In this connection it may not be out of place to narrate another incident, though it does not fall within the same category with the main story that heads this chapter.  The only reason why I do so is that the facts tally in one respect, though in one respect only, and that is that the person who knew would tell nothing.

This was a friend of mine who was a widower.  We were in the same office together and he occupied a chair and a table next but one to mine.  This gentleman was in our office for only six months after narrating the story.  If he had stayed longer we might have got out his secret, but unfortunately he went away; he has gone so far from us that probably we shall not meet again for the next 10 years.

It was in connection with the “Smith’s dead wife’s photograph” controversy that one day one of my fellow clerks told me that a visit from a dead wife was nothing very wonderful, as our friend Haralal could testify.

I always took of a lot of interest in ghosts and their stories.  So I was generally at Haralal’s desk cross-examining him about this affair; at first the gentleman was very uncommunicative but when he saw I would give him no rest he made a statement which I have every reason to believe is true.  This is more or less what he says.

“It was about ten years ago that I joined this office.  I have been a widower ever since I left college—­in fact I married the daughter of a neighbour when I was at college and she died about 3 years afterwards, when I was just thinking of beginning life in right earnest.  She has been dead these 10 years and I shall never marry again, (a young widower in good circumstances, in Bengal, is as rare as a blue rose).

“I have a suite of bachelor rooms in Calcutta, but I go to my suburban home on every Saturday afternoon and stay there till Monday morning, that is, I pass my Saturday night and the whole of Sunday in my village home every week.

“On this particular occasion nearly eight years ago, that is, about a year and a half after the death of my young wife I went home by an evening train.  There is any number of trains in the evening and there is no certainty by which train I go, so if I am late, generally everybody goes to bed with the exception of my mother.

“On this particular night I reached home rather late.  It was the month of September and there had been a heavy shower in the town and all tram-car services had been suspended.

“When I reached the Railway Station I found that the trains were not running to time either.  I was given to understand that a tree had been blown down against the telegraph wire, and so the signals were not going through; and as it was rather dark the trains were only running on the report of a motor trolly that the line was clear.  Thus I reached home at about eleven instead of eight in the evening.

“I found my father also sitting up for me though he had had his dinner.  He wanted to learn the particulars of the storm at Calcutta.