Shortly after this Annie Manning interrupted again. It was said that Mary K. knew Annie Manning and wished me to find her brother. Inquiry developed the fact that he was the brother mentioned the first night I used planchette. His name was given as James Manning, and his address, Albany, New York. “United States Ho....” We could not get beyond that. At one time the word seemed to be “Hotel.” Unable to find any United States Hotel listed in Albany, I suggested Saratoga, but this was not accepted. Repeatedly asked to write to him, I could obtain no address. Afterward the address was given as Albany, but not New York. Long efforts to write the name of the state resulted in “I ...,” ending in wavy lines. Suggestions of Illinois and Iowa brought negatives, but the mention of Indiana was greeted with a quick, “Yes.” Vain and fatiguing efforts to get the rest of the address resulted in the indefinite “United States Ho ...” and at last I gave it up, disappointed. An hour later Annie Manning came again, but I asked her to let me talk to Mary K. “Here! Mary K.,” was the prompt response. “Do you remember all the good times?” I told her I did, and thought of them often. “All the many ae ... an....” There I lost it. She began it many times, in many ways, apparently trying to get a momentum that would carry her through. “All the many am ... I mean ae ... I meant to say anm....” Too tired to continue, again I abandoned the attempt. Annie Manning came once more, making futile efforts to give me her brother’s address. She finally said it was “just United States Home.” Once she wrote, “just Home.” And once, “Honest, that’s all.” I have never learned the whole truth about Annie Manning, who ceased, after the first fortnight, to manifest herself; whether because she lacked perseverance or because other influences were already at work, I do not know. The next day I took up the pencil, expecting Mary Kendal, with news of her husband, but Mary K.’s strong, underlined signature greeted me instead. She said that Mr. Kendal was coming, adding: “On cen ... cent....” “Century?” I suggested. “Twentieth Century Limited?” “No ... cen ... ce ... cent....” Finally, she agreed to Century—compromised on it, I learned later. Within five minutes a telegram came from Mr. Kendall—the first word I had received from him—saying that he would arrive in New York Sunday or Monday. When I told him of this experience he exclaimed: “Central! New York Central!” Which, for some reason, had not occurred to me. At the hour when Mary K. gave me this information he had ordered, at his club in Chicago, a ticket for the Lake Shore Limited—like the Twentieth Century, a New York Central train. Later, having the ticket actually in his possession, he telegraphed me that he would come by that train, reaching New York Sunday evening, but afterward changed to another road.