Once, I
thought she was coming to a halt, and that she intended crossing the
road, but no--on, on, on, till we came to D---- Street. There we were
preparing to cross over, when an elderly gentleman walked deliberately
into her. I half expected to hear him apologise, but naturally nothing
of the sort happened; she was only too obviously a phantom, and, in
accordance with the nature of a phantom, she passed right through him. A few yards farther on, she came to an abrupt pause, and then, with a
slight inclination of her head as if meaning me to follow, she glided
into a chemist's shop. She was certainly not more than six feet ahead
of me when she passed through the door, and I was even nearer than
that to her when she suddenly disappeared as she stood before the
counter. I asked the chemist if he could tell me anything about the
lady who had just entered his shop, but he merely turned away and
laughed. "Lady!" he said; "what are you talking about? You're a bit out of your
reckoning. This isn't the first of April. Come, what do you want?" I bought a bottle of formamints, and reluctantly and regretfully
turned away. That night I dreamed I again saw the ghost. I followed
her up George Street just as I had done in reality; but when she came
to the chemist's shop, she turned swiftly round. "I'm Jane!" she said
in a hollow voice. "Jane! Only Jane!" and with that name ringing in my
ears I awoke. Some days elapsed before I was in George Street again. The weather had
in the meanwhile undergone one of those sudden and violent changes, so
characteristic of the Scottish climate. The lock-gates of heaven had
been opened and the rain was descending in cataracts. The few
pedestrians I encountered were enveloped in mackintoshes, and carried
huge umbrellas, through which the rain was soaking, and pouring off
from every point. Everything was wet--everywhere was mud. The water,
splashing upwards, saturated the tops of my boots and converted my
trousers into sodden sacks. Some weather isn't fit for dogs, but this
weather wasn't good enough for tadpoles--even fish would have kicked
at it and kept in their holes. Imagine, then, the anomaly! Amidst all
this aqueous inferno, this slippery-sloppery, filth-bespattering
inferno, a spotlessly clean apparition in blue without either
waterproof or umbrella. I refer to Jane. She suddenly appeared, as I
was passing The Ladies' Tea Association Rooms, walking in front of me. She looked just the same as when I last saw her--spick and span,
and--dry. I repeat the word--dry--for that is what attracted my
attention most. Despite the deluge, not a single raindrop touched
her--the plumes on her toque were splendidly erect and curly, her
shoe-buckles sparkled, her patent leathers were spotless, whilst the
cloth of her coat and skirt looked as sheeny as if they had but just
come from Keeley's. Anxious to get another look at her face, I quickened my pace, and,
darting past her, gazed straight into her countenance. The result was
a severe shock. The terror of what I saw--the ghastly horror of her
dead white face--sent me reeling across the pavement. I let her pass
me, and, impelled by a sickly fascination, followed in her wake. Outside a jeweller's stood a hansom--quite a curiosity in these days
of motors--and, as Jane glided past, the horse shied. I have never
seen an animal so terrified. We went on, and at the next crossing
halted. A policeman had his hand up checking the traffic. His glance
fell on Jane--the effect was electrical. His eyes bulged, his cheeks
whitened, his chest heaved, his hand dropped, and he would undoubtedly
have fallen had not a good Samaritan, in the guise of a non-psychical
public-house loafer, held him up. Jane was now close to the chemist's,
and it was with a sigh of relief that I saw her glide in and
disappear. Had there been any doubt at all, after my first encounter with Jane,
as to her being superphysical, there was certainly none now. The
policeman's paroxysm of fear and the horse's fit of shying were facts. What had produced them? I alone knew--and I knew for certain--it was
Jane. Both man and animal saw what I saw. Hence the phantom was not
subjective; it was not illusionary; it was a _bona fide_ spirit
manifestation--a visitant from the other world--the world of
earthbound souls. Jane fascinated me. I made endless researches in
connection with her, and, in answer to one of my inquiries, I was
informed that eighteen years ago--that is to say, about the time
Jane's dress was in fashion--the chemist's shop had been occupied by a
dressmaker of the name of Bosworth. I hunted up Miss Bosworth's
address and called on her. She had retired from business and was
living in St. Michael's Road, Bournemouth. I came to the point
straight. "Can you give me any information," I asked, "about a lady whose
Christian name was Jane?" "That sounds vague!" Miss Bosworth said. "I've met a good many Janes
in my time." "But not Janes with pale yellow hair, and white eyebrows and
eyelashes!" And I described her in detail. "How do you come to know about her?" Miss Bosworth said, after a long
pause. "Because," I replied with a certain slowness and deliberation
characteristic of me, "because I've seen her ghost!" Of course I knew Miss Bosworth was no sceptic--the moment my eyes
rested on her I saw she was psychic, and that the superphysical was
often at her elbow. Accordingly, I was not in the least surprised at
her look of horror. "What!" she exclaimed, "is she still there? I thought she would surely
be at rest now!" "Who was she?" I inquired. "Come--you need not be afraid of me. I have
come here solely because the occult has always interested me. Who was
Jane, and why should her ghost haunt George Street?" "It happened a good many years ago," Miss Bosworth replied, "in 1892. In answer to an advertisement I saw in one of the daily papers, I
called on a Miss Jane Vernelt--Mademoiselle Vernelt she called
herself--who ran a costumier's business in George Street, in the very
building, in fact now occupied by the chemist you have mentioned. The
business was for sale, and Miss Vernelt wanted a big sum for it. However, as her books showed a very satisfactory annual increase in
receipts and her clientele included a duchess and other society
leaders, I considered the bargain a tolerably safe one, and we came to
terms. Within a week I was running the business, and, exactly a month
after I had taken it over, I was greatly astonished to receive a visit
from Miss Vernelt. She came into the shop quite beside herself with
agitation. 'It's all a mistake!' she screamed. 'I didn't want to sell
it. I can't do anything with my capital. Let me buy it back.' I
listened to her politely, and then informed her that as I had gone to
all the trouble of taking over the business and had already succeeded
in extending it, I most certainly had no intention of selling it--at
least not for some time.