“The Park,” I mused. “Is it not included in that extraordinary work on the occult--‘Psychic Angles’--of which Miss Haufmann spoke to-night--the place where the monk was supposed to have been murdered, where an old antiquary died, and some young girl, too, if I remember rightly?” “Yes,” replied Moris Klaw, “yes. I will tell you a secret. ‘Psychic Angles’ is a little book of my own, and so, of course, I know about this place.” His words surprised me greatly, for the book was being generally talked about. He peered around him into the shadows and seemed to sniff the air suspiciously. “Setting aside the question of any supernatural menace,” I said, “directly the servants find out, as they are sure to do from others in the neighbourhood, they will leave _en bloc_. It is a pleasant way servants have in such cases.” “We must certainly tell him, the good Haufmann,” agreed Klaw, “and he will perhaps arrange to quit the place without letting the ladies to know of its reputation. That Miss Greta she has the sympathetic mind”--he tapped his forehead--“the plate so sensitive, the photo film so delicate! For her it is dangerous to remain. There is such a thing, Mr. Searles, as sympathetic suicide! That girl she is mediumistic. From The Park she must be removed.” “There is no time to lose,” I said. “We must decide what to do to-night. Suppose you come along to my place?” Moris Klaw agreed, and we resumed our walk through the poplar grove. Although the night was very still, an eerie whispering went on without pause or cessation along the whole length of the avenue. Against the star-spangled sky the tall trees reared their shapes in a manner curiously suggestive of dead things. Or this fancy may have had birth in the associations of the place. It was a fatally easy matter mentally to fashion one of the poplars into the gaunt form of a monk; and no one, however unimaginative, being acquainted with the history of The Grove, could fail to find, in the soft and ceaseless voices of the trees, something akin to a woman’s broken sighs. In short, I was not sorry when the gate was passed, and we came out upon the high road. Later, seated in my study, we discussed the business thoroughly. From my bookcase I took down “Psychic Angles” and passed it to Moris Klaw.