The room was
once again aglow with a phosphorescent light, and he felt the presence
next to him of something cold and clammy. "Unable to look elsewhere, he was again compelled to gaze in the mirror,
where he saw, to his consternation and horror, no Heriot, but in his
place the man with the bronzed face and bushy beard. "He had hardly recovered from the shock occasioned by this discovery
when the door surreptitiously opened, and the figure of the ape glided
noiselessly in. "Again he was temporarily paralysed, his limbs losing all their power of
action and his tongue cleaving to the roof of his mouth. "The movements of the phantasm were entirely repetitionary of the
previous night. Approaching the bed on 'all-fours,' it leapt on its
victim, the tragedy being accompanied this time by the most realistic
chokings and gurgles, to all of which Tristram was obliged to listen in
an agony of doubt and terror. The drama ended, Tristram was overcome by
a sudden fit of drowsiness, and sinking back on to his pillow, slept
till broad daylight. "Anxious to question Heriot as to whether he, too, had been a witness of
the ghostly transaction he touched him lightly on the shoulder. There
was no reply. He touched him again, and still no answer. He touched him
yet a third time, and as there was still no response, he leaned over his
shoulder and peered into his face. "Heriot was dead!" *       *       *       *       *

"'This is the fourth death in that bed within the last twelve months
that I can swear to,' the English doctor remarked to Tristram, as they
walked down the street together, 'and always from the same cause,
failure of the heart due to a sudden shock. If you take my advice,
you'll clear out of the place at once.' "Tristram thought so too, but before he went he had a talk with the
girl in the red stockings. "'I can't tell you all I know,' she said to him, as he kissed her; 'but
I wouldn't sleep a night in that room for a fortune, though I believe
it's quite safe if you keep on the right side of the bed. I wish your
friend had done so, he was so handsome,' and Tristram, not a little
hurt, let go her hand, and made arrangements for the funeral." *       *       *       *       *

"And is that all?" I asked, as Tristram's material body paused. "It may be," was the reply, "but that is why I've come to you. Don't be
gulled by Tristram into any investigations in that house. Enthusiasm for
his research work makes him unconsciously callous, and if he once got
you there he might, even against your better judgment, persuade you to
sleep on the left side! Good night!" I shook hands with him and he departed. The following evening I heard it
all again from Tristram himself--the real Tristram. Needless to say, his concluding remarks differed essentially. With
unbounded cordiality he urged me to accompany him back again to Bruges,
and I--declined! *       *       *       *       *

He wrote to me afterwards to say that he had discovered the history of
the house--a man, a music-hall artist, answering to the description of
the figure in the bed--had once lived there with a performing ape, an
orang-outang, and happening to annoy the animal one day, the latter had
killed him. The brute was eventually shot! "This experience of mine," Tristram added, "is of the greatest value,
for it has thoroughly convinced me of one thing at least--and that--that
apes have spirits! And if that be so, so must all other kinds of
animals. Of course they must." _Phantasms of Cat and Baboon_

A sister of a well-known author tells me there used to be a house called
"The Swallows," standing in two acres of land, close to a village near
Basingstoke. In 1840 a Mr. Bishop of Tring bought the house, which had long stood
empty, and went to live there in 1841. After being there a fortnight two
servants gave notice to leave, stating that the place was haunted by a
large cat and a big baboon, which they constantly saw stealing down the
staircases and passages. They also testified to hearing sounds as of
somebody being strangled, proceeding from an empty attic near where
they slept, and of the screams and groans of a number of people being
horribly tortured in the cellars just underneath the dairy. On going to
see what was the cause of the disturbances, nothing was ever visible. By
and by other members of the household began to be harassed by similar
manifestations. The news spread through the village, and crowds of
people came to the house with lights and sticks, to see if they could
witness anything. One night, at about twelve o'clock, when several of the watchers were
stationed on guard in the empty courtyard, they all saw the forms of a
huge cat and a baboon rise from the closed grating of the large cellar
under the old dairy, rush past them, and disappear in a dark angle of
the walls. The same figures were repeatedly seen afterwards by many
other persons. Early in December, 1841, Mr. Bishop, hearing fearful
screams, accompanied by deep and hoarse jabberings, apparently coming
from the top of the house, rushed upstairs, whereupon all was instantly
silent, and he could discover nothing. After that, Mr. Bishop set to
work to get rid of the house, and was fortunate enough to find as a
purchaser a retired colonel, who was soon, however, scared out of it. This was in 1842; it was soon after pulled down. The ground was used
for the erection of cottages; but the hauntings being transferred to
them, they were speedily vacated, and no one ever daring to inhabit
them, they were eventually demolished, the site on which they stood
being converted into allotments. There were many theories as to the history of "The Swallows"; one being
that a highwayman, known as Steeplechase Jock, the son of a Scottish
chieftain, had once plied his trade there and murdered many people,
whose bodies were supposed to be buried somewhere on or near the
premises. He was said to have had a terrible though decidedly unorthodox
ending--falling into a vat of boiling tar, a raving madman. But what
were the phantasms of the ape and cat? Were they the earth-bound spirits
of the highwayman and his horse, or simply the spirits of two animals? Though either theory is possible, I am inclined to favour the former. _Psychic Bears_

Edmund Lenthal Swifte, appointed in 1814 Keeper of the Crown Jewels in
the Tower of London, refers in an article in _Notes and Queries_, 1860,
to various unaccountable phenomena happening in the Tower during his
residence there. He says that one night in the Jewel Office, one of the
sentries was alarmed by a figure like a huge bear issuing from
underneath the Jewel Room door. He thrust at it with his bayonet, which,
going right through it, stuck in the doorway, whereupon he dropped in a
fit, and was carried senseless to the guard-room.