"Have you ever come across any other thoroughly substantiated cases of ghost-seeing--cases which have really convinced you, Colonel?" queried Mr. Ross-Ellison--being deeply interested in the subject by reason of queer powers and experiences of his own. "Yes. Many in which I fully believe, and one about which I am _certain_. A very interesting case--and a very cruel tragedy." "Would you mind telling me about it?" asked Mr. Ross-Ellison. "Pleasure. More--I'll give you as interesting and convincing a 'human document' about it as ever you read, if you like." "I shall be eternally grateful," replied the other. "It was a sad and sordid business. The man, whose last written words I'll give you to read, was a Sergeant-Major in the Volunteer Rifles (also at Duri where I was stationed, as you know) and he was a gentleman born and bred, poor chap." ["Lawrence-Smith," murmured Mr. John Robin Ross-Ellison with an involuntary movement of surprise. His eyebrows rose and his jaw fell.] "Yes, he was that rare bird a gentleman-ranker who remained a gentleman and a ranker--and became a fine soldier. He called himself Lawrence-Smith and owned a good old English name that you'd recognize if I mentioned it--and you'd be able to name some of his relatives too. He was kicked out of Sandhurst for striking one of the subordinate staff under extreme provocation. The army was in his blood and bones, and he enlisted." "Excuse me," interrupted Mr. Ross-Ellison, "you speak of this Sergeant-Major Lawrence-Smith in the past tense. Is he dead then?" "He is dead," replied Colonel Jackson. "Did you know him?" "I believe I saw him at Duri," answered Mr. Ross-Ellison with an excellent assumption of indifference. "What's the story?" "I'll give you his own tale on paper--let me have it back--and, mind you, every single word of it is Gospel truth. The man was a _gentleman_, an educated, thoughtful, sober chap, and as sane as you or I. I got to know him well--he was in hospital, with blood-poisoning from panther-bite, for a time--and we became friends. Actual friends, I mean. Used to play golf with him. (You remember the Duri Links.) In mufti, you'd never have dreamed for a moment that he was not a Major or a Colonel. Army life had not coarsened him in the slightest, and he kept some lounge-suits and mess-kit by Poole. Many a good Snob of my acquaintance has left my house under the impression that the Lawrence-Smith he had met there, and with whom he had been hail-fellow-well-met, was his social equal or superior. "He simply was a refined and educated gentleman and that's all there is about it. Well--you'll read his statement--and, as you read, you may tell yourself that I am as convinced of its truth as I am of anything in this world.... He was dead when I got to him. "The stains, on the backs of some of the sheets and on the front of the last one, are--blood stains...." And at this point their host suggested the propriety of joining the ladies....