He took a brief turn on the sea front, thinking all the time of Regency Square and the mysterious individual who had interviewed Mrs. Hunt, and who must be, he thought, related to the Nimkin who had been buried that afternoon. At nine o'clock he was once again in the square. Entering the garden of No. --, he crept round to the back of the house and, finding the catch of one of the windows undone, he raised the sash and climbed in. He had an electric torch with him, and consequently he was able to find his way about. Pelamon is very susceptible to the influence of the superphysical, and is probably far more of a psychic than the majority of those who earn their living as professional mediums. He told me afterwards that he knew No. -- was haunted the moment he set his foot inside it. He could detect the presence of the superphysical both in the atmosphere and also in the shadows. Frequently in the death chambers which he had attended he had seen a certain type of shadow on the floor by the bed; and it was this same queer kind of shadow, he said, that now crept out from the wall to meet him. But it was not the only phenomenon. From just where the shadow lay, there came a cough, a nervous, worrying cough, a regular hack, hack, hack, and when Pelamon moved, the cough and the shadow moved too. He went all over the house, into every room; and the cough and the shadow followed him. Hack, hack, hack, he could not get rid of it. At first it merely irritated him; but after a while he grew angry, infuriated, maddened. "Damn you!" he yelled. "Stop it! Stop that vile, infernal hacking. Damn you! Curse you! STOP it!" But the coughing went on, and in a hideous fit of rage, Pelamon flew at the shadow, jumped on it, stamped on it, and drawing out his clasp knife, knelt down and deliberately stabbed it. Still it went on, untiringly, ceaselessly, significantly, hack, hack, hack. Pelamon was still on the floor cutting, stabbing, blaspheming, when a taxi suddenly drew up outside the house, and the next moment the front-door bell gave a loud birr. Pelamon waited till it had rung twice; then he answered it. A chauffeur stood on the doorstep. "You've come to the wrong house," Pelamon said to him. "No taxi is wanted here." "This is No. --, ain't it?" the man ejaculated. "Yes," Pelamon replied. "It is No. --, but that doesn't simplify matters. Who sent for you?" "A gentleman as lives on t'other side of the town," the chauffeur replied. "He called out to me as I was passing his house. 'Do you want a job?' he says. 'Will you drive to No. -- Regency Square and fetch a lady and gentleman? You'll find them there waiting for you. The gent's name is Harrison' (Pellijohn Harrison, I think he said, but I couldn't quite catch it). 'Never mind the lady's. Bring 'em both here.'" "That's very extraordinary," Pelamon exclaimed, "for that's my name, without a doubt. But I don't know who the gentleman could have been, and there's no lady here."