“Looking at my watch I discovered it was fast getting on to midnight, so I drew an arm-chair up to the fire and lighted a cigar.  It was only natural that my mind should be full of the music heard the previous evening.  I was no believer in the supernatural, and had unsparingly ridiculed all ghost stories heard at various times.  Now there was no doubt:  I had listened to music played by no earthly fingers.  What could it all mean?  Why did the old man’s ghost return to haunt the scene of his former labours?  Was it because he had left a solemn injunction which had never been complied with?  Was it because his life’s purpose had been left unfulfilled, and his last cherished wish had died with him?

“There was the solution, no doubt.  And what a loss it was to the world; only to think of so priceless a work being lost for ever!

“At this stage I was conscious of nodding, and waking up with a start, endeavoured to pursue my train of thought.  The fire was comfortable, and my cigar was still alight; only a few moments more, and then bed.  The resolution was scarcely formed before my head dropped again and I was fast asleep.

“How long I slept I know not; a sensation of coldness caused me to awake, only to find the fire nearly out, my reading-lamp smouldering, and the moon brightly shining into the room.  Imagine, if you can, my surprise, when, turning round, there, full in the light of the moon, was a figure writing at my table.  It was an old man dressed in old-fashioned style, just like what was worn two hundred or more years ago.  There was the wig, the coat with square flaps, the shoes with silver buckles—­everything except the sword.  The face could not be clearly defined, but the figure was most distinct.

“My first sensations were, to say the least, peculiar.  I was for the moment frightened, and it was several moments before common sense asserted itself.  A feeling of intense curiosity soon overpowered all sense of fear.  Sitting in my chair I could hear the scratching of his pen upon the paper.  He wrote at a very rapid pace and seemed too intent upon his labours to notice my presence.  I waited for some time in absolute stillness, but then, becoming weary of the situation, endeavoured to attract his attention with a cough.  He took no notice, and so I arose and walked towards him.

“I am telling you the entire truth when I assure you I could find nothing in that chair.  I grasped nothing tangible, and the chair appeared quite empty, while still the scratching of the pen continued; and as I walked away from the window the apparition appeared as plain as ever.  Every line of the figure was clear as if in life.  At last while I watched, the sound of writing ceased, and the figure vanished from my view, leaving the roll of manuscript just as it had been before I fell asleep.

“Rushing up to the mantelpiece I seized a box of matches, hurriedly lighted a candle, and approached the desk, and there found the Service written out in full in a strange handwriting.  My own work was obliterated, the pen drawn through it all with the exception of the Kyrie, which was as I left it, save that the word Kyrie was written over it in the strange handwriting.  At the conclusion of the Service were written these words:  ‘E.I. hoc fecit.  R.I.P.’”