In spite of exceptional opportunities for coming in touch with the most noted psychics, in spite of the valuable clue given by hair cut after death, the test seemed quite hopeless, since twelve of the best clairvoyants had been consulted, and all had failed in turn. A few weeks after hearing about this from Mr Stead, I was invited by an old friend in London to meet at her house, at luncheon, Miss Rowan Vincent, a non-professional sensitive, well known to many of my readers. I had never seen this lady before, and had little speech with her during the meal. She was talking very earnestly to a military man--the son-in-law of our hostess--whilst the latter and I were having an interesting conversation to ourselves. General Maxwell, having a train to catch, did not accompany us to the drawing-room. On arrival there Miss Rowan Vincent said to me very kindly: "Can I do anything for _you_ now, Miss Bates? Shall I try if I can see anything for you?" Something induced me, quite against my will, to say: "Do you ever get messages by writing, Miss Vincent?" "No; I have never done so, but I can try," she answered rather eagerly. How I bewailed my stupidity in making such a suggestion! I had diverted her mind from her own special gift, which was that of seeing a person's psychic surroundings, and had switched her on to an entirely novel and untried experiment. I had not even the excuse of being specially interested in automatic writing, which was so easily obtained at home; whereas I was greatly interested in seeing whether any of my "other side" friends could make themselves perceptible through this sensitive. However, the mischief was done past remedy. The suggestion had taken firm root in Miss Rowan Vincent's mind, and she was not to be diverted from it. So I resigned myself patiently to the results of my own foolish remark, whilst she took pencil and paper and sat down expectantly. Soon she looked up, the writing having already begun. "Do you know any William? There seems to be some message from a William, as far as I can make out." Having had a favourite cousin of that name, I told her it might be quite correct, and I should be glad to receive any message that came. A few moments passed, and then Miss Vincent said, in a puzzled tone: "It is not _from_ William--the message is _to_ some William--I cannot understand it at all." She pushed the paper rather impatiently towards me. Written upon it clearly but faintly were these words: DEAR WILLIAM,--I want to explain to you how I came to fall out of that window--it was not my fault really--someone came up behind and pushed me out. ETHEL. The signature was rather indistinct, but quite unmistakable to _me_; but then I knew the Christian name of Mr Stead's friend, and realised at once that she was taking this opportunity of sending a message to him.