"It was not quite empty; on the bottom of it, stuck firmly down with two big hatpins, its long legs spread out on either side of it like a hideous fringe, was a black Indian centipede." CHAPTER IX THE COUGH A CASE OF HAUNTING IN REGENCY SQUARE, BRIGHTON I know a man called Harrison. So, in all probability, do you; so, in all probability, do most people. But it is not everyone, I imagine, that knows a Harrison who delights in the Christian name of Pelamon, and it is not everyone that knows a Pelamon Harrison who indulges in psychical research. Now some people think that no one unless he be a member of the Psychical Research Society can know anything of ghosts. That is a fallacy. I have met many people who, although they have had considerable experience in haunted houses, have never set a foot in Hanover Square; and, vice versa, I have met many people who, although they have been members of the Psychical Research Society, have assured me they have never seen a ghost. Pelamon Harrison belongs to the former category. He is by vocation a gentleman undertaker, and he lives in Sussex. Some years ago, after the publication of my novel _For Satan's Sake_, which was very severely criticised in certain of the religious denominational papers, Pelamon Harrison, championing my cause, wrote me rather an interesting letter. I went to see him, and ever since then he has not only supplied me with detailed information of all the hauntings he has come across, but he has at times sent me accounts of his own experiences. This is one of them. Pelamon was seated in his office one day reading Poe, when the telephone at his elbow started ringing. "Hullo!" said Pelamon. "Who's there?" "Only me--Phoebe Hunt," was the reply. (Phoebe Hunt was Pelamon Harrison's housekeeper.) "Anything the matter?" Pelamon asked anxiously. "What is it?" "Oh, nothing," Mrs. Hunt replied, "only a rather queer-looking gentleman has just called and seemed most anxious to see you. He says he has been told about you by Mr. Elliot O'Donnell, and he wants you to go at once to a house in Regency Square, Brighton, No. --. He says it is very badly haunted." "What's his name?" Pelamon demanded. "Nimkin," Mrs. Hunt answered, and she very carefully spelt the name--"N I M K I N." "I'll think it over," Pelamon said, "and if I'm not home by seven o'clock, don't expect me till the morning." He then rang off, and thinking it was time he did some work, he took up his account book. Try as he would, however, he could not keep his mind from wandering. Something kept whispering in his ear "Nimkin," and something kept telling him that his presence was urgently needed in Regency Square. At last, unable to stand it any longer, he threw down his pen and, picking up his hat and coat, hurried off to the railway station.