One evening, absorbed in reading, I became conscious that the windows rattled, a door slammed, and suddenly, right over my head, there was a sound as of a heavy body rolling rapidly along; and a horrible shriek split the air. The awe-inspiring volume slipped from the nerveless fingers (anatomically this is not accurate), and palpitating with a wordless horror, I sat powerless. For a long minute all was still: then the sound as of stealthy footsteps struck on the straining ear--on the tympanic membrane as a matter of fact. The door moved slowly on its creaking hinge, and-- “Kîst!” “who is it!” rang in my ears. It was my own voice, hoarse and unrecognizable, uttering the cry. I clutched the ready revolver and cocked it. “Sahib! dead man, all is buried in garden. His bones me see.” It was my Indian cook who brought the information. This, then, was the cause of the unnatural manifestations. Doubtless, the house had been the scene of a horrible murder, and the criminals had hastily hidden the ghastly proof of their deed in the garden; but murder will out, and the unrestful spirit of the victim was wandering around. Now I had studied Forensic Medicine and had read Gaboriau. It behoved me, therefore, to work out this crime, track the murderers, and bring them to justice. “Ustughonha biya inja,”--“Bring hither the bones,” I said. I know the human bones, every ridge, furrow, and knob, from the fifth Metatarsal to the Sphenoid. Many a night in the years gone by had I sat poring over a bone, while the stars twinkled in the heavens--at least, I expect they did; not that it matters. The servant returned, and with horror and disgust depicted on his swarthy face laid a small bone on the table in front of me. “But where are the others? Bring the skull, man--the head.” “Sahib, other me not see.” With an eagle glance I pierced him, and he shrunk back. “Drivelling idiot, son of uncleanness, scoundrel, whose heart is blacker than his face--this is not a man’s bone. Bring me human bones.” “Sahib, other me not got.” “Get some, then, and at once;” and he fled from the room. Was I to be trifled with in this way; to be made small and of no account? I was prepared to unravel the mystery, and was I to be turned aside by a servant--an Indian servant--a black Indian servant? But I cooled down afterwards, and by-and-bye, when he came in to enquire if I wanted anything, I said, No! he could go to bed. In April, the weather was beautiful, sunny and bright, without being too hot. The number of patients coming to the Hospital increased as travelling became easier. I saw about a hundred and thirty cases daily. Some came great distances--from Turkestan, Kandahar, Herat, and the borders of Kaffristan. [Sidenote: Called to the Palace.]