It was morally certain that he was guilty, but he wished that when there was no longer any hope for him, he had endorsed the verdict himself. He dined alone that evening, and after dinner sat in his study which adjoined the dining-room, and feeling disinclined to read, sat in his great red chair opposite the fireplace, and let his mind graze where it would. At once almost, it went back to the curious sensation he had experienced that morning, of feeling that the spirit of Linkworth was present in the mortuary, though life had been extinct for an hour. It was not the first time, especially in cases of sudden death, that he had felt a similar conviction, though perhaps it had never been quite so unmistakable as it had been to-day. Yet the feeling, to his mind, was quite probably formed on a natural and psychical truth. The spirit--it may be remarked that he was a believer in the doctrine of future life, and the non-extinction of the soul with the death of the body--was very likely unable or unwilling to quit at once and altogether the earthly habitation, very likely it lingered there, earth-bound, for a while. In his leisure hours Dr Teesdale was a considerable student of the occult, for like most advanced and proficient physicians, he clearly recognised how narrow was the boundary of separation between soul and body, how tremendous the influence of the intangible was over material things, and it presented no difficulty to his mind that a disembodied spirit should be able to communicate directly with those who still were bounded by the finite and material. His meditations, which were beginning to group themselves into definite sequence, were interrupted at this moment. On his desk near at hand stood his telephone, and the bell rang, not with its usual metallic insistence, but very faintly, as if the current was weak, or the mechanism impaired. However, it certainly was ringing, and he got up and took the combined ear and mouth-piece off its hook. “Yes, yes,” he said, “who is it?” There was a whisper in reply almost inaudible, and quite unintelligible. “I can’t hear you,” he said. Again the whisper sounded, but with no greater distinctness. Then it ceased altogether. He stood there, for some half minute or so, waiting for it to be renewed, but beyond the usual chuckling and croaking, which showed, however, that he was in communication with some other instrument, there was silence. Then he replaced the receiver, rang up the Exchange, and gave his number. “Can you tell me what number rang me up just now?” he asked. There was a short pause, then it was given him. It was the number of the prison, where he was doctor. “Put me on to it, please,” he said. This was done. “You rang me up just now,” he said down the tube. “Yes; I am Doctor Teesdale. What is it? I could not hear what you said.” The voice came back quite clear and intelligible. “Some mistake, sir,” it said, “We haven’t rang you up.”