“You must forgive me,” he said, “but I can’t go into this. These are dangerous matters to meddle with. Besides, how do you know it is not a hoax?” “Played by whom?” asked the doctor. “Hark!” The telephone bell suddenly rang. It was clearly audible to the doctor. “Don’t you hear it?” he said. “Hear what?” “The telephone bell ringing.” “I hear no bell,” said the chaplain, rather angrily. “There is no bell ringing.” The doctor did not answer, but went through into his study, and turned on the lights. Then he took the receiver and mouthpiece off its hook. “Yes?” he said, in a voice that trembled. “Who is it? Yes: Mr Dawkins is here. I will try and get him to speak to you.” He went back into the other room. “Dawkins,” he said, “there is a soul in agony. I pray you to listen. For God’s sake come and listen.” The chaplain hesitated a moment. “As you will,” he said. He took up the receiver and put it to his ear. “I am Mr Dawkins,” he said. He waited. “I can hear nothing whatever,” he said at length. “Ah, there was something there. The faintest whisper.” “Ah, try to hear, try to hear!” said the doctor. Again the chaplain listened. Suddenly he laid the instrument down, frowning. “Something--somebody said, ‘I killed her, I confess it. I want to be forgiven.’ It’s a hoax, my dear Teesdale. Somebody knowing your spiritualistic leanings is playing a very grim joke on you. I _can’t_ believe it.” Dr Teesdale took up the receiver. “I am Dr Teesdale,” he said. “Can you give Mr Dawkins some sign that it is you?” Then he laid it down again. “He says he thinks he can,” he said. “We must wait.” The evening was again very warm, and the window into the paved yard at the back of the house was open. For five minutes or so the two men stood in silence, waiting, and nothing happened. Then the chaplain spoke. “I think that is sufficiently conclusive,” he said. Even as he spoke a very cold draught of air suddenly blew into the room, making the papers on the desk rustle. Dr Teesdale went to the window and closed it. “Did you feel that?” he asked. “Yes, a breath of air. Chilly.” Once again in the closed room it stirred again. “And did you feel that?” asked the doctor. The chaplain nodded. He felt his heart hammering in his throat suddenly. “Defend us from all peril and danger of this coming night,” he exclaimed. “Something is coming!” said the doctor. As he spoke it came. In the centre of the room not three yards away from them stood the figure of a man with his head bent over on to his shoulder, so that the face was not visible. Then he took his head in both his hands and raised it like a weight, and looked them in the face. The eyes and tongue protruded, a livid mark was round the neck. Then there came a sharp rattle on the boards of the floor, and the figure was no longer there. But on the floor there lay a new rope.