearing about it.’ - -“‘It’s a marvel to me how you escaped,’ I went on; ‘whereabouts were -you?’ - -“‘Just where we are now,’ George growled, ‘and that’s all I’ll tell -you, so you’d best shut up!’ - -“‘And you went up them steps with all the hell of the explosion ringing -around you?’ I observed, advancing to the edge of the black shaft close -to where we were working, and looking at the slender wooden ladder -leading up to the dark vault above. ‘It’s a wonder to me you didn’t -miss your footing in your hurry, and fall. I should have done.’ - -“‘I’ve no doubt you would,’ George sneered, ‘but I’m no tenderfoot; I -was at this game when you were in your cradle, which you never ought to -have left.’ - -“‘How many feet down is it?’ I went on, peering below me, much -fascinated. - -“‘Fourteen fathoms. We don’t reckon by feet here. Done with that way of -doing things in the schoolroom.’ - -“‘So that you would be killed outright, if you fell?’ - -“‘Try and see,’ George jeered. - -“‘It’s my brother I was thinking of, not myself,’ I observed. ‘Where -was he exactly, when the explosion took place?’ - -“‘How can I say, boy,’ George replied, irritably. ‘I don’t know where -half the folk are.’ - -“‘They told me he was in an adit leading into the main shaft.’ - -“‘He may have been, for all I know—and for all I care,’ George -answered gruffly. - -“‘Do you suppose it was here he was working?’ I said, after a moment or -two’s pause, during which I again went to the shaft and peered down. - -“‘This is not the only adit on the main,’ George growled. ‘He wasn’t -here—leastways not when I was.’ - -“‘I heard he was with a man he unintentionally injured, and who ever -after bore him a grudge.’ - -“‘Oh, oh!’ George exclaimed; ‘so you know as much as that, do you? And -what, pray, was this man like?’ - -“‘I couldn’t say,’ I replied, ‘excepting that he was much older than -Dick, and very ugly.’ - -“‘A description that would fit in with dozens down here. If he was -working with your brother, and your brother was killed, the odds are he -was killed too.’ - -“‘You think so?’ - -“‘It seems reasonable enough, don’t it?’ George said. - -“‘He might have escaped like you did.’ - -“‘He might,’ George laughed, ‘just in the same way as pigs might fly. -Supposing you get on with your work and let me do the same.’ - -“‘I had a queer dream about that man,’ I went on. - -“‘Dreams! Pooh! Who believes in dreams!’ George said. ‘What was it?’ - -“‘Why, I dreamed he had something to do with Dick’s death and with the -accident.’ - -“‘You had better tell the Inspector,’ George sneered. ‘And maybe he’ll -alter his verdict. You seem to have been very fond of this brother of -yours. You’ve done nothing but carp about him all the morning.’ - -“‘I was,’ I replied. ‘So were we all. He kept the home going for the -last six years.’ - -“‘Kept the home going! Why, where was you?’ - -“‘At College, studying for a teacher. I gave it up after his death.’ - -“‘A schoolmaster! Well, I’m blowed. Then you didn’t see much of Dick?’ - -“‘Only in the holidays.’ - -“‘And who told you about this fellow who was supposed to have had a -spite against him?’ - -“‘Mother.’ - -“‘It was your mother, was it? Only hearsay evidence after all. Well, -they’re both dead, anyhow—good and bad, and bad and good—all went -together—in a moment, boy! What do they call you?’ - -“‘Clem.’ - -“‘Well, Clem, get on with your shovelling for mercy’s sake. I’ve had -enough of talking to last me to the end of the week.’ - -“I took up my spade, and for the next hour there were no other sounds -but the steady, mechanical pick, pick, pick, and scrape, scrape, -scrape. Every now and then George sprang aside, there was a crash, and -a huge block of coal fell on the rocky floor, mid a blinding shower of -dust. A fraction of a second later, and George would have been under -it—his head a jelly. Yet the narrowness of his escape did not seem to -affect him; he treated it with the utmost indifference, and, wiping -away the smuts from his eyes, took up his pick and resumed his hitting. -I regarded him in silent wonder. When the dinner-hour arrived, I groped -my way to one of the big galleries—the idea of eating alone with -George did not appeal to me—and, an hour later, I set out on my way -back. - -“A terrible sense of isolation hung over that part of the mine -whither I bent my steps. It was so far away from the other adits—so -tremendously deep down—so alarmingly dark, so sepulchrally silent. Up -above, in the fields, woods, valleys, even far away in the primitive -parts of the world, one is never quite alone, for the voice of Nature -makes itself heard in the birds and insects. One knows one is in the -midst of life. But here!—here in the bowels of the earth, encased in -the dead vegetation of a long-forgotten world, there is absolute, all -paramount stillness—a thousand times stiller than the stillness of -a closed sepulchre. As I pressed on, the crunching of my feet on the -scattered fragments of coal awoke the echoes of the galleries, and I -paused every now and then to listen in awe to the long reverberating -echoes as they rolled round and round me. Once, I nearly slipped; -another foot, and I would have plunged into a sable labyrinth, the cold -draught from which wound itself round me and choked the air in my lungs. - -“I drew back in horror, and clinging to the knobbly surface of the -black wall by my side, pressed frantically forward. God, supposing I -should ever lose my way down here—be left behind when all the men went -home—what would become of me? The perspiration rose on my forehead at -the bare idea of it. Presently, to my relief, the sound of picking fell -on my ears, and an abrupt turn of the passage brought me within sight -of George, who had already recommenced work. I hastened to his side, -and, picking up my shovel, began to make a neat stack of the rapidly -accumulating chunks. - -“‘George,’ I said, after an emphatic silence, ‘why didn’t you tell me -it was you who was working along with Dick?’ - -“‘So you’ve been asking questions, have you?’ George growled, without, -however, showing the slightest inclination to leave off working. ‘Who -told you?’ - -“‘Jim and Harry Peters.’ - -“‘Well, and what of it?’ - -“‘But why didn’t you say so, when I asked you?’ - -“‘What odds if I had, it wouldn’t have done you any good.’ - -“‘Did you have a quarrel with him?’ - -“‘Did the boys tell you I had? Because if so, it’s no use my saying -anything.’ - -“‘But what do you say?’ - -“‘No! Dick and me never had no quarrel.’ - -“‘Is that true?’ - -“‘Gospel.’ - -“After this there was another silence unbroken save by the monotonous -handling of the implements. Then I suddenly uttered an ejaculation and -pointed at my cap. It was lying on the ground, some few feet from where -we were working, close beneath a projecting block of coal, and it was -moving—moving as if it were being violently agitated by something -inside it. - -“‘What is it?’ I demanded. - -“‘What is what?’ George growled, resting for a moment on the handle of -his pick. - -“‘Why, that!’ I said, pointing to my cap. ‘What makes it move like -that?’ - -“‘The wind, of course,’ George said. - -“‘There’s not enough draught for that. See!’ I placed a piece of -paper on the ground within an inch or two of the cap, and it remained -perfectly still. ‘Something must be underneath it.’ I picked the cap -up, there was nothing there. ‘What do you think of it now?’ I asked. - -“George made no reply. He turned round, so that I could not see his -face, and plied his pick vigorously. After a few minutes I stopped work -again. - -“‘George,’ I cried, ‘what’s the matter with your coat? Look! It’s doing -just as your cap did.’ - -“George threw down his pick with an oath. - -“‘What do you want to keep worrying me for?’ he said. ‘What’s wrong -now?’ - -“‘Why, your coat! Look! it’s moving—rising up and down as if the wind -were blowing it—and there’s not an atom of draught.’ - -“‘It’s your fancy,’ George said hoarsely. ‘The coat’s not moving.’ - -“‘What,’ I cried, ‘do you mean to say you can’t see it moving?’ - -“‘No,’ George replied. ‘It’s not, I tell you.’ And picking up his tool -he set to work again, even more vigorously than before. - -“Some minutes later I again stopped. ‘Heavens!’ I exclaimed. ‘Look at -my lamp! It’s burning blue! What makes it do that?’ - -“George paused—his pick shoulder high—and looked round. ‘Nonsense,’ -he said savagely. ‘You are——’ Then he left off and his jaws dropped. -‘It must be some chemical in it,’ he stammered. ‘Let the damned thing -be; it’ll soon right itself.’ - -“‘This is a strange place, George!’ I said slowly. - -“‘Why strange?’ George snapped. - -“‘Well, first of all there was my cap, then your coat, and now the -lantern—all doing something queer. Have you ever known the likes of it -before?’ - -“‘Often,’ George muttered. ‘Scores of times. Funny things is always -happening below ground; you’ll get used to them in time.’ - -“‘And yet you look a bit scared.’ - -“‘Do I?’ George grunted. ‘Well, I’m not. By ——, I’m not. You can’t -always judge by looks, you know.’ And, raising his pick, he attacked -the coal furiously. - -“The afternoon was now waning. Outside, away on the top, where the only -roof was the heavens, the sun had sunk to the level of the pine-trees, -from whose straight and gently-swaying bodies the grotesque shadows of -the night were beginning to steal. It is a peculiarity of the mines -that, however deep down they may be, they yet feel the influence of -time, and the departure of the sunlight from above creates an immediate -increase in the gloom below. - -“On this afternoon in particular I felt the change acutely. A darkness, -that did not seem to be merely the darkness due to time, stole down -the pit’s mouth and permeated adits, shafts, galleries—everywhere and -everything. - -“My light was still burning blue, but beyond it, down in the great, -gaping chasm, not ten feet from him, and away along the narrow, winding -passage separating me from the rest of the gang, all was black—a -denser black than I had conceived possible. I was staring around, too -fascinated to go on with my work, when something icy cold gripped my -fingers, and, looking down, I saw a big, white hand lying on the top of -mine. I gave a yell and dropped my shovel—whereupon the hand vanished. - -“‘What’s the matter now, curse you!’ George said angrily. ‘If you keep -on hindering me like this, I’ll tell the overseer. See if I don’t.’ - -“‘The place is haunted,’ I gasped. ‘A hand caught hold of mine just -now.’ - -“‘A hand! Rot. What next?’ And George forced a laugh. - -“‘I’m certain it was a hand,’ I said, ‘and it had a ring on like my -brother Dick’s.’ - -“‘You’ve got Dick on the brain, which is only natural, seeing that you -was fond of him, and he only just dead. In a few days’ time you will -get over it and laugh at your present fears. There’s no hands here but -yours and mine, lad!’ - -“‘Aren’t there?’ I said quietly. ‘Then what is that just below yours on -the pick.’ - -“George looked down. Instead of two hands—his own two hands—on the -pick, there were three, and the third was white and luminous. With a -shriek, George dropped the pick, and sprang away from it, as if it had -been a serpent. - -[Illustration: “My God! There’s Dick! He’s just behind you”] - -“‘Do you believe me now?’ I remarked. ‘If that wasn’t Dick’s hand, I’ve -never seen it. Besides, I could swear to his ring among a thousand. -Have you noticed how dark it has been getting?’ - -“‘I’ve noticed nothing,’ George muttered, picking up his tool. ‘It’s -all your talk that has done it—you’ve upset my nerves.’ He raised his -pick and began to work again, but his hands shook so much he struck his -leg and dropped the implement with a cry of pain. - -“‘It’s nothing,’ he growled, as I sprang to his side; ‘only the skin -grazed. But I reckon I’ll sit down a bit—I’m all of a tremble.’ - -“He had moved nearer to the edge of the pit, and was about to sit -down with his back towards it, when I cried, ‘My God! There’s Dick! -He’s just behind you. He’s pointing at you, George. I see it all now! -George, you devil—you murdered him!’ - -“George looked round—and there, bending over him, was a tall figure, -with a strangely white face. He threw out his hands to keep the figure -off, and, as he did so, he slipped, and fell, with one loud yell of -terror, into the pit. I heard him strike the side of the great abyss -once—then thud—that was all! - -“Sick at heart, I reeled back to the safety of the niche where we had -been working, and, as I did so, my eyes fell on the lamp—the flame was -now white and normal. - -“A rescue party that went in search of George found him in a dying -condition at the bottom of the shaft. The fact that he was not killed -outright was due to his having fallen in a foot or two of mud and -water, which had somewhat broken the force of the concussion. He was -fatally injured, but he lingered just long enough to confess that he, -and he only, was to blame for the recent disaster. He had had a violent -quarrel with Dick, whom he had hated, and, when Dick’s back was turned, -he had struck him over the head with his pick and killed him. Seized -with horror, he then dragged Dick’s body into the passage, and, in -order to minimise the risk of discovery, had saturated it with paraffin -and set fire to it. He had had just time enough to reach the ladder -leading up from the shaft, and climb up it, before the explosion had -taken place.” - - * * * * * - -The Welsh miners are at times magnanimous, and on this occasion they -agreed to keep George’s crime a secret. To give publicity to the -affair, they argued, would not give them back the relatives they had -lost, and would only do harm to the dead man’s widow and family, who -were left almost penniless. Thus the matter ended, and to the outside -world the cause of the explosion remained, as before, a mystery. - -Of course, it may be said of this case that it has no great value -from the evidental point of view, no one having witnessed the ghostly -happening but Morgan and the man who was subsequently killed. This may -be. At the same time much depends upon the character of a witness, and -the evidence of one man, who is reliable, is surely worth more than the -evidence of several men who are not reliable. - -Morgan told his story in a simple, straightforward manner, and I -believed him. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -THE POOL IN WALES THAT LURES PEOPLE TO DEATH - - -I think there is very little doubt that two of the mediums through -which the occult forces “get at” humanity are colour and locality. -Red, for example, being the colour of blood, is made the medium for -instilling thoughts of murder; green, in a similar manner, is used to -suggest suicide by drowning; yellow suggests madness; pink—vice of the -most alluring and attractive nature; and so on, until, by a careful -study of human crimes in their relation to colour, one might tabulate a -complete list. - -And so with localities. Certain spots attract certain types of spirits, -and these, in turn, suggest certain thoughts, some beautiful and some -the reverse. - -I was still in North Wales, when, a week or so before the expiration -of the tour, I did a day’s tramping on the hills, and, being caught in -a heavy rain-storm, I had to take shelter under one of those low stone -walls with which the whole country-side is intersected. The afternoon -was drawing to a close, and the fading light made me a bit anxious as -to how I should find my way back to my lodgings. As I was crouching -there, praying to heaven that the storm would soon cease, so that I -could continue my way, I suddenly heard a loud cry, as of someone in -distress, and, on its being repeated, I scrambled up and hastened in -the direction of the sounds. About a hundred yards further on there -was a break in the wall, and I caught the glimmer of water. It was one -of those roadside pools, not uncommon in Wales, and usually of great -depth. As I drew nearer, I saw it was fringed on the far side by a -cluster of tall pines, that creaked and groaned dismally as the strong -west wind drove volumes of water through their bowed branches. - -I was noticing all this, when the form of a man in a mackintosh rose -from the gorze close by my side, and, thrusting his head forward so -that I could not see his face, walked with great swinging strides -towards the pool. I thought this rather queer, but I thought it -still queerer when the cries I had heard before broke out again with -increased violence, unmistakably this time from the trees, and the man, -breaking into a run, rushed up to the margin of the pool, where he -abruptly disappeared. - -I was close behind him at the time, and am positive he did not enter -the water. His whole body seemed to melt away as he stood on the bank. -What became of him I could not say, I only know he vanished. The -incident so unnerved me that it was only with a considerable effort -of mind I went on. I threaded my way through the trees, and looked -everywhere, but there was no one about and nothing whatever, as far as -I could see, to account for the sounds. I looked at the water: it was -inky black, and there was something sinister about it, something that -strangely suggested to me, that away down in its cold, still depths -was life—some peculiar, venomous, repellant living thing that was -watching me, and longing to entwine its arms round me, and drag me -ruthlessly down. I was appalled. The apparent loneliness of the spot -was frightful, and, as I tore myself away and renewed my journey home, -I fancied I heard laughter—laughter in which all the trees seemed to -join in chorus. On arriving at my rooms, I enquired about the pool, and -my landlady informed me it bore a very evil reputation. Several people -had been found drowned there, and no one would go near it after dark. -This stimulated me to make further enquiries. I came across one or two -men who testified to having heard cries there, and one old woman, who -declared she had seen a curious figure, half human and half animal, -vanish in the pine trees; but I could get nothing in the way of details -for some months, not until I had returned to London, when, quite by -chance and under rather extraordinary circumstances, I was introduced -to a man, long since dead, who many years before had had a somewhat -harrowing experience there. The gist of what he narrated to me was as -follows:— - -“Philip Delaney was a member of the London Stock Exchange, and at -nine-thirty one August evening was sitting before the empty grate in -his study, smoking. Though not naturally a pessimist, his thoughts -were at that moment excessively gloomy; business during the past few -years had been steadily getting worse and worse, and it now seemed as -if the day of general stagnation must be very near at hand. From an -average of fifteen hundred a year his income had fallen to less than -eight hundred. Consequently, he could not as usual take his holiday -abroad; he could only just afford to send his wife and children to -Hastings, where he might possibly be able to join them for week-ends. -As a fitting accompaniment to his thoughts, the weather was vile, cold -and wet—eternally wet. He could hear the raindrops beating against -the glass, and falling on the window-sill with an incessant, wearying -and worrying patter. He was too depressed to read, it was too early -to sleep, he could only sit and think, everlastingly think. Indeed, -he was deeply engaged in thought—thought in which two, and two and a -half percentages were paramount—when, hearing someone cough, he turned -sharply round. No one was there. - -“This was odd. He could have sworn the sound came from just behind -him. With his eyes focussed on the door, he listened. The cough -was repeated, footsteps accompanied it, and from out of the wall -stepped the figure of a man. Philip Delaney gasped in astonishment. -He recognised the figure at once. It was Markham Davidson, a very old -friend of his, the author of several well-known works on Metaphysics -and Psychology. There was nothing peculiar about him—features, -complexion, expression, clothes, and walk were all perfectly natural. -They belonged to the Markham Davidson he knew, but whom he had not -seen for ages. And yet, how, if he were flesh and blood, had he passed -through several inches of solid brick and mortar? How? Unquestionably -he could not have done so, unless—well, unless he had suddenly -acquired superphysical properties, and projected his immaterial body -after the manner of one of the phantasms about which he was so fond -of writing. Walking across the room with a quick tread, the figure -displayed certain mannerisms—a forward poke of the head, a prematurely -old stoop of the shoulders, and a bend of the arms—unmistakably -those of Davidson. Delaney noted, too, that Markham looked remarkably -well—his cheeks were ruddy and full, his eyes were bright, his -movements full of energy. In one hand he carried a stamped envelope, -and in the other an umbrella, with which he tapped the ground -vigorously as he walked. He moved in a straight line without looking -to the right or left, and, stepping into the wall a few feet from the -window, disappeared before Delaney could utter a sound. - -“As the whole occurrence had occupied so short a space of time—three -or four seconds at the most—Delaney tried hard to persuade himself -that the phenomena was an hallucination, but, try as he would, he -could not bring himself to believe that what he had seen was entirely -subjective. There on the wall was the very spot where the figure had -emerged, and there, exactly opposite, the very spot through which it -had vanished. No hallucination, he argued, could have been so vivid, -nor could it have embraced so many graphic and minute details. Details! -Yes, crowds of details. He remembered them all distinctly, especially -the tie. There was a redness about it—a very peculiar redness he did -not recollect seeing in any other tie. It impressed him greatly, and he -could not eradicate it from his mind. - -“He noticed the envelope, too, not so much because it was addressed to -P. Delaney, Esq., as because it was white, startlingly white, whilst -the stamp was the same very pronounced red as the tie. Long after the -figure had gone, Philip pondered over these idiosyncrasies, and the -more he thought of them, the more perplexed he grew. What he had seen -was, without doubt, the phantasm of Markham Davidson—of the living -Markham Davidson, identical with his old friend, Markham Davidson, in -all but the colour of the tie. Red, blood-red! What one earth could -have possessed Davidson to wear such a colour! He pondered over this as -deeply as though it had been one of the most weighty problems of the -Stock Exchange, and when he went to bed that night and looked in his -mirror, he saw, instead of his own tie, a blood-red one. - -“His dreams took disturbing forms. Three times following he saw Markham -Davidson struggling for dear life in a dreary looking pool, situated -by the side of a very lonely mountain road, and overshadowed by tall -pines, that creaked and groaned like lost souls every time the wind -smote them. With such perspicuity were the details in these dreams -stamped on his mind, that each time he awoke he saw them again; there -they were, everywhere he turned—the glimmering white road with the -wide expanse of snow on one side and on the other the long line of low -stone wall, beyond which lay darkness and the pool. Heavens! what a -pool it was—inky black, unfathomably deep, and hideously suggestive of -an antagonistic, insatiable something that lay crouching in its bosom, -ever on the look-out for prey. - -“Delaney was fascinated. Although he realised that the very atmosphere -of the place was intensely evil, that it had a wholly demoralising -effect and contaminated everybody and everything that came near it, -although absolutely he understood all this, yet he allowed himself to -be drawn unresistingly towards it. - -“When he awoke from one vision of it, he craved heaven and hell to -permit him to see another. And in this manner he passed the whole night. - -“On coming down to breakfast, the first thing that arrested his -attention was an envelope—an envelope addressed to him in the -well-known writing of Markham Davidson. He tore it open, and with -breathless excitement read as follows:—‘Dear Phil,—It is a very -long time since I heard from you.... An irresistible craze has just -come over me to go to North Wales. Strange, because, as I daresay you -remember, I have always detested Wales. Now, however, I am eaten up -with a mad desire to go to Llanginney, an out-of-the-way spot somewhere -near Cader Idris. I never heard of it till yesterday, when it suddenly -attracted my attention as I was gazing at an atlas. Will you join me -there for a day or two? I go to-morrow (Wednesday), and intend staying -a week. It would be very pleasant once again to tramp the country-side -with you....’ - -“Delaney looked at the postmark; it was stamped 11.30 p.m. Could -Davidson have been on the way to the pillar-box, when he (Delaney) had -seen his phantasm? If that were so, then, undoubtedly, it was a case -of unconscious projection. Markham, whilst thinking of him (Delaney) -in connection with the invitation to Llanginney, had unconsciously -separated his immaterial from his material body and projected it. -Delaney had read one or two works on psychic phenomena, and understood -from them that spirit projection was not only quite feasible but far -from uncommon. However, he could not accept Davidson’s invitation. He -had not the money. Go to Llanginney, indeed! Why, Davidson might as -well have asked him to travel to Petrograd. And yet—the pool, that -white road, those shaking pine-trees, that lurking invisible something. -Could he resist? For a solid hour he battled with himself, battled till -the sweat rose to his brow and poured down his throat and chest. Then -he decided. To join Davidson was utterly out of the question. He had -neither the time, money, nor inclination. Like the majority of writers, -Davidson was a creature of impulse—erratic and irresponsible. He, -Philip Delaney, was different. He was a materialist, wholly practical -and level-headed. He never acted on the spur of the moment, never -chased wild geese. In a very superior frame of mind he sat down and -wrote to Davidson, expressing his extreme regret at not being able to -accept his invitation. Then he got up, breathed a sigh of relief, and, -clapping on his hat, went off to business. - -“All that day, however, whilst he was brooding over figures in his -office, and listening to the ceaseless babble at the ‘Change, his mind -reverted to the pool. It was that black piece of water, always that -water, and Davidson in his red tie, always that particular red tie, -struggling in it. At last he could stand it no longer. He felt that -even if he had to sell his wife, and house, and children, he must yield -to this attraction—this damnable attraction—and go! - -“Darting out of his office, shortly after luncheon, he hurried to the -railway station and took the first train home. In less than half an -hour he had made all the necessary arrangements for a brief absence, -packed his valise and secured a hansom. (All this happened long before -the advent of taxis.) - -“The train was an express to Chester, but the rest of the journey was -slow, and it was nine o’clock before he found himself on the single -platform of Llangelly, the nearest station to Llanginney. - -“Delaney enquired as to how he was to reach his destination, and was -informed by the solitary porter that, if he wished to get there, he -must walk. - -“‘There ain’t no vehicles for hire in this part of the country,’ the -porter said. ‘Everyone that comes here has to use their feet. You can’t -mistake the road. You’ve only to keep straight on—and you are bound to -arrive there.’ - -“Delaney smiled grimly. He felt as little like walking as he had ever -done in his life, and, besides his gladstone, he had a raincoat and -umbrella. - -“Fortunately the night was fine, and ere he had covered his first -half-mile, the moon broke out from behind a cloud and illuminated the -entire landscape. For the next mile or two the road was fairly flat, -and then it gradually began to rise, the scenery becoming wilder -and wilder. Every now and then he paused, and, throwing back his -head, drank in deep breaths of the heather-scented air. Delicious! -What a change from London! He calculated he must have done about -three-quarters of the distance, when he arrived at a turning—the -entrance to a lane—a lane that at once made him shudder. He paused -opposite the turning, and tried to find some explanation for his fear. - -“It was certainly very lonely, and the white patches of moonlight on -the footpath and hedgerows suggested much; but, after all, it was only -suggestion—suggestion which a few sunbeams would at once dissipate. He -was standing within the shadow of a clump of firs facing the lane, and -looking intently ahead of him, when, at a distance of some fifty or so -yards, the figure of a man in a mackintosh slowly emerged from a gap in -the hedge. - -“The man merely glanced in Delaney’s direction, and then, turning -round, moved on down the lane. But the glimpse, momentary though it had -been, was sufficient to enable Delaney to identify the person. It was -Davidson; he knew him at once by his mannerisms, and he instinctively -felt he had on that tie—that flagrantly vulgar, blood-red tie. In an -instant he formed a resolution. He would give his friend a surprise. -With this intention in view he dropped his valise, and, stepping -noiselessly forward, he followed Davidson. On and on they went, the one -keeping fifty or so yards behind the other, till there came a sudden -bend in the lane, and then Delaney received a shock. Spread out before -him, exactly as he had seen it in his dreams, was the panorama of the -white glimmering road with the wide, wild expanse of moorland on one -side, and on the other the long line of wall, and—the pool. Nothing -could have been more like, and it was intensified by the brilliancy -of the moonbeams. Crouching in the heather, Delaney watched Davidson -slowly walk up to the edge of the water, fold his arms, and gaze in a -reflective manner into the shadowy depths. The moments flew by, and -still he gazed. Then there came a brief, distracting interval, during -which the moon disappeared behind a bank of black, funereal clouds. -When it emerged, the figure of Davidson had vanished, and Delaney -occupied the spot where he had stood. - -“‘The pool, the greedy, insatiable pool!’ he muttered. ‘Dark, deep and -devilish. The three D’s. I might even add a fourth—damnable!’ And -turning round with a chuckle, he was preparing to go, when someone -vaulted the stone wall to his left and rapidly approached him. - -“‘You don’t mean to say you are still pottering about here,’ the -stranger, a man about Delaney’s own height and build, panted. ‘I -thought you had returned to the inn long ago.’ Then, perceiving his -mistake, he said in amazement, ‘Why, it’s someone else! I beg your -pardon, sir; I quite thought you were an acquaintance of mine.’ - -“‘Davidson, by any chance?’ Delaney asked pleasantly. - -“‘Yes, Markham Davidson,’ the stranger said in astonishment. ‘Do you -know him, too?’ - -“‘I am his old friend,’ Delaney laughed, ‘and I am on my way to join -him at Llanginney. I merely stopped here to look at the pool.’ - -“‘The pool,’ the stranger ejaculated, eyeing him curiously. ‘It is not -the pleasantest place in the world, is it?’ - -“‘No,’ Delaney replied, ‘but it has its fascination. Where did you -leave Davidson?’ - -“‘At the entrance to this lane half an hour ago,’ the stranger -answered, scanning the dark surface of the water anxiously. ‘I wanted -to get as far as the brow of the hill over yonder, but, as Davidson -complained of feeling tired, I set out alone. He said he would follow -me slowly and wait for me somewhere about here. Did you by any chance -hear a cry?’ - -“‘A cry!’ Delaney exclaimed. ‘A cry? No. Did you?’ - -“‘I thought I did,’ the stranger said, moving away from the edge of -the water; ‘that is why I hurried here. Perhaps he is somewhere about. -Supposing we call.’ - -“They shouted till they were hoarse, and the great hills opposite -hurled back the echoes of their voices, but there was no other reply. -Not a sign of Davidson. At last the stranger touched Delaney on the arm. - -“‘Come,’ he said with a shiver, ‘the night air is cold. Davidson must -have gone back to the inn, and unless we make haste we shall be locked -out. They go to bed at eleven.’ - -“Very reluctantly Delaney gave up the search, and the men were soon -tramping along the road in silence—each apparently too pre-occupied -with their own thoughts to speak. Occasionally Delaney glanced covertly -at his companion, and whenever he did so, he surprised the latter -in the act of peeping cautiously at him. Eventually the lights of -Llanginney hove in view, and several of the other visitors at the inn -strolled out to meet them. - -“‘No, Davidson has not returned,’ was the reply to their enquiries. ‘We -have seen nothing of him since you left. It’s not eleven yet, however; -he has still half an hour, and on such a night as this it would be -practically impossible to lose one’s way.’ - -“Delaney engaged his bed, and half an hour later, as Davidson had not -yet come back, he made his way to the landlord’s private parlour. On -the threshold he met his recent companion. - -“‘Who is he?’ he enquired of the landlord, directly the door was -closed, and he heard the stranger’s footsteps echoing softly down the -passage. - -“‘Who is he?’ the landlord sleepily exclaimed. ‘Why, Mr. Hartney, a -London lawyer. Quite a well-known man in town, so I’m told. No, he has -never been here before, and as far as I’m aware he had never met Mr. -Davidson till to-day. Will I send someone to look for Mr. Davidson? -Why, that is what Mr. Hartney has just asked me! No, sir, I have no -one to send,’ and he spoke somewhat testily. ‘Some of my men have -gone—those who sleep out, and the rest are in bed. I shall leave the -door open. We aren’t afraid of burglars in this part of the country. -No, as I told Mr. Hartney, there is no fear of the gentleman being -lost—he has gone a little further than he intended, that is all.’ And -the landlord yawned so emphatically that Delaney beat a hasty retreat. - -“‘I’m going to bed,’ he said, as he passed Hartney in the hall. ‘The -landlord assures me there is no fear of any harm having befallen -Davidson, and that he is sure to turn up all right.’ - -“‘Do you think so?’ the lawyer queried. - -“Delaney nodded. - -“‘I know Davidson,’ he said; ‘I have known him since boyhood. He is the -least likely person in the world to meet with mishap.’ - -“‘I am glad to hear you say so,’ Mr. Hartney responded. ‘Very glad. -I fancied somehow—but there, it must have only been fancy. Being -intimately acquainted with Mr. Davidson, you would of course know his -voice, and had he really called out, you would certainly have heard -him. It is doubtless a mere fancy on my part. Good-night!’ - -“As Delaney wearily climbed the staircase and peeped through the -bannister, his eyes encountered those of the lawyer steadily following -him. Dog-tired, he lost no time in undressing, but when he got into -bed he found sleep would not come to him. He lay first on one side and -then on the other, he tried not to think, he resorted to every possible -device, but it was all of no avail. It was the pool, always the pool, -the pool and the blood-red tie. He kept seeing them before him, and -they continually bade him get out of bed and come to them. At last, -unable to resist them any longer, he got up, and after slipping on his -clothes, stole noiselessly out into the still and narrow country road. - -“When he had gone a few yards, he thought he heard a door shut behind -him, but, on turning round and perceiving no one, he attributed it -to fancy and went ahead at a brisk pace. At last, to his relief, the -pool came in view. There it was, just as he had seen it, moon-kissed -and silent, with the huge firs shaking their heads ominously on the -far side of it, and the long line of glittering white wall casting -its black shadow on the grass and gorse, running away from it, in an -apparently interminable line, on the side nearest him. It was a sight -he knew he would never forget as long as he lived. - -“Approaching the brink of the pool, he walked slowly round it, peering -anxiously into the water. Suddenly he gave a start. Something white -abruptly bobbed to the surface. He looked closely at it, and fancied he -discerned a face. He was about to attach a name to it, when he heard -something behind him. Swinging sharply round, he confronted Hartney. - -“‘Good heavens! You here!’ he exclaimed. ‘Whatever brought you out at -this time of night?’ - -“‘I might say the same to you,’ the lawyer replied. ‘What brought you -here?’ - -“‘Davidson,’ Delaney said. ‘Do you know, I can’t help associating him -with this pool. It is damnably fascinating.’ - -“‘I can’t help associating him with that cry,’ Hartney remarked. ‘I -am certain it was his voice! Good God! what’s that?’ And he pointed -frantically at the white thing bobbing up and down in the water, just -where the moonbeams fell thickest, and not half a dozen yards from -where they stood. - -“‘Where?’ Delaney said, pressing close to him in a great state of -excitement. ‘Where? Ah! I see it now. It’s looking towards us. -That—well, if you wish to know what it is——’ He left off abruptly. -There was a wild scream, a heavy splash, and he continued his sentence. -‘That, Mr. Hartney, is the solution you seek to the mystery.’ And he -went back to the inn alone, chuckling. - -“The sequel to this narrative comes as a surprise. Hartney was not -drowned. Being a very powerful swimmer, and lightly clad, he got to -the other side of the pool, and, clambering up the bank, he wrung the -water from his clothes and ran all the way to the inn. On arriving -there, to his intense astonishment, he found Davidson, safe and sound, -and dressed in clothes two or three sizes too small for him. Davidson’s -experience had been very similar to his own. Delaney had suddenly -seized him round the waist and hurled him into the middle of the -pool. There, he declared, he felt something like very big and icy cold -hands trying to pull him down. He cried for help and prayed, and, as -he prayed, the hands relaxed their grasp, and he managed to struggle -safely to shore. The shock of what he had gone through, however, was so -great that he felt too ill to get back to the inn, and he was compelled -to rest awhile at a farm, where he obtained a hot bath and a suit of -clothes. As Davidson knew Delaney’s wife and family, he begged Hartney, -for their sake, to keep the affair as secret as possible. - -“The doctor, who was called in to examine Delaney, could not certify -him as being actually insane. However, he strongly recommended him -to go into a private home for a time, where he would be kept under -constant supervision, and Delaney did as the doctor advised. But after -being in the home about a month he escaped, and was eventually found -drowned in the lonely pool near Llanginney. - -“From the description given me of Delaney, I am under the impression -that the figure I saw in the mackintosh was his ghost. But what about -the figure Hartney was positive he saw floating in the water? Was it -the phantom of someone who had perished there, or had Davidson again -unconsciously projected himself? I incline to the latter. This is -the case in toto, and it was told to me by Hartney, who got all the -details, apart from those he had himself experienced, direct from -Davidson and Delaney.” - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -I GO ON WITH THE HISTORY OF MY LIFE, AND NARRATE A GHOSTLY HAPPENING IN -LIVERPOOL - - -I gave up acting directly I became engaged to be married. I had no -alternative, as my fiancée’s parents strongly disapproved of the Stage, -and so long as I was on it, they would, I knew, never consent to my -union with their daughter. But it was rather a wrench, for I really -liked acting, and, with the exception of the Sunday travelling, the -life suited me well. What other occupation to choose was a poser. All -the difficulties that had faced me on my return from the States once -again presented themselves, and were aggravated by the fact that I was -many years older. I was racking my brain to know what to do for the -best, when I received a letter from an old friend in Cornwall, who -suggested that I should go down there and open up a small Preparatory -Boys’ School. It was Hobson’s choice, and in due course of time I found -myself once again engaged in the profession I loathed. I started with -four or five pupils, and had worked up my connection till I had nearly -thirty, when someone, with more money than I, set up on a much bigger -scale, and my numbers gradually decreased. - -I was never an orthodox pedagogue; very much the reverse. I aimed -rather at making my pupils manly than at cramming their heads with -book work, and, I think, I succeeded. There were exceptions, of course, -but my pupils as a whole developed a fondness for games, both cricket -and football, that bore subsequent fruit when they left me and went -on the public schools. The out-of-door occupation that formed part -of my life now was delightful, but the dry and dull monotony of the -schoolroom, and the eternal interference of certain of the parents -of my pupils, who wanted everything for nothing, for my fees were -ridiculously small, took it out of me so much, that I simply longed to -throw up the whole thing and get back to my dearly-beloved stage or -writing. - -It was while I was in Cornwall that I got my first book, “For Satan’s -Sake,” taken. Mr. Ranger Gull, who was at that time reader for Mr. -Arthur Greening’s publishing house, read the MS., and was so pleased -with it, that he recommended it strongly for publication. It was -accepted, but did not appear in print for fully a year. - -“The Unknown Depths,” which I had written in St. James’ Road, Brixton, -followed; then “Jennie Barlowe,” which I wrote between school hours in -Cornwall in the Spring of 1906; then “Dinevah the Beautiful,” the last -of my efforts in Brixton. The latter appeared in 1907. - -In the winter of 1908 my wife was ill, and in the evenings, when my -harassing duties in the schoolroom were over, I used to sit by her -bedside evolving fresh plots. It was then that I first conceived the -idea of writing a ghost book. - -In my holidays, which I usually spent in London or the Midlands, never -in Cornwall—I always flew away from the precincts of the schoolroom -the moment we broke up—I had often gone ghost-hunting, and I now -determined to make use of my experiences. Consequently, I mapped out -a synopsis of a work on haunted houses, which was at once accepted -by Mr. Eveleigh Nash, who commissioned me to write a book on those -lines. I did this in the Summer of 1908, and the book, which appeared -in the Autumn of that year and was entitled “Some Haunted Houses of -England and Wales,” created something of a sensation. It was not only -extensively reviewed by the London papers, but by many of the American -and Colonial ones as well. From that time onward my pen has rarely -been idle, and, apart from compiling some dozen or so works on the -Superphysical, I have written innumerable short stories and articles. -Indeed, so associated has my name become with everything appertaining -to the psychic, that publishers are inclined to the idea that I cannot -write upon any other subject. In this, however, I venture to think they -are mistaken; for my two works, “The Reminiscences of Mrs. E. M. Ward” -and “The Irish Abroad,” both published by Sir Isaac Pitman & Co., have -been very favourably received by both the Press and public. - -It was, however, the success of this first work of mine on ghostly -phenomena that made me realise that what I had long hoped for had at -last come within measurable distance of attainment. I could give up -teaching and devote my time once again, wholly and solely to writing. -Never shall I forget with what joy—with what unbounded and infinite -joy—I hailed the prospect of leaving for ever behind me all those -weary, dreary hours in the schoolroom, where I had been forced to -display a patience I never had, and where I had been forced to assume a -virtue I never really possessed, namely, a love of teaching. - -I made public my intention of giving up the school in the summer of -1908, and the following winter saw me snugly ensconced in a little -house in Upper Norwood, where I have been ever since. - -Several writers, one of whom I had the pleasure of meeting in London -quite recently (his brilliant character studies of young and charming -girls figure monthly in certain of the popular magazines), have been -credited with introducing to the public, none too favourably, this -Cornish Colony amongst whom I lived. If they have done so, I can -certainly endorse their sentiments. In no other town that I have been -in have I ever met people who laid themselves open to such unfavourable -criticism. I lived there nearly eight years, and during that time I -received the bare minimum of hospitality. I found the greater number -of the inhabitants bigoted and pharisaical and the townfolk and -labouring people not only extremely ignorant, but very unforgiving and -vindictive. That they were still—that is to say, at the time I am -writing of—in a tribal state was proved by their puerile attitude of -hostility to strangers, whom they used frequently to insult and annoy. -I signed two petitions relative to the throwing of stones at visitors, -which petitions were forwarded to the Home Secretary. The result was -nil. The local authorities, in dealing with such cases, displayed -the most woeful apathy, and apparently this state of affairs was -irremediable, since the magistrates, with few exceptions, were related -to half the people in the town. - -With the Art Colony I had very little to do. The few artists I knew -at all intimately I liked. I found them congenial and generally -sympathetic, though displaying an avidity in criticising authors, -which, considering their touchiness with regard to any criticism of -their own work, was distinctly amusing; all the same, apart from -this and one other harmless peculiarity, namely, an exaggerated and -unblushing deference to titles, I found them very good fellows, and -nearly all the hospitality I received in the town I received from them. - -I think I am right in saying there was never a very friendly feeling -between the townspeople and the artists. The townspeople looked upon -the artists as intruders, “foreigners,” whose ways and habits were -diametrically opposite to theirs, especially with regard to the -treatment of the Sabbath; whilst the artists showed a none too well -concealed contempt for the townspeople, whom they seemed to regard not -only as hopelessly inartistic, but of an utterly inferior breed. - -In most small towns there is a good deal of unkind gossip and scandal, -but I really think that in this respect the town I refer to was -unrivalled. It seemed to me that the people were never so happy as when -saying malicious things about each other, and they meanly victimised -those whose limited means would not permit of their taking legal action -against them. - -I have often wondered what made these people so peculiarly unkind. - -As soon as I had settled down in Norwood, I wrote “Ghostly Phenomena,” -which was reviewed at length by Andrew Lang in the “Morning Post.” -About that time I had the great pleasure of meeting Mrs. E. M. Ward. -The rencontre happened thus. The Misses Enid and Beatrice Ward, Mrs. -Ward’s youngest daughters, were getting up some theatricals, and, being -short of a man, asked a lady, with whom I was acquainted, if she knew -of anyone who would help them out of the difficulty. She wrote to me, -with the result that I took part in the play, and thus had the good -fortune to meet the Wards, with whom, I am happy to say, I have kept in -touch ever since. - -A year or so afterwards I edited Mrs. Ward’s reminiscences, which was, -almost without exception, well received by the Press. Some papers, -“Vanity Fair” and the “Weekly Graphic,” for instance—the “Graphic” -has always been very kind and fair to me,—giving the book several -lengthy and highly eulogistic notices. Mrs. Ward is a believer in -ghosts, and in her reminiscences there is a very interesting first-hand -experience of hers with the Superphysical. Mrs. Ward’s children, apart -from the fact that they inherit talent from their mother and father, -and grandfather, their great-grandfather, James Ward, R.A., and their -great-great-uncle, George Morland, R.A., are very interesting in -themselves and possess exceptional personal attractions. - -A year after I first visited their house, I was commissioned by -the Editor of “The Weekly Despatch,” Mr. Beuley, to write a series -of ghostly experiences for that paper. In order to do this I made -pilgrimages to all parts of the country, and in my zeal to find ghosts -occasionally encountered objects of a very different nature. On one -occasion, in Brighton, I had taken advantage of a slightly open window -to enter a tiny house I had been told was very badly haunted. It was a -very dark night, and being unable to find my matches, I had to grope -my way about. I was in a room with apparently never ending walls—they -seemed to go round and round without any outlet at all. At last, -however, I managed to discover a doorway, and, passing through it, I -felt my way to a staircase, which I climbed up, till I came to what I -judged to be a landing. There all further speculations were brought to -an abrupt end by my suddenly falling over some large, soft object on -the floor. In an instant, there was a loud yell, and I found myself -rolling over and over clawing and clutching at some foul and unsavoury -mass, that seemed to have fastened itself on to me with the intention -of first probing out my eyes, and then throttling me. The small flask -of whiskey that I happened to have on me undoubtedly saved me from -total annihilation. The moment the claw-like hands touched the flask, I -was free. - -I staggered to my feet, searched again, and, this time, fortunately -found the match-box and struck a light. - -Crouching on the floor in front of me was a long, thin, scraggy -creature with an absolutely bloodless face and two big, round, -protruding black eyes. Its hair was matted like a mop and tossed about -anywhere; its clothes, or rather rags, were buttonless, and only -held together, here and there, by pieces of filthy string. A more -disgusting, and at the same time pitiable, spectacle could not be -imagined. - -It was fortunate for me that I had had previous experience of such -sights in the parks and commons of London, otherwise I should have been -terrified out of my wits. As it was, I only just managed to pull myself -together, and realising that what I saw before me was not a ghost, but -a material and now, as far as I was concerned, harmless being, I spoke -to it. - -“Well,” I said, “at any rate you seem to like my whiskey. How long have -you been here?” - -The flask was gradually lowered, and a voice, which I decided was that -of a woman—for up to the present I hadn’t been able to decipher its -sex—gurgled, “I sleep here every night. This is my house.” - -“Then the enigma is solved,” I said. “You are the ghost!” - -“I soon shall be,” the creature replied, “for I’ve eaten nothing for -more than two days.” - -“Well, I’m afraid I cannot give you any more than this,” I said, “for -it’s all I have with me.” And I handed her some biscuits and bread and -cheese. - -Never shall I forget the savage joy with which she snatched the food -from my hand and crammed it into her big, gaping, fleshless jaws. No -animal in the Zoo was half so voracious. When she had finished it all, -and drained the last drop of whiskey, she drew her lean and dirty, -albeit well-shaped, fingers across her mouth, and cursed me. - -“Get you gone,” she snarled, “and leave me here. I tell you this is my -house. I’ve as much right to it as you or anyone else. Get you gone, -or I’ll spit at you.” And not wishing to be spat upon, I picked up my -flask and departed. - -I encountered another ghost of this order three nights later in a house -in Manchester. The house was furnished, but was untenanted, as the -owner, a rich and eccentric old lady, believed it to be haunted. She -wrote to me, _àpropos_ of my book, “Ghostly Phenomena,” and suggested -I should try and exorcise the ghost. Now I do not altogether believe -in exorcism. There are occasions upon which it has been practised with -success, mostly in cases of haunting by phantasms of the sane dead, but -there are also many cases, within my own experience, in which it has -been practised with no result whatever. - -At all events, with my elastic views regarding denominational religion, -I did not feel disposed to try it, and so I wrote and told her. She -replied, “Come in any case, and give me your opinion as to the nature -and cause of the phenomena.” - -I went. The house was in a quiet, sleepy thoroughfare, not three -minutes walk from the Whalley Road. It was big and roomy, and would -have been attractive but for the walls, the papers of which had -obviously been chosen by someone who did not possess even the most -elementary conception of what is pleasing in colour and design. As it -was, my artistic susceptibilities were so grossly outraged, that I -could well have imagined, the place haunted by neutrarians of the most -undesirable order. - -I visited the house in the early evening, and the subdued light from -the fast-fading sunshine, filtering through the drawn Venetian blinds, -produced a singularly sad, and, at the same time, ghostly effect. I had -come unaccompanied, for nothing on earth would persuade the old lady -or any of her domestics to set a foot in the house, and as I wandered -through room after room, the intense hush began at length to tell on -my nerves. When I was on the staircase leading to the top storey, I -fancied I heard a slight noise, and a sudden faintness coming over me, -I had to clutch hold of the banisters to prevent myself falling. I went -on, however, and opening a door at the top of the stairs, found myself -in a large room communicating with two other rooms by means of doors, -both of which stood slightly ajar. I had passed through the first, -and was half across the floor of the second, when I suddenly felt one -of my ankles caught hold of. The shock was so great that all the blood -in my body seemed suddenly to dry up, and again I all but fainted. -Forcing myself to look down, however, I perceived a skinny hand and arm -protruding from under the dressing-table, and assured by the appearance -of it that it belonged to nothing ghostly, I struck at it with my -stick, kicking out vigorously at the same time. - -With terrible howlings there now crawled from under the table a long -and lanky idiot boy. It transpired that he was the son of one of the -old lady’s servants, and that he was enjoying a nice, comfortable home -at her expense. His mother used to visit him every evening, and this -evening he had hidden under the table with the intention of frightening -her. Unfortunately for them both, however, he had frightened me -instead. The servant, of course, lost her post, and the old lady, -assured that there was no longer any fear of ghosts, came back to the -house, and, at my suggestion, had all the walls re-papered. - -The following week I had another rather strange experience in -Liverpool. I was getting dozens of letters weekly at that time, as -the first of my series of ghost stories had appeared in the “Weekly -Despatch,” and my fame as a spook hunter had spread far and wide in -consequence. A lady in Liverpool wrote to me, saying that her daughter, -Emily, was tormented by a man coming into her bedroom every night at -the same time and walking off with her bedclothes. He said nothing, -merely opened her door, and, approaching the bed on tip-toe, caught -hold of the clothes and hurriedly retreated with them. Spirit lights, -my correspondent added, were constantly seen in the room, and at times -figures like angels, and she would be glad if I would visit the house, -and discover for her, if possible, some explanation of the occurrences. -The nature of the manifestations being somewhat extraordinary, I -thought it discreet to take a friend. The house was in a crescent, -close to Clayton Square. We were shown into the drawing-room, where -all the family were assembled, and we were at once regaled with -detailed accounts of all that was alleged to happen. Then we were -taken to the bedroom that was haunted, and the young lady whose bed -the ghost stripped, at our request, sat there with us. As soon as the -electric light was switched off, she began to see spirit lights. We -saw nothing. No man appeared, and, on taking our departure, we both -agreed that the phenomena were subjective, and that it was simply a -case of hallucination. Accordingly, I advised her mother to consult a -good general practitioner, as, in all probability, her daughter needed -a tonic and change of air. I strongly warned her against consulting any -professional Spiritualist. - -Well, I returned to London, and thought no more of the matter till -the following Christmas, when, quite by chance, I ran against a young -doctor, to whom I had mentioned the incident. Evidently eager to -communicate something, he remarked, “You remember that Liverpool case -you told me about—the case of the young lady whose bedclothes used -to disappear, and which you thought was hallucination? Well, you were -mistaken. Since I saw you, I have become acquainted with the doctor -who attends her, and he told me that, whilst he was there one day, -the bedroom door opened and in walked a young man. He says the girl -immediately exclaimed, ‘Here is the man who haunts my room at night. -For goodness sake, Doctor, do something!’ Whereupon, the man, muttering -some words in German, abruptly left the room. My doctor friend -immediately ran after him, but he was nowhere to be seen, and although -the house was at once searched, no traces of him could be found. Now, -what do you think of the case?” - -“It is certainly a very unusual one,” I replied, “and, as you say, -this sequel quite upsets my theory of hallucination. It may be a case -of projection. Someone who knows the girl and wishes to torment her is -experimenting in visiting her in his immaterial ego. I have heard of -similar cases.” - -“But she knows no one like him,” my friend responded. - -“Probably not,” I said. “The image she sees may be, and very likely is, -merely an assumed one. Does she know any Indians, or anyone who is an -earnest student of the occult? Find out if you can.” - -I have not yet heard from my friend, but I still incline to the idea -that the ghost in this case was a phantasm of the living, rather than a -phantasm of the dead. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -SOME STRANGE CASES IN BIRMINGHAM, HARROGATE, SUSSEX AND NEWCASTLE - - -Whilst I was still writing for “The Weekly Despatch,” I happened to -visit an old friend of mine, a Captain Rupert Tennison, who was staying -with an aged relative in the Hagley Road, Birmingham. - -“This is hardly the house you would expect to see a ghost in, is it?” -he remarked to me after luncheon. “And yet I can assure you I had a -very remarkable psychic experience here, in this very room. I’ve often -wanted to tell you about it. It happened one New Year’s Eve three -and a half years ago. My aunt had a nephew, on her husband’s side, -called Jack Wilmot, and he and I used to meet here regularly at the -commencement of every New Year. On this occasion, however, my aunt -informed me that Wilmot was unable to be present, as he was detained in -Mexico, where he had a very good post as a mining engineer. - -“I was much disappointed, for Wilmot and I were great pals, and the -prospect of staying here alone with the old lady struck me as perfectly -appalling. I resolved to make the best of it, however, for I was -genuinely sorry for my aunt, whom I could see was quite as disappointed -as I was. I arrived late in the afternoon of December 31st. We dined at -seven, and at nine my aunt went off to bed and left me in this room by -myself. - -“For some time I read—no, not one of your books, O’Donnell—a Guy -Maupassant; but the light being rather bad, and my eyes tired, for I -had been travelling all the previous night, I was at last obliged to -desist and devote myself entirely to a pipe. - -“The servants went to bed at about ten. I heard them tap respectfully -at my aunt’s door on their way, and wish her good-night. After that the -house was absolutely silent, so silent, indeed, that the hush began to -get on my nerves, and I was contemplating retiring also, when heavy -footsteps suddenly crossed the hall and the door of this room was flung -wide open. I looked round in amazement. Standing on the threshold was -Wilmot. - -“‘Why, Jack!’ I cried. ‘I am glad to see you, old fellow. Your aunt -told me you could not come. How did you manage it?’ - -“‘Quite easily,’ he said in the light, careless manner which was one of -his characteristics. ‘Where there’s a will, there’s a way, you know. -I’ve taken French leave.’ - -“‘Taken French leave!’ I ejaculated. ‘Then there’ll be the deuce to pay -when you get back. Anyhow, that’s your affair, not mine. You’ll have -some supper?’ - -“‘No,’ he said; ‘I had a very good meal a short time ago, and I’m not -the least bit hungry. We will chat instead.’ - -“He pulled his chair up to the table, and, leaning his elbows on it, -stared right into my face. - -“‘You don’t look very well, Jack,’ I said. ‘Maybe this strong light -has something to do with it, but you are as pale as a sheet. Is it the -voyage?’ - -“‘Not altogether,’ he replied. ‘I’ve had a lot of trouble lately.’ - -“‘Tell me,’ I said. - -“‘Won’t it bore you?’ he replied. ‘After all, why should I bother other -people with my woes. Oh, all right, I will if you like. - -“‘Some months ago there came to the town where I am working a wealthy -Spaniard and his wife. Their name was Hervada. He was a tall, lean, -sour-faced old curmudgeon, and she one of the most beautiful young -creatures you can imagine. You can guess what happened?’ - -“‘You fell in love with her, of course,’ I cried. - -“‘From the moment I saw her,’ Jack replied. - -“‘You got introduced,’ I said. - -“‘Trust me,’ he laughed. ‘I found out where she lived, and the rest was -so easy that before the end of the week I had dined with them, and also -had had one clandestine meeting in the Park. At first her old villain -of a husband suspected nothing. But it is infernally hard to keep up -a pretence for long, when one is really madly consumed with passion. -Eyes are sure indicators of what the heart feels, at least mine are, -and when Hervada suddenly looked up and caught me gazing at his wife as -if I could devour her, the cat was completely out of the bag. I give -him credit for one thing, however: he took it very calmly. Despite his -unprepossessing exterior he could at times be extremely courteous and -dignified. - -“‘You will oblige me by settling this matter in the way customary to -gentlemen in this country,’ he said. ‘You must remember you are not in -England now; you are in Mexico. Have you a revolver?’ - -“‘I am never without one,’ I replied. - -“‘Then,’ he observed, ignoring the intervention of his wife, whose -apprehensions were only too plainly more on my account than on his, ‘we -will step on to the verandah.’ - -“‘What!’ I said. ‘You don’t mean to say you actually fought a duel?’ - -“Jack nodded. ‘Yes!’ he said. ‘We measured off twenty paces, and then, -turning round, fired.’ - -“‘And you killed him?’ - -“‘That would be your natural surmise,’ was the reply. ‘But you are -mistaken. It was I who was killed.’ - -“The moment he had said these words, he seemed to fade away, and before -I could recover from my astonishment, he had completely disappeared, -and I found myself staring not at him but the blank wall. And now comes -the oddest part of it. I naturally expected to hear Jack was dead. I -said nothing to my aunt, but I wrote off to his address at once. - -“Judge, then, of my relief when I received a letter from him by -return of post to say he was absolutely fit and well, and getting on -splendidly. That was in February. In the following August my aunt -wrote to me saying a very tragic occurrence had taken place. Jack was -dead. He had been found on the verandah of an hotel in Mexico shot -through the heart. Though the identity of his murderer was generally -suspected, there was no actual proof, and as the man was very rich and -influential, it was thought quite useless to take up the case. Now what -kind of superphysical phenomenon do you call that?” Captain Tennison -concluded. - -“I can’t exactly say,” I replied. “It is one of those strange -prognostications of the future that happen more often on New Year’s Eve -than on any other day of the year. - -“I don’t think the phantasm you saw was actually Wilmot’s spirit. I -don’t see how it could have been. I think it was an impersonating -neutrarian, one of that order of phantasms that have never inhabited -any kind of material body, and whose special function is apparently to -foretell the end of certain people, and certain people only.” - - * * * * * - -When I had finished my articles for “The Weekly Despatch,” which I -was writing in alternation with “The Reminiscences of Mrs. E. M. -Ward,” I took a brief holiday, visiting for the first time Matlock and -Harrogate. - -Learning that there was an alleged haunted house in the latter town, I -sought, and managed to obtain, permission to spend a night in it. It -was a modern edifice of a great height, situated about ten minutes walk -from St. James’ Hall. - -I went there alone, and, on entering the premises, encountered an -almost death-like air of stillness, which contrasted oddly with the -world outside, where all was life and gaiety. But a moment before I had -mixed with the streams of ultra-fashionable people heading for the Spa -Concert, the Theatre, and the Valley Park, and, so free had they seemed -from all trouble and responsibility—so full of sparkling, spontaneous -fun and flippancy—and above all, so full of the flamboyant spirit of -sheer life, that one could not help feeling, as one looked at them, -that after all there could be no such thing as death for them—that -such pronounced vitality must go on for ever. - -But this house—this forsaken house, void of furniture, of everything, -save the soft summer evening sunlight, the shadows, and my presence—how -different! Wandering from room to room, and floor to floor, I at length -completed my preliminary search, and being somewhat tired, I sat down -on the floor of the hall, and, taking a newspaper from my pocket, -started reading. As the hours passed by and darkness came on, I began -to be afraid. No amount of experience in ghost hunting will ever enable -me to overcome that awful, hideous fear that seizes me when I see the -last glimmer of daylight fade, and I realise I am about to be brought -into contact with the superphysical, and that I must face it—alone. - -Noises in empty houses I have noticed usually commence in the basement, -and I was not at all surprised when presently I heard a faint tapping -proceeding from one of the kitchens. This was followed by a long spell -of silence, and then one of the stairs creaked. My heart gave a big -thump, and I gazed expectantly into the darkness before me, but there -was nothing to be seen. Silence again, and then more tapping, and more -creaking. Something then tickled my hand, and a moment later my fingers -touched a blackbeetle. In an instant I was on my feet, for I dread -beetles more than I dread ghosts, and, on my striking a light, I found -the whole floor swarming. I wondered very much at this, because beetles -do not as a rule frequent houses that have been empty for any length -of time, especially in a climate like that of Harrogate. I have since, -however, arrived at the conclusion that where there are hauntings, -there are, more often than not, plagues of beetles, but whether -attracted by the ghost, or not, I cannot say. - -As I could no longer tolerate the idea of remaining in the hall in the -dark, I lighted four candles, and, placing them on the floor, sat in -the midst of them. - -It was only eleven o’clock by my watch, and the idea of keeping up my -vigil till the morning did not strike me as particularly pleasant. I -took up my paper and again began to read. Half an hour or so passed, -and then I received a start. A door opened and shut downstairs, and -bare footsteps pattered their way along the stone passage and up the -wooden stairs. - -The nearer they drew, the more intolerable became my suspense. What -should I see? A white-faced, glassy-eyed phantasm of the dead, or -some blood-curdling, semi-human, semi-animal neutrarian. Which would -it be? I confess I would have given all I possessed to be out in the -road, but, as is usually the case with me when in the presence of the -superphysical, I was quite powerless to speak or move. Then, to my -unfeigned astonishment, instead of anything grotesque and awful, there -appeared before me a little fair-haired girl, clad in a much-soiled -pinafore and without either shoes or stockings. - -Though not actually crying, she appeared in great distress, and feeling -around on all sides, as if anxiously searching for someone, she ran -past me, and commenced to ascend the stairs. Picking up a candle, I -followed her, and, as the patterings of her poor, chilled feet spread -their echoes far and wide through the vast deserted house, I thought -I had never experienced anything half so pathetic. On and on we went, -the little thin legs leading the way, till we reached the top storey, -when she ran into a room facing me, and slammed the door. I immediately -followed, but the room was quite empty. There were no signs of the -child; there was only a particularly vivid beam of moonlight, and a -virile and overwhelming atmosphere of sadness. - -During the next few days I was told a story that fully accounted for -the hauntings. - -It appears that about thirty years before my visit to the house a -little girl had lived there with her father and step-mother. Her nurse, -to whom she was very much attached, being summarily dismissed by her -step-mother, she became ill, and very soon died, so it was rumoured, of -a broken heart. - -Shortly after her death the house was to let, and no tenant, I found -out, has ever occupied it since for very long. - -I have often wished that I had spoken to the sad little spirit, but I -was too fascinated by it, and too much engaged watching its movements, -to think of anything else. And I have found that this same fascination -and preoccupation have prevented me from trying to communicate with -the ghost in nearly all the cases of haunting that I have ever -investigated. On the few occasions that I have spoken to a phantasm, I -have received no reply, no indication even that it has heard me. - -In a very famous haunted house in the West of England, during -my investigations which were spread over a period of nine, not -uninterruptedly consecutive, nights, manifestations took place twice, -and on both occasions I stood up and spoke, but in neither case was -there any response whatever. This same ghost had been subjected to -exorcism by a well-known ecclesiast, but, far from being exorcised, -the ghost so scared his exorciser that he all but fainted. These -demonstrations were visual. In a haunted house that I was asked to -visit in Sussex I saw nothing, but heard knockings, and by means of -them tried, though without success, to establish a code. I heard of the -case in this way. - -A young lady, whom I will call Miss Hemming, wrote to me. She and her -mother occupied a modern and picturesquely situated house at the foot -of the Downs, and were very frequently disturbed, she said, between -nine and ten in the evening, by sounds, such as might be made with a -muffled hammer, on the wall of her mother’s room. Simultaneously the -figure of a young man moved noiselessly across the lawn, from the -direction of a swing. He usually approached her window and came to -a halt immediately beneath it. He had never replied when spoken to. -She had fired at him several times, but the bullets had had no effect -whatever. It seemed as if they had passed right through him, because -he still stood there, whilst the gravel was splattered up immediately -behind him. On one or two occasions he shone a bicycle lamp on his -face, so that she could distinctly see his features. It was the face -of no one she knew, though she fancied it bore a close resemblance -to a notorious murderer, whose photos had been in the papers, and -who had expiated his crime on the gallows. These were not the only -manifestations. Stones had been repeatedly thrown at Mrs. Hemming, -and, although the house was being closely watched by the police, the -stone-throwing still went on, and so far the culprit had not even been -seen, let alone caught. - -I visited the house once by myself, and once with a party of men. On -the former occasion I hid in a little copse at the furthest extremity -of the lawn, and watched the house and swing closely, but I neither -heard nor saw anything. Returning to the house, I was told by Miss -Hemming that both she and her mother had heard the knockings, and that -she herself had, at the same time, seen the figure on the lawn. - -On the occasion of my second visit, we all heard the knockings on the -wall of Mrs. Hemming’s room, and one of us, who was looking out of -her daughter’s window, saw what he fancied were two shadows of human -beings cross the moonlit lawn and vanish in the direction of a hedge. -Trickery was practically impossible, as the garden was protected on all -sides by barbed wire, and there were on the premises four or five dogs, -including a young bloodhound. We had of course made a thorough search -of the house and grounds previously. - -One or two other incidents happened during the night. When I was in -the hall alone, a light, as from a bicycle lamp, was suddenly shone -in my face, apparently from a blank wall, and when we were all seated -in front of the dining-room fire, we heard heavy footsteps cross the -hall, and although we ran out at once we could see no one. We were -shown the stones that were alleged to have been thrown, but none were -thrown whilst we were there. They were a peculiar kind of flint, which -certainly did not belong to the neighbourhood. Mrs. Hemming had several -times narrowly escaped being hit by them, and one had crashed through -the bedroom window as she was looking out of it. - -I did not continue my investigation of the case, because there were -certain features in connection with it of a private and family nature, -which greatly added to its complexity, and which would, of necessity, -have rendered any attempt at solution incomplete and unsatisfactory. - -Cases of complex haunting, although, for obvious reasons, seldom -admitting of any satisfactory explanation, always interest me the most. -Here is one I chanced to hit upon in Newcastle. - -A house in —— Street had stood empty for seven or eight years, and -on my making enquiries about it, I was told to apply to a Mr. Black, -the last tenant. I did so, and Mr. Black very kindly gave me a detailed -account of what had taken place there during his tenancy. It was as -follows:— - -“A day or two after our arrival I happened to be going upstairs, and, -as I passed by one of the bedrooms, the door of which was slightly -open, I glanced in, and saw the figure of a lady, whom I had never -seen before. She was dressed in green, and standing in front of the -looking-glass, engaged apparently in putting on her hat. Wondering who -on earth she could be, for I knew the room had not been slept in, I -spoke to her, and receiving no reply, I was advancing towards her, when -she suddenly disappeared. I did not know what to make of the affair, -but, thinking that possibly it was an hallucination, I resolved to -think no more of it, and to say nothing about it to any of my family or -household. - -“Some days later, however, when out walking with my wife, I met a -friend who asked me where I was living. I told him, and he exclaimed -excitedly: - -“‘Good gracious, not in that house! Why, my dear fellow——’ At a sign -from me he stopped. I had guessed what was coming, and as my wife is -extremely nervous I thought it best she should not hear what I knew he -was going to say, namely, that the house was haunted. - -“That night I went round to see my friend. He made no bones about it; -he told me that the house I had taken was haunted—that he knew it for -a fact. - -“‘Some months ago,’ he said, ‘I was thinking of taking it myself, and, -obtaining the key from the agent, went to look over it. It was quite -light, not more than five o’clock in the afternoon, and the house -seemed bright and cheerful. Closing the front door carefully behind -me, I commenced a tour of the premises. I had reached the top floor, -and was standing in the centre of one of the rooms, when I heard a -slight noise. I started, and, turning round in the direction from -which the sound came, perceived a lady and a little girl standing in -the doorway watching me. There was nothing at all remarkable about -them. The lady was dressed in green, the child in white, both modern, -or at least comparatively modern, costumes. I was so surprised at -their being there, however, as I knew I had shut the hall door, that I -simply stood and stared at them. Then something much more extraordinary -happened—they vanished. It was not an hallucination—that I can swear -to—and thoroughly scared, I tore downstairs and out of the house. -After this I gave up all idea of taking the place, and I can’t help -feeling sorry, old fellow, that you’ve taken it.’ - -“In spite of this warning,” Mr. Black continued, “I did not give -up the house immediately. After we had been there a week or so, a -cousin of mine came to stay with us; and one evening he and one of my -children, who were in the drawing-room, together heard a soft, cautious -whistle—as if someone were giving a signal, coming, they thought, from -just behind them. The whistle was repeated, and a few minutes later -they heard a loud cry, half human, half animal, and wholly ominous. -My cousin pretended it was one of the servants, but my child would -not be convinced, and begged to be taken to bed at once, as she dared -not remain in the room any longer. After this, phenomena of all kinds -happened; steps used to be heard bounding up and down the stairs at all -hours of the night; one of the maids declared she saw something that -was a man and yet not a man come out of the drawing-room with a run, -and race up the staircase two or three steps at a time; heavy pantings -and sighs were heard, and several of the household were awakened by a -cold hand being laid upon their face. But I think the most remarkable -thing that happened is this:—I was sitting in my study one evening, -when the maid rapped at my door and said that a clergyman (whom she -had shown into the drawing-room) wished to see me on some very urgent -matter. I at once put down the book I was reading, and, hastening to -the drawing-room, found it empty. Wondering what had become of the -clergyman, I was about to ring the bell to enquire, when I suddenly -caught sight of a large eye, human in shape and horribly sinister, -glaring at me from behind an arm-chair. I was so frightened that I -could do nothing but stare back at it, and then, to my intense relief, -my wife entered the room with a friend, and the phenomenon disappeared.” - -[Illustration: “I suddenly caught sight of a large eye”] - -“And the parson?” I observed. - -“I never heard anything more of him,” Mr. Black remarked. “The maid -assured me on her honour that she had shown him into the room, but no -one saw him leave the house, so he, too, might have been a ghost; but -supposing him to have been a living person, his disappearance would not -be unnatural. He had doubtless seen the eye and precipitated himself -into the street through the open window. - -“The following day, my children being badly frightened by something -in one of the passages, I decided to leave the house; and, although I -afterwards made every possible enquiry, I could never hear of anything -particularly tragic that had ever happened there. We were the first -tenants, so I was told, that had ever complained of disturbances, and -it was suggested that we might have brought the ghosts with us, but as -none of us had ever seen a ghost before we entered that house, and we -had no old furniture, at least none that we had not always had, and -not one of us had ever attended a séance or in any way dabbled with -Spiritualism, I do not think that theory at all possible. How do you -account for the hauntings?” - -“I cannot,” I replied, “nor can anyone else. The sheer complexity -of such a case renders any definite conclusion with regard to it -extremely difficult, and any positive solution of it utterly out of the -question.” - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -WAR GHOSTS - - -Of late years the increase of interest taken in things psychical, -particularly among the more educated classes, the classes that were -at one time incorrigibly sceptical, has been enormous. I believe this -to be mainly due to the fact that people are no longer satisfied -with the scriptural declaration of another world. They want proof of -it—that is to say, absolutely authentic and corroborative evidence -that it exists—and they feel that they can only obtain such evidence -by witnessing superphysical manifestations themselves. Psychical -Research Societies, perhaps, convince them even less than the Bible. -And naturally, for the scientist, even though he be titled, can hardly -hope to accomplish in one generation what theologians, of an equal if -not superior intelligence, have attempted and failed to accomplish -throughout the ages. Hence, I am of the opinion that one can learn more -from one spontaneous ghostly manifestation in a haunted house than -from a thousand lectures, or a thousand books. Experience is the only -medium of conviction, and so long as people are without a personal -experience relating to another world, they can never really believe. -The boy in rags and tatters may be far more conversant with—may -know far more about—a future life than the more learned Professor -at the University. But no one can logically claim to be an absolute -authority on the Unknown; the most any of us can do—even those of us -who have actually seen and heard spirit manifestations—the rest do not -count—is to speculate. When we attempt to do more, we label ourselves -fools. - -Of all the professions, none, I believe, is more interested in this -question of another world than the theatrical. I have a great many -friends amongst actors and actresses, and I find them not only keenly -interested in my work, but always ready—even when working hard -themselves—to share my vigils in a haunted house. - -Only the other day, at a concert given by the Irish Literary Society in -Hanover Square, I was introduced to Miss Odette Goimbault, who recently -delighted London audiences by her impersonation of the child “Doris” -in “On Trial” at the Lyric Theatre. Odette Goimbault is unquestionably -pretty—but there is much in her looks besides mere prettiness. She has -eyes that are extraordinarily spiritual, eyes that seem to look right -into the soul of things and see things that are not generally seen by -ordinary mortals. - -When a very small child, Odette Goimbault lived with her mother in -a house at Thornton Heath. A lady died of consumption in the flat -immediately beneath Mrs. Goimbault’s, and after the burial, Odette, -though previously very fond of staying up late, used, every night, -precisely at seven o’clock, to beg her mother to take her upstairs to -bed, declaring, in a great state of terror and with tears in her eyes, -that she saw an old man with only one leg standing in a corner of the -room shaking his stick at her. When once she was taken out of the room -her fears subsided. - -In my opinion she is an ideal young actress for the pourtrayal of soul, -for the transmittal of a sense of soul to the audience, and I think -there is no one, either on the stage or off it, who looks more in touch -with the spiritual world than Odette Goimbault. - -But stronger even than its hold upon the theatrical profession is the -stand that psychism has taken with regard to the present war. - -Ever since the fighting began I have heard speculations raised as -to whether our soldiers at the Front have been witnessing ghostly -manifestations or not. So far, I must own that I have elicited very -little reliable evidence on this point, but the circumstances have -established at least one interesting fact, and that is, that to the man -in the street the question of another world has at last become a matter -of some importance. - -The wife of a very eminent official at the War Office told me a few -weeks ago that officers who took part in the Dardanelles Expedition -assured her that figures believed to be ghosts were on several -occasions seen gliding over the ground after an engagement, especially -where the dead bodies of the Turks lay thickest. The same lady also -told me that when a certain regiment formed up after a brilliant -charge, in which it had suffered very severe casualties, some of the -gaps in the ranks were observed to be filled by shadowy forms—forms -which disappeared the moment anyone attempted to touch them. - -Neither my informant nor any of the soldiers from the Front that I -have met have been able to give me any information as to the alleged -superphysical demonstrations in the sky during the retreat from Mons. -But I should like to record here, in connection with the war, a case -I heard in Paris. I published an account of it in the November, 1915, -number of “The Occult Review,” and now reproduce it through the -courtesy of Mr. Ralph Shirley: - -“The mention of Ferdinand of Bulgaria brings vividly back to my memory -two stories I heard about him, when I was dining one evening in June, -1914, at the renowned Henriette’s Restaurant in Montparnasse. Two men -were seated at a table close beside me, and I eventually got into -conversation with them. They informed me they were journalists, and -that their names were Guilgaut and Bonivon respectively. - -“‘You would laugh, if you knew where I spent last night,’ I observed. -‘I was in an alleged haunted flat in Montrouge. I don’t suppose either -of you believes in ghosts?’ - -“‘I do,’ Guilgaut said. ‘I have had more than one experience with an -apparition in my life, and so has my friend.’ - -“‘Yes,’ chimed in Bonivon, ‘we have good cause to remember ghosts, -since we stayed six weeks in a haunted hotel in Bucharest, and never -had such an infernally uncomfortable time either before or since. We -never saw the ghost ourselves, but one of the other lodgers declared he -did, and used to wake us every other night by the most unholy screams.’ - -“They then talked a lot about their adventures in the Balkans, and -finally alluded to Ferdinand of Bulgaria. ‘If ever a man is haunted, he -is,’ Guilgaut remarked. ‘I believe he never leaves his room at night -without the shadow of Stambuloff, whose death he brought about in 1895. -It simply steps out from the wall and follows him.’ - -“‘That is a lot of exaggeration,’ Bonivon said with a laugh. ‘But, -quite seriously, we heard on very excellent authority that on more than -one occasion a figure has been seen accompanying Ferdinand sometimes -when dining and sometimes when walking, and that it has been recognised -by the spectators as Stambuloff, the dead Minister. Once, we were told, -Ferdinand visited a certain Princess, and it was remarked that Her -Royal Highness appeared strangely embarrassed and perturbed. At last -someone ventured to enquire of the lady-in-waiting, who also appeared -to be greatly perturbed, what was the matter. “It’s that man,” was -the whispered reply, “that man who persists in standing beside His -Majesty. He never takes his eyes from our faces, and he looks just like -a corpse.” Her interrogator asked her to describe the figure, which he -said was quite invisible to him. - -“‘She did so, and the description tallied exactly with that of -Stambuloff.’ - -“‘Tell him about Ferdinand and the fortune-teller,’ Guilgaut said. - -“‘Yes, that happened when we were staying close to his Kohary estates,’ -Bonivon responded. ‘Ferdinand is notoriously sly and mean, and one -day, as he was passing through the village where we were staying, he -chanced to encounter a charming Hungarian maiden, who eked out a very -precarious livelihood hawking ribbons and telling fortunes. Ferdinand -had his hand read, and, thinking to trap the girl, disguised himself -and went to her again the following evening. To his astonishment, -although the make-up was skilful, for Ferdinand is a born actor in -more senses than one, the girl recognised him at once as the gentleman -who had been to her the previous evening. “I was expecting you,” she -said. “Expecting me?” Ferdinand stammered. “How is that? I’ve told no -one.” “Oh, fie!” the girl remonstrated, shaking her finger at him. -“The gentleman who accompanied you last night came here himself an -hour ago and told me you were coming.” “What was he like?” Ferdinand -asked, shaking all over. “Like,” the girl retorted pertly. “Why, -you know as well as I do,” and she rattled off a description of the -man, which tallied exactly with that of the dead Stambuloff, whom, -by-the-way, Guilgaut and I had seen many scores of times in the early -eighties. “Your friend,” the girl continued, “left a message for you. -He said—tell him when he comes that he will perish in very much the -same manner as I have done; and he showed me his hand.” “And what did -you see?” Ferdinand asked. “I saw the same ending to the life line in -his hand as I see in yours,” the girl replied. “Why, there is your -friend! He is beckoning to you. You had better go to him.” And, to her -astonishment, Ferdinand walked off in the opposite direction. - -“‘We had the story first hand. She told it us two or three days -afterwards, and expressed great anxiety as to the identity of the two -men who had behaved so strangely to her.’” - -Only one case of haunting at the actual Front has been related to me. I -will state it in my own words. - -It happened during the retreat from N——. - -The O——’s had suffered heavily, and, in the scramble to get out of -the deadly fire zone, small parties of them, owing to the nature of -the country, had got isolated from the main body and left behind. This -was the case with a dozen or so men of B Company, who, after racing -across a field amid a hail of shrapnel, had clambered over a formidable -barrier of barbed wire into a dense wood. - -Under cover of a thick cluster of trees they sat down and doctored -their wounds. There was not a sound man amongst them. Sergeant Mackay -had been struck in three places in his right leg; Corporal MacIntyre -had had a good square inch of flesh taken off his thigh; Private -Findlay had lost three of his fingers; and Bugler Scott—an ear; while, -in addition to these slight inconveniences, they were all ravenously -hungry and parched with thirst. - -“I suggest,” said Sergeant Mackay, after a brief lull in their -conversation, “that we push on again and see if we can find some sort -of habitation where we can get a mouthful.” - -“Aye, mon!” Corporal MacIntyre replied, for during such “sauve qui -peuts” all formality of rank is dropped, “It’s the wee drappie I’m -thinking after, and unless we get some of it pretty soon there’ll not -be any of us left to need it. I’m bleeding like a pig, and so are a -good many more of us.” - -“Very well, then,” Sergeant Mackay observed, rising with difficulty, -and wincing in spite of his efforts to appear comfortable. “Let us -press on.” - -The men were all absolutely ignorant of their surroundings. They -had seen nothing of the country save from the train, and during a -few hours’ tramp from the railway depot to the lines they had just -evacuated. Consequently, for all they knew to the contrary, the -wood that lay in front of them might stretch for miles, or might be -inhabited by anything from grizly bears to hyænas—for the knowledge of -the British “Tommy” with regard to the fauna and flora of Belgium is -extremely limited. - -Threading their way through the thick undergrowth, they stole -stealthily forward, the roar of artillery still sounding faintly in -their ears, till at length they emerged into a wide clearing, at the -far extremity of which stood a neatly thatched white cottage. It was -so home-like with its small plot of flower-bedecked garden, its walls -covered with clematis and honeysuckle, and its tiny spiral column of -smoke curling heavenwards, that the bleeding and exhausted men gave -deep sighs of relief. - -“Reminds me of Scotland,” Private Findlay whispered. - -“It’s as like my mother’s cottage as two peas,” Private Callum retorted. - -They halted, and were looking at Sergeant Mackay to see what he would -do—for bold as the O——’s are in battle, they are often among the -most bashful of His Majesty’s troops in time of peace—when suddenly -the door of the cottage opened and an old woman appeared on the -threshold, armed with a blunderbuss. Glaring fiercely and shouting, she -put the weapon to her hip and fired. There was a loud bang, and one or -two of the men uttered ejaculations of pain. - -“God save us!” Sergeant Mackay cried. “The gude wife takes us for -Germans.” Then addressing the woman, who was pouring another handful of -shot into the muzzle of her infernal piece of antiquity, he called out, -“Are ye daft or glaikit? Dinna ken that we are Scots. Anglais.” - -It was the only word of French the Highlander knew, and, on shouting it -three times in rapid succession, and with increased emphasis, it had -effect. The old woman lowered her weapon, and shading her eyes with a -lean, brown, and knotted hand, exclaimed. “Ah, moi dieu, les Anglais! -On me dit que les Anglais sont les amis des Belgiques. Et je vous aurai -tué! Pardonnez-moi messieurs.” - -This speech was of course lost upon the Highlanders, who would have -laughed—so comic was the picture of this old woman with the ancient -gun—had they not been faint from exhaustion. - -Now, as she beckoned to them to approach, they doffed their caps and -filed in at her gate, Sergeant Mackay leading the way. - -The interior of the house was as they had expected—scrupulously neat -and clean. - -“Wipe your boots, boys,” Sergeant Mackay whispered. “We mustn’t put the -old lady out more than we can help.” - -They all trooped in. As soon as they were seated the old woman vanished -through a low doorway, reappearing a few seconds later laden with bread -and cheese and wine, which she watched them eat and drink with perfect -satisfaction, and when they had finished, conducted them to a loft at -the back of the cottage, where she made them understand by signs they -could lie as long as they pleased. - -“I kinna think,” Sergeant Mackay said, as soon as their hostess had -retired, “where the Germans are. It’s passing strange they have not put -in an appearance here.” - -“Maybe they’ve gone by and missed this spot. It’s nae sae handy,” -Private Findlay said. “Anyhow, I’m for sleeping—for it’s ten days -since I shut my eyes.” - -“It’s the same with me,” ejaculated Private McCallum. “I hae not slept -a wink since we left Plymouth.” - -Apparently they were all of the same opinion—namely, that they needed -rest; and, without further ado, every man selected a place in the hay, -stretched himself out at full length, and was soon fast asleep. The -afternoon wore away, the sun set, and one by one the stars made their -appearance, but still the men slept. - -The gloom of the forest thickened, and with the long and waving shadows -of the elms and beeches crept forth forms of a more tangible and -sinister nature. Sergeant Mackay awoke with a start, and, springing to -his feet, strained his ears and listened. - -“Nightmare!” he said. “I made certain the Germans had got hold of me. -Weel, weel, it’s nowt but a dream. I will go and see what the gude -wife is about, and, perhaps, if she hae not gone to bed, she will gie -us some hot tea or milk—that red wine of hers hae made me uncommon -thirsty.” He scrambled down on to the ground, and, leaving the rest of -the men still asleep, crossed the yard and pushed open the door leading -to the kitchen. He was about to enter, when there came a half-choking -cry and the front of the house filled with soldiers. Sergeant Mackay -knew them at once—they were Germans! Shrinking back into the shadow -of the doorway he stood and listened. Though he could not understand -their jargon, he soon formed an idea of what was taking place. They had -caught the old woman by surprise and were discussing what they should -do with her. Had the O——s been armed, Sergeant Mackay would not have -hesitated—he would have staked anything on a win against odds at six -to one, but in their hasty flight the men had left their rifles behind -them, and it would be sheer suicide for them to attack the Germans with -their bare fists. Therefore it at once entered his mind to slip out -quietly and warn his comrades, so that they could escape without their -presence being detected. A cry of pain, however, made him hesitate. - -Two Germans had hold of the old woman’s arms and were twisting them -round. - -The difficulty of his position was not lost on Sergeant Mackay. If he -played the knight errant and helped the old woman, he would not be -able to give his comrades the necessary warning, and they would all -be taken prisoners—perhaps shot. On the other hand this gude wife had -been extremely kind to them, and was proving her loyalty by maintaining -an absolute silence as to their presence in the cottage. Could he stand -by and see her abused? He could not. There was too much of the Gael in -him for that, and as the old woman gave another gurgle, he stepped out -from his hiding place, and picking up a kitchen chair, rushed at her -captors, both of whom he stunned. He was, of course, eventually borne -down by numbers, and dragged to the ground. - -“What shall we do with him?” one of the men who were holding him asked. -“The dog! He has broken Fritz’s head, and more than half killed Hans. -He has arms like a bullock.” - -“Hang him,” the sergeant in charge of the men replied. “Tie him and the -old woman together and hang them from this beam.” And he pointed to a -great, white rafter running across the ceiling. - -Sergeant Mackay’s uniform should, of course, have protected him, but, -then, as the German sergeant put it, this cottage was well hidden in -the woods, the English were evacuating the country, and no one was -likely to come across the bodies, saving Belgian peasants who dare -not say anything, and German soldiers who would not say anything. So -Sergeant Mackay was dragged up from the floor, beaten and bruised till -there was very little of him left, bound tightly to the old gude wife, -and hanged with her. The Germans then ransacked the house, and were -preparing to explore the outer premises, when a bugle rang out, and -they hurriedly left the cottage. Ten minutes later, when all was quiet, -into the house, on tip-toe, stole the rest of the O——s. - -“God save us!” ejaculated Private Findlay, starting back and pointing -to the grim figures swaying gently from the ceiling. “God save us! Sae -what the deils hae done!” - - * * * * * - -“Halt!” The word of the Colonel, transmitted by his adjutant to the -head of the column, brought the O——s to a dead stop. - -For this they were not altogether sorry, as they had been footing it -for eight or nine hours on end—and every little respite was welcome. -But the Colonel in this instance, at least, was not intentionally a -good Samaritan. He had halted, not for the purpose of resting his men, -but because he was fogged as to his whereabouts. The night was inky -black, the country difficult—all hills, deep depressions and thick -woods—and the Colonel, relying implicitly on the guidance of his -intelligence officer, whom he supposed had made himself thoroughly -familiar with the locality, found himself obviously going astray. He -should now be at a railway bridge, which was six miles from the village -of Etigny, the last landmark. But no such bridge, as far as he could -judge, was anywhere near, and Lambert, the intelligence officer, on -being questioned, admitted he did not exactly know where they were. -That is why the Colonel had halted. His object was to make a flank -attack on the German outposts, who were supposed to be in hiding in a -wood, some three miles to the south of T——, where the extreme right -of their main army lay, and obviously it was of no use advancing any -further until he had ascertained the direction in which he must steer. - -In this wood was a cottage, that had been enlarged and fortified, -and hitherto used as a place of internment and hospital for English -prisoners, until they could be transported to Potsdam. Reports had -reached the English C.O. that the Germans intended killing all their -prisoners, if compelled to evacuate T——, and so the O——s were -to endeavour to rescue these prisoners, whilst at the same time -outflanking and cutting off the German outposts. The movement had, of -course, to be in the nature of an entire surprise, and the hospital -to be rushed, if possible, without any firing. According to Lambert, -the wood was about one mile due east of the railway bridge, and there -was a tiny path near a mill, on the outskirts of it, that led to the -rear of the cottage. To miss this path would be dangerous, as the wood -elsewhere was covered with morass and full of quarries. - -“Well, Lambert,” the Colonel said, “you have led us into a deuced -rotten hole, and you must get us out of it somehow. Surely you have -some idea of our whereabouts.” - -Lambert peered again into the darkness and shook his head. “On a night -like this,” he argued, “it is easy to make mistakes. We must have come -much further to the west than I intended.” - -“Well, then, we had better veer round and make for the extreme east,” -the Colonel said tartly. - -“Would it not be as well to return to Etigny, sir,” the Adjutant -suggested. - -“What, six miles—lose all that time—and with our men already pretty -well exhausted!” the Colonel retorted angrily. “No, that is utterly out -of the question. Lambert has brought us here, and, egad, he must take -us on to our destination.” - -Lambert took a few paces into the darkness, and was again peering -round, when a young lieutenant approached the Colonel and saluted. - -“If you please, sir,” he said, “a man has just arrived who says he will -act as our guide.” - -“A man! A German, I suppose you mean? What language does he speak?” - -“English. At least in part. He is a Scot. Shall I bring him to you?” - -The Colonel gave a gruff assent, and in a few minutes the subaltern -returned, followed by a tall figure enveloped in a long black cloak. -With one accord the Colonel, the Adjutant and Lambert all swung round -and eyed him curiously. - -“Who and what are you?” demanded the Colonel. - -“I’m an inhabitant of these parts,” the stranger answered, “and I have -come to offer you my services as guide.” - -“You’re in the pay of the Germans, of course,” the Colonel retorted -sharply. “How did you know we wanted a guide?” - -“I overheard your conversation.” - -“What!” the Colonel cried furiously. “You have been listening to what -we were saying. Take him away, Anderson, and have him shot at once.” - -No one moved. A sort of spell stole over Lambert, the Adjutant, and -Anderson, and held them rooted to the ground. The Colonel repeated his -order, and was about to lay hands on the stranger himself, when the -latter waved him back. - -“In an emergency like this, Colonel R——,” he said, “you must take -what Providence sends you. I am no more a German spy than is your -son, Alec, who is, probably, at the present moment returning from an -afternoon’s march out with the O.T.C. at Cheltenham.” - -“Great Heavens,” the Colonel gasped, “how do you know I have a son -Alec, and that he is at Cheltenham. Who are you, sir? A renegade?” - -“No, Colonel, I’m not,” came the reply. “I’m someone in whom you can -place perfect confidence. Trust yourself to me and I will conduct you -at once to the cottage in the wood.” - -“It’s very extraordinary. I don’t for the life of me know what to make -of it,” the Colonel muttered, turning to the group of officers by his -side. “What do you advise, Lambert?” - -“Under the circumstances, sir,” Lambert replied slowly, “I should trust -him. You can have him shot if he leads us wrong.” - -“That’s true,” the Colonel murmured, and turning to the stranger, “Did -you hear what Major Lambert said? I can have you shot, if you lead -us astray. And, by Jove, I will. Take your position at the head of -the column. If we are successful, I will see that you are adequately -rewarded; if you betray us—you die. Do you understand?” - -“I do, Colonel,” the stranger replied, “and I accept your conditions -willingly.” - -He stepped back, and, at a signal from the Colonel, followed Lieutenant -Anderson to the head of the column. A sergeant and a corporal—two -old and tried veterans—took up their positions a pace or two behind -him, and, at a word from the Colonel, the whole battalion was once -more on the move. On and on they went. A dull tramp, tramp, tramp, but -in a completely different direction from the one in which they had -previously been going. It was all so pitch dark that the corporal and -the sergeant had to keep very close to the stranger to see him. - -“He marches just like one of us,” the Sergeant whispered, “and yet I -kenna hear the sound of his feet. What do you make of him?” - -“I don’t know,” the Corporal replied. “I seem to know him, and yet I -haven’t seen a feature of his face. Something about him reminds me -of the night I escaped from N——. It strikes me, Sergeant, that the -cottage the Colonel is after is the very one in which we took shelter.” - -“Then you know the way?” - -“Nae,” Corporal Findlay replied. “I was too rushed and scared that -night to remember much. The only thing I can remember seeing plainly -is those two corpses swinging from the beam—Sergeant Mackay’s and the -gude wife’s—and the scene comes back to me vividly now as I look at -this guide of ours. Why, I dinna ken.” - -“Be ready to shoot him, mon, the instant there’s treachery,” the -Sergeant whispered. - -“Aye, Aye!” Corporal Findlay replied, tapping the barrel of his rifle -knowingly. “He’ll nae want a second dose.” - -On and on they tramped, till presently they forsook the highway for a -field, and then, plunging down and down, eventually found themselves -upon level ground facing some trees. “This is the wood,” the guide -observed, “and here is the path. After we have travelled along it in -Indian file, and on tiptoe, for two miles, we shall emerge into a -small clearing, where a low mud wall, overtopped by a machine gun, -will confront us. The soldiers supposed to be on duty there have been -drinking red wine all day, and are now sleeping. If you approach -noiselessly you will be able to climb the wall and take them by -surprise. The cottage is then yours.” - -“But there are sentries in the wood.” - -“One! He will be leaning on his rifle dozing. You must creep up to him -and settle him before he has time to make a sound. I will tell you when -we approach him.” - -The guide advanced, and the whole battalion of O——s stalked along -behind him. - -“I shall be gay glad when this job is over,” Corporal Findlay murmured. -“I would as soon spend the night in a kirkyard.” - -However, although every now and then a rustling of leaves that heralded -a rabbit made them start, and the ominous screech of an owl caused -the hair on the scalp of more than one superstitious Celt to bristle, -so far there was no real cause for alarm, and on and on the battalion -stole. At last their guide halted, and every man behind him instantly -followed suit. He whispered to Corporal Findlay and the Sergeant, and, -making way to let them pass, kept close to their heels, guiding them by -what appeared to be a minute bull’s-eye lantern. - -On turning a sharp bend in the path, Corporal Findlay and the Sergeant -saw the sentry, as their guide had described him, asleep, and, before -he had time to awake, Corporal Findlay had dashed him to the ground -with a swinging blow from the butt-end of his rifle. Three minutes -later, and the head of the column found itself facing the mud wall and -the machine-gun. This was the critical moment. If their guide meant -mischief, now was his opportunity. Following closely at his heels, -their rifle and revolver at his head, the Sergeant and Corporal crept -up to the wall, and, one by one, the rest of the O——s filed into -the open space after them. Holding their breath the Highlanders laid -hold of the top of the wall, then with a sudden stoop, they swung -themselves upwards. The sleeping sentinels awoke, but only to feel one -short, sharp thrust—and the pangs of death. The outer position won, -the Highlanders next turned their attention to the cottage and the -enclosed space in front of it. There, a strong body of German infantry -were stationed, and, as they came rushing out to meet the intruders, -they shared the same fate as their companions. In ten minutes there -was not a German left alive, and the O——s, their bayonets dripping -with blood, were busy liberating the English prisoners. When it was -all over, and the Colonel and his staff were sitting down in the -front parlour of the cottage enjoying some refreshment, Colonel R—— -suddenly remembered the guide. “Anderson,” he said, “fetch that -fellow—our guide—in here. It’s not very gracious behaviour on our -part to leave him outside, for, egad, if it had not been for him we -should not be where we are. Moreover, I want to see him—I’ve an idea -he’s someone I know.” - -The subaltern departed, and after an interval of some minutes returned, -followed only by Corporal Findlay. - -“Hulloa!” exclaimed the Colonel, looking up sharply from his meal. -“This is not the man I wanted. Where is he?” - -“If you please, sir,” the subaltern said, in a voice full of suppressed -excitement, “Corporal Findlay can tell you all about it—he was the -last to see him.” - -“The last to see him,” growled the Colonel. “Why, what the deuce do you -mean. Where is he?” - -“I can’t say, sir,” Corporal Findlay began. “After the fight was -over I followed him into this cottage, right into this room. And he -halted just where you are sitting, under that beam,” and he pointed -to the great, white rafter immediately over the Colonel’s head. “He -then turned round, sir, and drawing aside the cloak, that had hitherto -hidden his face, showed himself to me!” - -“Good God, man, you needn’t look so frightened!” the Colonel cried. “He -wasn’t the devil, was he?” - -“No, sir, he wasn’t the devil,” Corporal Findlay responded. “He was -Sergeant Mackay of the first battalion—and the last time I had set -eyes on him was in this room on the night of the retreat from N——, -when I and several others of the O——s found him hanging from that -rafter—dead.” - -“And then,” said the Colonel, after a long pause, “and then what -happened?” - -“Why, sir,” Corporal Findlay replied, “he smiled, as if something had -pleased him mightily, and waving his hand—disappeared.” - -“And you expect me to believe such a cock and bull story as that,” the -Colonel said slowly. - -“It’s the truth, sir,” Corporal Findlay said slowly. “Sergeant Scott -can corroborate it, for he was with me all the time.” - -“There’s no need to do that,” the Colonel answered, “for I know you -have spoken the truth. This is by no means my first experience with -ghosts—only—for goodness sake do you and Sergeant Scott say nothing -about it to the other men. If you do there won’t be an ounce of nerves -left among them by the morning. Germans are one thing, but ghosts -another! It was a splendid revenge for Sergeant Mackay!” - - * * * * * - -The stories I have just narrated must be taken for what they are worth. -Though I believe they were told me in good faith, I cannot vouch for -them. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -A CASE FROM JAPAN - - -Since Japan is a country in which I believe many people are intensely -interested, I do not think I need apologise for introducing here the -following account of a Japanese haunting. - -Never having been to Japan, I cannot lay claim to having had any -ghostly adventures there myself; but as this is copied, word for word, -from the MSS. of Mr. G. Salis, which was very kindly lent me for the -purpose by Mrs. Salis (Mr. Salis’s mother), I can most certainly answer -for its authenticity. - - * * * * * - -“In the spring of 1913, I settled in the village of Akaji, in the -southern Island of Japan, in order to work a colliery. The country in -this part is mountainous and quite off the track of any tourists, and -the inhabitants remain in a very primitive condition. All the people -are either farmers, miners, or the keepers of very small shops, and -there is not a single hotel nor even an inn. I stayed at first in one -of the rooms of a farm house, and, after a little while, was able to -lease an old thatched farm house, standing in a small orange orchard, -quite close to the colliery. - -“Its owner lived in a little house at the back. My house was -one-storied, but very high, the pitch of the thick thatch being -very steep. On entering, one found a kitchen with various cooking -places, but no chimneys: the smoke curling and losing itself among -the huge rafters that supported the roof. The rest of the house was -raised, and consisted of four rooms divided from each other by sliding -paper-covered screens or fusuma, and with thick padded straw mats or -tatami on the floor. I got a table and chair, and put up some book -shelves, and made the best room as habitable as possible. This room had -a tokonoma, or recess, painted a dark grey; and a scroll, a crystal -and a vase of flowers put in it gave the necessary decoration to the -severely bare interior. For the first few months I slept in one of the -back rooms, but later, when it got very hot, I only used the one room. -I had one servant, and as we got up at dawn, we also went to sleep -very early, and usually by nine o’clock the house was in darkness and -silence. One night I was awakened, and heard talking and laughing in -the next room, only separated from me by a thin screen. Someone was -telling a story in an animated voice, and his auditor every now and -then ejaculated ‘naruhode’ (to be sure) and ‘sodesuka’ (is that so), -but the voices were kept low and the laughs were subdued. Just then the -kitchen clock struck two. I was annoyed at my servant having friends -in at that hour, and in the room next mine, and determining to have it -out with him in the morning, I fell asleep. Next morning he absolutely -denied that anyone had been in the house, and became very indignant -when I insisted on what I had heard. - -“Two nights later, I again heard a conversation going on, and -reluctantly got out of bed and from under the mosquito curtains to -investigate. A low chuckling laugh and then a snatch of song—and I -pushed back the sliding fusuma. The room was in darkness, but I had -a little electric torch which I used in the colliery, and, pressing -its button, the room was brightly lit. Inside the mosquito curtain, -Tanaka lay soundly sleeping—no one else was in the room; indeed, -but for the futon or mattress covered by the net it was completely -bare, and the talking still went on, seeming now to come from the room -behind me. I awoke Tanaka, and we went out into the garden. No one was -stirring, and the sounds came from inside the house. Away, down the -road, three miners were returning from a night shift, and my servant -wanted to run and fetch them, but I did not see the object of doing -so. The mosquitoes were very bad, and I wanted to get back under the -nets, conversations or no conversations, and so we re-entered the -house. Silence reigned, and I went back to bed—but not to sleep—for -the remainder of that night. Tanaka took the opportunity, while I -was at the colliery the next morning, to pack up his few belongings -and decamp, leaving a letter saying he could not stay in a house -frequented by demons. I got a girl in from the village as a makeshift, -and afterwards another servant, but no one would stay in the house -after nightfall. I moved my bed into a room at the back, but still -used the other room as a living room, and soon became used to the fact -that it was haunted. Often, during the day, there were noises coming -from near the tokonoma or recess—as though someone was cracking his -finger joints, a habit the Japanese have; on several occasions, flowers -put in the vase below the hanging scroll were taken out of their vase -and arranged lying on a tray. One afternoon I brought my bed into the -room, as the autumn was now getting cold, and I had been unwell for -some days and wanted the benefit of the afternoon sun. I sent the -servant to buy some stamps at the Post Office, a mile away, and stepped -into the garden to gather some late dahlias. Looking up I distinctly -saw a movement in the room I had left, through the pane of glass let -into the paper-covered shoji. Dropping my flowers, I pressed my face -against the pane, and saw the bedclothes, which the servant and myself -had arranged, only five minutes previously, had been whisked off and -were lying on the floor. Twice after this, coats hung on a peg near -the tokonoma were found almost immediately lying on the floor at some -distance, one having been pulled from its peg with such force as partly -to tear it. - -“On many nights, when I woke up, I heard talking in the next room, and -gradually came to distinguish a man’s voice, sometimes I thought two -men’s, and certainly that of a woman and a baby. All the village were -now talking of the haunted house, and, now and then, neighbours came in -to listen to the mysterious sounds that came, from time to time, from -the tokonoma, but they took good care to be gone before sunset. - -“Winter had now come, and I fell ill, and as the only really pleasant -room in the house was made impossible during the long sleepless nights, -I redoubled my endeavour to find another house. A baby’s wailings -were very distinct, then it was hushed by its mother, and then long -conversations ensued between her and one or two men—sometimes there -were little taps, as though a tobacco pipe were being emptied of its -ashes, but more often a curious noise was heard which sounded like -‘putter putter.’ About this time, an account appeared in all the -Japanese newspapers of a bridge in Tokejo, which was haunted by a -woman, and how this spirit had been laid by priestly intervention, -and it was suggested that the same might be tried in the present -case. I thought it rather a good plan, but, seeing that it was rather -expensive, said that the landlord and not his foreign tenant should -defray the cost and arrange the matter. But my landlord, who was very -unpopular in the village, and with whom I was not on very good terms, -would do nothing; and as, just then, another house near the colliery -became vacant, I was able to move, and so at last be free of my ghostly -visitants. Everyone knew of the reason for my leaving, and the landlord -felt sure he would never find another tenant. After the house had been -empty for some time, the landlord himself determined to live in it -for some months, in order to demonstrate that things were not so bad -after all. He, and his wife, and their two grandchildren accordingly -moved their things across from their other house, but did not at first -occupy the room with the tokonoma. Seeing, however, that their object -in being in the house at all would be defeated unless this room was -used, they hung some pictures in the recess, placed a bronze flower -vase on a carved stand below them, and also moved in a gilt shrine -containing an image of Buddha. A few friends were asked in, but all -left at sunset. Next morning I heard that there had been considerable -disturbance at the house, and that the younger grandson had been taken -with convulsions. - -“The same day a move was made again to their former abode, the house -was closed, and still remains empty. A temple on a hill near by was -being repaired, and, on the completion of the work, a priest came to -hold a service. The head man of the village took the opportunity of -consulting with him, and together they went to see my late landlord. -The facts brought to light, many of which were vaguely known in the -district, are as follows:—The house had been built about one hundred -and fifty years previously by the head of the family, which was -then of more consequence than at present, although it still owned -considerable property in pine forests and rice fields. A younger -brother of the original builder had conspired against his feudal lord -and had committed suicide—hara-kiri. It was not known in which room, -but probably it was in the principal one. The next tragedy, that was -known of, had happened some fifteen years before, when the son-in-law, -the father of the two boys already mentioned, was found hanging from a -hook near the wooden ceiling of the room with the tokonoma. He had been -away for some time in Tokejo, had spent a great deal of money, and, on -his return, had quarrelled violently with his wife. She had run out of -the house with her children, and had stayed on the hillside all night. -Next morning her husband was found as above stated. Some months later, -again in the same room, on the eve of the birth of her posthumous -child, this woman killed herself by drinking poison, made from the -leaves of a shrub still growing in the garden. During the convulsions -which preceded her death, the child was born, but dead. - -“The priest said there was no doubt that the spirits of these various -people, related by family ties, and lives, passed among the same -surroundings, and who had all come to a dreadful violent end in the -same house, and, probably, the same room, were earthbound, and were in -the habit of assembling and conversing in the room where their lives -had come to an end. Each addition would strengthen and intensify their -bondage, and the priest expressed his surprise that the spirits were -not actually visible. There was a good deal of discussion as to the -terms for a service and ceremony to free the house from these ghostly -tenants and to give them rest, I offered a small sum, but as they were, -after all, the relations of the landlord, it was upon him that the bulk -of the expense fell, and he refused to provide the necessary funds. -His argument was that, even were the spirits ‘laid,’ no one now would -rent the house, and so he would not spend any money on it. Whether he -also thought that the spirits were as happy holding their ghost-parties -round the tokonoma as they would be if they were at rest, he did not -say, as such thoughts would be contrary to all Japanese ideas on the -subject. Anyway, the house is now closed, the heavy wooden shutters are -rolled across the verandahs and bolted, the garden is overgrown and -choked with weeds, and the only time when there is human activity about -it, is when the orange trees, burdened with fruit, yield their golden -harvest. - - “G. SALIS.” - - * * * * * - -To revert again to my own experiences. I am often sorry, extremely -sorry, I was ever brought into contact with the Unknown. As I said in -one of the early chapters of this book, I did not go out of my way to -seek the superphysical—it came to me. And it has never given me any -peace. I feel its presence beside me at all times. In the evening, when -I am writing, the curtains that are tightly drawn across the closed -windows slowly bulge, the candlestick on the mantel-shelf rattles, a -picture on the wall swings out suddenly at me, and, when I go to bed -and try to sleep, I frequently hear breathings and far-away whispers. -Some of these “presences” no doubt have been with me always—most -probably they were with my ancestors—whilst others have attached -themselves to me in my nocturnal ramblings. - -My wife, who was a confirmed disbeliever before our marriage, has -long since thrown aside her scepticism, and for a good reason. She -has had many startling proofs of the power the spirit has of making -itself manifest. The night a near relative of mine died both she and I -heard a loud crash on the panel of our bedroom door, and I, though I -only, saw a hooded figure standing there. Also, besides having heard -the banshee, my wife has seen objects moved by superphysical agency, -seen them fanned by a wind that is apparently non-existing, had small -stones and other articles thrown at her, and heard all sorts of queer, -unaccountable sounds—laughs, sighs, and moans. - -Three ghostly incidents have happened to me within the past twelve -months. The first was in Red Lion Square. It was twilight; I was alone -on the top floor of the house, and no one else was in the building, -saving the daughter of the caretaker, who was in the basement. -Suddenly footsteps, slow, ponderous footsteps, began to ascend the -stairs—which, being uncarpetted and of oak, carried the sound—from -the hall. Wondering who it could be, I called out. There was no reply, -and the steps drew nearer. On the landing immediately beneath me they -halted. I went out and looked down. No one was to be seen, and the -steps immediately began to descend. I followed them right down—a few -stairs behind—till they reached the hall, when they abruptly ceased. I -learned afterwards that these footsteps were quite a common phenomenon -in the house, which had long been haunted by them. - -My second experience occurred in the Moscow Road, Bayswater. Feeling a -heavy weight on my bed one night and wishing to remove it, I put out my -hand. It was immediately seized and held in a warm grip. I sat up in -bed, but could see no one. The hand that clasped mine was very soft and -small—unmistakably that of a woman. I felt the wrist and forearm, but -beyond the elbow there was nothing. - -I was rather alarmed at this occurrence at the time, as I have a friend -who died shortly after experiencing a similar phenomenon. In my case, -however, the lady, whose hand I immediately identified as the hand -that had clasped mine, and this lady solemnly declared that upon the -same night—we compared dates—she had dreamed of a hand which was the -exact counterpart of mine, and that, upon shaking hands with me that -afternoon, she had been instantly reminded of her dream. - -That there was nothing in common between us, her tastes and outlook on -life being absolutely at variance with mine, makes the occurrence, in -my opinion, none the less interesting, though somewhat difficult to -account for. - -My last experience occurred only a few days ago, as I was sitting -on the stairs of a haunted house near Ealing. I had applied to the -landlord for permission to spend the night there, and, pending his -reply, had obtained the keys from the agent, in order to see what the -house was like by daylight. Having just finished jotting down some -notes—a memorandum of something I had suddenly thought of—I paused, -still holding the pencil in my hand, whilst my note-book lay open on my -knee. I had not sat thus for more than a minute, when, with a thrill of -surprise, I felt the pencil suddenly taken from my hand, and, looking -down, I distinctly saw it, of its own accord, scrawl right across my -book. Whether what I afterwards found written in my note-book was -written by the spirit that haunted the house, or by a projection of -one of my own personalities, I cannot say; neither can I, myself, nor -anyone to whom I have shown the symbolic writing, tell what it means. -The appended is a facsimile. - -[Illustration] - -I might add that this is my one and only experience of spirit-writing, -and also that it was my one and only experience in the haunted house -near Ealing, as I did not succeed in getting leave to spend a night -there. - -Although I must confess I have made little progress so far in my -investigations, for my failure to decipher spirit-writing is not the -only set-back that I have encountered, I still have hopes. I hope -that some day, when I am brought face to face with the Unknown, in a -haunted house or elsewhere, I may be able to hit upon some mode of -communication with it, and discover something that may be of real -service both to myself and to the rest of humanity. - -If only I could overcome fear! - -It is March 28th, midnight, and as I pen these concluding words, my -mind reverts to the symbols and the date—March 28th, twelve o’clock. - -Suddenly I hear footsteps—distant footsteps on the road -outside—coming in the direction of the house. - -I glance at my wife, wondering whether she hears them too. She is -asleep, however, and, as I covertly watch her, I see a look of terror -gradually steal into her face. Clicking steps. They come nearer and -nearer. They stop for a moment at our door, and then—thank God—pass -slowly on. - -I look out of the window—the road is absolutely deserted, but from -close at hand the sounds are wafted to me—click, click, click, -fainter, fainter, fainter—until they abruptly cease. - - -THE END. - - -_Printed by W. Mate & Sons, Ltd., Bournemouth._ - - - - -Transcriber’s note - -Words in italics have been surrounded with _underscores_ and small -capitals have been replaced with all capitals. - -Small errors in punctuation were corrected without note, also the -following changes were made, on page - - 11 “ancester” changed to “ancestor” (Niall Garbh, the ancestor - of Red Hugh) - 16 “ill” changed to “will” (to wander about at will?) - 27 “generation” changed to “generations” (with Irish soil for many - generations.) - 28 “i.” added “i.e.” (_i.e._, to announce a death) - 33 “remanied” changed to “remained” (and so I remained with my neck - craned over) - 42 “genialty” changed to “geniality” (about them all there was an air - of geniality) - 44 “wiife” changed to “wife” (my wife met this Mr. Dekon at a ball) - 49 “financies” changed to “finances” (in which my finances forced - me to) - 59 “lift” changed to “left” (which left me with) - 62 “Be” changed to “Bell” (Mrs. Bell asked Stella if she had) - 69 “physical” changed to “psychical” (the people to associate - themselves with psychical research) - 77 “overheard” changed to “overhead” (I heard someone moving about - overhead) - 86 “fo” changed to “of” (of tramp suicides) - 99 “happned” changed to “happened” (That was all that happened) - 103 “parellel” changed to “parallel” (disturbances of a parallel - nature) - 118 “dose” changed to “doze” (As soon as I begin to doze) - 164 “his” changed to “my” (pointing to my cap). - -Otherwise the original was preserved, including inconsistencies -in spelling, hyphenation, etc. Additional: “the ’98” on page 17 -probably refers to the Irish rebellion in 1798. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Twenty Years' Experience as a Ghost -Hunter, by Elliott O'Donnell - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GHOST HUNTER *** - -***** This file should be named 50775-0.txt or 50775-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/0/7/7/50775/ - -Produced by Shaun Pinder, eagkw and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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