s to the lullaby of
"Robbed! robbed! robbed!" A vigorous shake caused me to open them
again, however, and the sight of Mrs. D'Odd, in the scantiest of
costumes and most furious of tempers, was sufficiently impressive to
recall all my scattered thoughts and make me realize that I was lying
on my back on the floor, with my head among the ashes which had fallen
from last night's fire, and a small glass vial in my hand.

I staggered to my feet, but felt so weak and giddy that I was compelled
to fall back into a chair. As my brain became clearer, stimulated by
the exclamations of Matilda, I began gradually to recollect the events
of the night. There was the door through which my supernatural
visitors had filed. There was the circle of chalk, with the
hieroglyphics round the edge. There was the cigar-box and
brandy-bottle which had been honored by the attentions of Mr. Abrahams.
But the seer himself--where was he? and what was this open window, with
a rope running out of it? And where, oh, where, was the pride of
Goresthorpe Grange, the glorious plate which was to have been the
delectation of generations of D'Odds? And why was Mrs. D. standing in
the gray light of dawn, wringing her hands and repeating her monotonous
refrain? It was only very gradually that my misty brain took these
things in, and grasped the connection between them.

Reader, I have never seen Mr. Abrahams since; I have never seen the
plate stamped with the resuscitated family crest; hardest of all, I
have never caught a glimpse of the melancholy spectre with the trailing
garments, nor do I expect that I ever shall. In fact, my night's
experiences have cured me of my mania for the supernatural, and quite
reconciled me to inhabiting the humdrum, nineteenth-century edifice on
the outskirts of London which Mrs. D. has long had in her mind's eye.

As to the explanation of all that occurred--that is a matter which is
open to several surmises. That Mr. Abrahams, the ghost-hunter, was
identical with Jemmy Wilson, alias the Nottingham Crackster, is
considered more than probable at Scotland Yard, and certainly the
description of that remarkable burglar tallied very well with the
appearance of my visitor. The small bag which I have described was
picked up in a neighboring field next day, and found to contain a
choice assortment of jimmies and centre-bits. Footmarks, deeply
imprinted in the mud on either side of the moat, showed that an
accomplice from be