Presently Annerly spoke again.

“Last night I saw Q,” he said.

“Good heavens!” I ejaculated.  I did not in the least know who Q was, but it struck me with a thrill of indescribable terror that Annerly had seen Q. In my own quiet and measured existence such a thing had never happened.

“Yes,” said Annerly, “I saw Q as plainly as if he were standing here.  But perhaps I had better tell you something of my past relationship with Q, and you will understand exactly what the present situation is.”

Annerly seated himself in a chair on the other side of the fire from me, lighted a pipe and continued.

“When first I knew Q he lived not very far from a small town in the south of England, which I will call X, and was betrothed to a beautiful and accomplished girl whom I will name M.”

Annerly had hardly begun to speak before I found myself listening with riveted attention.  I realised that it was no ordinary experience that he was about to narrate.  I more than suspected that Q and M were not the real names of his unfortunate acquaintances, but were in reality two letters of the alphabet selected almost at random to disguise the names of his friends.  I was still pondering over the ingenuity of the thing when Annerly went on: 

“When Q and I first became friends, he had a favourite dog, which, if necessary, I might name Z, and which followed him in and out of X on his daily walk.”

“In and out of X,” I repeated in astonishment.

“Yes,” said Annerly, “in and out.”

My senses were now fully alert.  That Z should have followed Q out of X, I could readily understand, but that he should first have followed him in seemed to pass the bounds of comprehension.

“Well,” said Annerly, “Q and Miss M were to be married.  Everything was arranged.  The wedding was to take place on the last day of the year.  Exactly six months and four days before the appointed day (I remember the date because the coincidence struck me as peculiar at the time) Q came to me late in the evening in great distress.  He had just had, he said, a premonition of his own death.  That evening, while sitting with Miss M on the verandah of her house, he had distinctly seen a projection of the dog R pass along the road.”

“Stop a moment,” I said.  “Did you not say that the dog’s name was Z?”

Annerly frowned slightly.

“Quite so,” he replied.  “Z, or more correctly Z R, since Q was in the habit, perhaps from motives of affection, of calling him R as well as Z. Well, then, the projection, or phanogram, of the dog passed in front of them so plainly that Miss M swore that she could have believed that it was the dog himself.  Opposite the house the phantasm stopped for a moment and wagged its tail.  Then it passed on, and quite suddenly disappeared around the corner of a stone wall, as if hidden by the bricks.  What made the thing still more mysterious was that Miss M’s mother, who is partially blind, had only partially seen the dog.”