Sir David Suchet

Men of common sense did not allow much for coincidences in making the ordinary calculations of life.

He again begged to remark that he had not finished.

I again begged his pardon for being betrayed into interruptions.

This, he said again, laying his hand upon my arm and glancing over his shoulder with hollow eyes, was just a year ago.

Six or seven months passed, and I had recovered from the surprise and shock when one morning, as the day was breaking, I, standing at the door, looked towards the red light and saw the spectre again.

He stopped with a fixed look at me.

Did it cry out?

No.

It was silent.

Did it wave its arm?

No.

It leaned against the shaft of the light, with both hands before the face.

Like this.

Once more, I followed his action with my eyes.

It was an action of mourning.

I've seen such an attitude in stone figures on tombs.

Did you go up to it?

I came in and sat down, partly to collect my thoughts, partly because it had turned me faint.

When I went to the door again, daylight was above me and the ghost was gone.

But nothing followed?