"Spirits of that kind!" Wilfred sniggered. "Why, whatever other kind of spirits are there? What a mysterious fellow you are, John." "Am I?" John laughed. "Perhaps I've reason to be. I live in a big house, all alone, in Red Lion Square." "New houses, aren't they?" Wilfred commented. "And big rents?" John nodded, the same nod answering apparently both questions. "But you haven't told me yet," Wilfred went on, "how you knew Jenny was dead." "I've seen her," John said very quietly. "She comes to me regularly." "Seen her? Comes to you regularly? You must be mad, John--mad or hoaxing. How can you see her, and why should she come to you?" John shrugged his shoulders. "I told you you wouldn't believe me," he replied. "No one does. Yet I can swear to you it's true. She appeared to me last night and told me you would be here this afternoon. That is how I happened to meet you." "You overwork yourself, John," Wilfred said, taking another long pull at the rum. "Too much work is just as harmful to one's temperament and chances in life as too little. Moderation, my boy, moderation, I say. That's always been my keynote. I should like to see this house of yours." "You shall," John said, "and the spirits. Not hers--I don't think you will see hers--but the rum and brandy. I've excellent brands of both--smuggled over from abroad last week." "And yet you don't drink!" "No, I got them in entirely for your benefit. Come. We will go to my house. It's more comfortable than here. A big fire, nice easy chairs, tobacco, and bottles--bottles with plenty in them." "And you've forgiven me, John?" "Forgiven you!" John replied, rising from the table and putting on his hat. "Forgiven you! Do you think I should ask you round to my house, to drink the best vintage London can offer you, if I hadn't? Come. Come along at once." Wilfred rose with some difficulty from his seat, and the two men went out into the street. The scene then changed, and I found myself in a big, gloomy house, following them up a long flight of wooden stairs.