At once almost, it went back to the curious sensation he had
experienced that morning, of feeling that the spirit of Linkworth was
present in the mortuary, though life had been extinct for an hour. It
was not the first time, especially in cases of sudden death, that he had
felt a similar conviction, though perhaps it had never been quite so
unmistakable as it had been to-day. Yet the feeling, to his mind, was
quite probably formed on a natural and psychical truth. The spirit--it
may be remarked that he was a believer in the doctrine of future life,
and the non-extinction of the soul with the death of the body--was very
likely unable or unwilling to quit at once and altogether the earthly
habitation, very likely it lingered there, earth-bound, for a while. In
his leisure hours Dr Teesdale was a considerable student of the occult,
for like most advanced and proficient physicians, he clearly recognised
how narrow was the boundary of separation between soul and body, how
tremendous the influence of the intangible was over material things,
and it presented no difficulty to his mind that a disembodied spirit
should be able to communicate directly with those who still were bounded
by the finite and material. His meditations, which were beginning to group themselves into definite
sequence, were interrupted at this moment. On his desk near at hand
stood his telephone, and the bell rang, not with its usual metallic
insistence, but very faintly, as if the current was weak, or the
mechanism impaired. However, it certainly was ringing, and he got up and
took the combined ear and mouth-piece off its hook. “Yes, yes,” he said, “who is it?”

There was a whisper in reply almost inaudible, and quite unintelligible. “I can’t hear you,” he said. Again the whisper sounded, but with no greater distinctness. Then it
ceased altogether. He stood there, for some half minute or so, waiting for it to be
renewed, but beyond the usual chuckling and croaking, which showed,
however, that he was in communication with some other instrument, there
was silence. Then he replaced the receiver, rang up the Exchange, and
gave his number. “Can you tell me what number rang me up just now?” he asked. There was a short pause, then it was given him. It was the number of the
prison, where he was doctor. “Put me on to it, please,” he said. This was done. “You rang me up just now,” he said down the tube. “Yes; I am Doctor
Teesdale. What is it? I could not hear what you said.”

The voice came back quite clear and intelligible. “Some mistake, sir,” it said, “We haven’t rang you up.”

“But the exchange tells me you did, three minutes ago.”

“Mistake at the Exchange, sir,” said the voice. “Very odd. Well, good-night. Warder Draycott, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir; good-night, sir.”

Dr Teesdale went back to his big arm-chair, still less inclined to read. He let his thoughts wander on for a while, without giving them definite
direction, but ever and again his mind kept coming back to that strange
little incident of the telephone. Often and often he had been rung up by
some mistake, often and often he had been put on to the wrong number by
the exchange, but there was something in this very subdued ringing of
the telephone bell, and the unintelligible whisperings at the other end
that suggested a very curious train of reflection to his mind, and soon
he found himself pacing up and down his room, with his thoughts eagerly
feeding on a most unusual pasture. “But it’s impossible,” he said, aloud. He went down as usual to the prison next morning and once again he was
strangely beset with the feeling that there was some unseen presence
there. He had before now had some odd psychical experiences, and knew
that he was a “sensitive”--one, that is, who is capable, under certain
circumstances, of receiving supernormal impressions, and of having
glimpses of the unseen world that lies about us. And this morning the
presence of which he was conscious was that of the man who had been
executed yesterday morning. It was local, and he felt it most strongly
in the little prison yard, and as he passed the door of the condemned
cell. So strong was it there that he would not have been surprised if
the figure of the man had been visible to him, and as he passed through
the door at the end of the passage, he turned round, actually expecting
to see it. All the time, too, he was aware of a profound horror at his
heart, this unseen presence strangely disturbed him. And the poor soul,
he felt, wanted something done for it. Not for a moment did he doubt
that this impression of his was objective, it was no imaginative phantom
of his own invention that made itself so real. The spirit of Linkworth
was there. He passed into the infirmary, and for a couple of hours busied himself
with his work. But all the time he was aware that the same invisible
presence was near him, though its force was manifestly less here than in
those places which had been more intimately associated with the man. Finally, before he left, in order to test his theory he looked into the
execution shed. But next moment with a face suddenly stricken pale, he
came out again, closing the door hastily. At the top of the steps stood
a figure hooded and pinioned, but hazy of outline and only faintly
visible. But it was visible, there was no mistake about it. Dr Teesdale was a man of good nerve, and he recovered himself almost
immediately, ashamed of his temporary panic. The terror that had
blanched his face was chiefly the effect of startled nerves, not of
terrified heart, and yet deeply interested as he was in psychical
phenomena, he could not command himself sufficiently to go back there. Or rather he commanded himself, but his muscles refused to act on the
message. If this poor earth-bound spirit had any communication to make
to him, he certainly much preferred that it should be made at a
distance. As far as he could understand, its range was circumscribed. It
haunted the prison yard, the condemned cell, the execution shed, it was
more faintly felt in the infirmary. Then a further point suggested
itself to his mind, and he went back to his room and sent for Warder
Draycott, who had answered him on the telephone last night. “You are quite sure,” he asked, “that nobody rang me up last night, just
before I rang you up?”

There was a certain hesitation in the man’s manner which the doctor
noticed. “I don’t see how it could be possible, sir,” he said, “I had been
sitting close by the telephone for half an hour before, and again before
that. I must have seen him, if anyone had been to the instrument.”

“And you _saw_ no one?” said the doctor with a slight emphasis. The man became more markedly ill at ease. “No, sir, I _saw_ no one,” he said, with the same emphasis. Dr Teesdale looked away from him. “But you had perhaps the impression that there was some one there?” he
asked, carelessly, as if it was a point of no interest.