“’Then you have to believe in ghosts—­in Duri, or how do you account for it?’ I asked.

“‘I don’t bother my head,’ he replied.  ’But I have seen that poor lady a good many times.  And no one told me a word about her until after I had seen her.’”

And then Mrs. Dearman suddenly rose, as her hostess “caught” the collective female eye of the table.

“Was all that about the ‘ghosts’ of the old Irishwoman and the Early Victorian Lady true, you fellows?” asked John Bruce, the Professor of Engineering, after coffee, cigars and the second glass of port had reconciled the residue or sediment to the departure of the sterner sex.

“Didn’t you hear me say my story was true?” replied Colonel Jackson brusquely.  “It was absolutely and perfectly true.”

“Same here,” added Mr. Ross-Ellison.

“Then on two separate occasions you two have seen what you can only believe to be the ghosts of dead people?”

“On one occasion I have, without any possibility of error or doubt, seen the ghost of a dead person,” said Colonel Jackson.

“Have you ever come across any other thoroughly substantiated cases of ghost-seeing—­cases which have really convinced you, Colonel?” queried Mr. Ross-Ellison—­being deeply interested in the subject by reason of queer powers and experiences of his own.

“Yes.  Many in which I fully believe, and one about which I am certain.  A very interesting case—­and a very cruel tragedy.”

“Would you mind telling me about it?” asked Mr. Ross-Ellison.

“Pleasure.  More—­I’ll give you as interesting and convincing a ’human document’ about it as ever you read, if you like.”

“I shall be eternally grateful,” replied the other.

“It was a sad and sordid business.  The man, whose last written words I’ll give you to read, was a Sergeant-Major in the Volunteer Rifles (also at Duri where I was stationed, as you know) and he was a gentleman born and bred, poor chap.” ["Lawrence-Smith,” murmured Mr. John Robin Ross-Ellison with an involuntary movement of surprise.  His eyebrows rose and his jaw fell.] “Yes, he was that rare bird a gentleman-ranker who remained a gentleman and a ranker—­and became a fine soldier.  He called himself Lawrence-Smith and owned a good old English name that you’d recognize if I mentioned it—­and you’d be able to name some of his relatives too.  He was kicked out of Sandhurst for striking one of the subordinate staff under extreme provocation.  The army was in his blood and bones, and he enlisted.”

“Excuse me,” interrupted Mr. Ross-Ellison, “you speak of this Sergeant-Major Lawrence-Smith in the past tense.  Is he dead then?”

“He is dead,” replied Colonel Jackson.  “Did you know him?”

“I believe I saw him at Duri,” answered Mr. Ross-Ellison with an excellent assumption of indifference.  “What’s the story?”