Anxious to get to Eunice and fearsome lest she should have fainted, I was about to quit the study, when my eyes were attracted to an object on the floor. It was the mysterious volume which, loosened from the shelf in some miraculous fashion, had fallen to the ground, and now lay open, its ponderous, gilded clasps undone and limp. The fading sunlight concentrating its rays on the pages of the book in a final and prodigiously bloody effort, enabled me to read the following extract: “and for this great and unpardonable sin of the Abbess Hilda and the Monk Nicholas, we--the Saintly and Beloved Abbot Matthew, the learned Franciscan brother Raymond, the laymen and labourers, Barber and Brooks together with I, Sir John Hickson Leigh, Knight did entomb them alive, clasped in each other’s arms, cursing man and blaspheming heaven, on the eve of the 11th day of August, 1521. And of the exact spot in the Abbey of Wolsey wherein they be buried, no man--save we who placed them there--knoweth, nor shall any discover the same until the day cometh when the secrets of all flesh shall be revealed.” This much I read and no more for the light proving too strong for me, I was compelled to remove my gaze and when I opened my eyes and saw again the volume it had gone, and lo! to my intense and unfeigned amazement it was back again in its customary place on the shelf, nor could the united efforts of myself and daughters remove it from that spot. Regarding this extraordinary incident, as the only feasible explanation of the phenomena Eunice and I had seen, we could arrive at no other conclusion than that the house (once Wolsey Abbey) was haunted by the phantasms of the Abbess Hilda and the Monk Nicholas; and with such an explanation we have had to be content. NO. XYZ EUSTON ROAD THE LITTLE OLD WOMAN IN THE HELIOTROPE SKIRT Technical form of apparition: Phantasm of the dead Source of authenticity: Personal experience of author Cause of haunting: Murder Of all the most annoying things in this world few are more so than missing one’s train, especially when it happens to be the last in the day. This unpleasant experience happened to me one evening early in September 1895. I came into Euston just as the 7 P.M. for Northampton--the last train connected with Brixworth--was steaming out of the station--and so, willy-nilly, I had to remain in town all night. “Where to put up,” now became the absorbing question. I wanted to be close to the station in order to catch the earliest morning train, but, although there were plenty of rich men’s hotels, there seemed a sore dearth of “go-betweens;” it was either five shillings the night or sixpence; Purgatory or Hell: I could see no place that suited ME. At last after traversing many squares and the more respectable of the side streets, I retraced my steps, eventually alighting on a private and inconsequential looking hotel in Euston Road.