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Some time ago, I believe I told you a story about an adventure that happened to my friend, Dennistoun. He was collecting art objects for a museum at Cambridge.

When he returned to England, he did not tell his story to many people. But it became known to a number of his friends. One of these friends was a gentleman who was in charge of an art museum at another university. It was not surprising that the story made a strong impression on him. His job was very similar to Dennistoun's, and he hoped for any explanation that would make it seem unlikely he would ever face such a frightening situation.

It made him feel a little better that he did not have to buy ancient manuscripts for his museum. That job belonged to a different library. They could search the obscure corners of Europe for such things if they wished. He was happy that his own work was to add to his museum's excellent collection of English topographic drawings and engravings. These are pictures of landscapes, houses, and towns.

Yet, as it turned out, even a normal department like this can have its mysteries. And Mr. Williams was about to be introduced to one of them.

Anyone interested in buying topographic pictures knows that one London dealer is essential. His name is Mr. J. W. Britnell. He regularly publishes very good catalogues of his large and constantly changing collection of engravings and old sketches of mansions, churches, and towns in England and Wales.

These catalogues were, of course, the basic tool for Mr. Williams. But because his museum already had a huge number of such pictures, he was a regular, but not a big, buyer. He mainly looked to Mr. Britnell to fill small gaps in his collection, not to find great rarities.

Now, in February of last year, a catalogue from Mr. Britnell arrived on Mr. Williams's desk. With it was a letter from the dealer himself. It said:

Dear Sir,—

We want to call your attention to Number 978 in the catalogue. We will be happy to send it to you for you to look at before deciding to buy.

Yours faithfully,
J. W. Britnell.

Mr. Williams turned to Number 978 in the catalogue. He found the following entry:

"978.—Unknown Artist. Interesting mezzotint: View of a manor-house, early part of the century. 15 by 10 inches; black frame. £2 2s."

It did not seem especially exciting, and the price seemed high. However, because Mr. Britnell knew his business and his customers, Mr. Williams wrote a postcard asking for the item to be sent, along with some other engravings. Then, without much excitement, he continued with his ordinary work for the day.

Parcels always seem to arrive a day later than you expect. Mr. Britnell's parcel was no different. It was delivered to the museum on Saturday afternoon, after Mr. Williams had left. It was therefore brought to his college rooms so he would not have to wait until Monday to look through it.

He found the parcel when he came in for tea with a friend. The only item that matters to this story was the rather large, black-framed mezzotint. It was not a very good example. A bad mezzotint is perhaps the worst kind of engraving.

It showed a view of a medium-sized manor-house from the previous century. The house had three rows of plain windows. There was a small entrance porch in the centre and a lawn in front. On either side were trees. On the narrow margin, the words "A. W. F. sculpsit" were engraved, meaning "A.W.F. carved this." There was no other writing. The whole thing looked like the work of an amateur. Mr. Williams could not imagine why Mr. Britnell thought it was worth two Pounds.

He turned it over with contempt. On the back was a paper label. The left half was torn off. All that remained were the ends of two lines of writing. The first had the letters: —ngley Hall. The second had: —ssex.

He thought it might be worth identifying the place, which he could do with a reference book. Then he would send it back to Mr. Britnell with a note about his poor judgment.

He lit the candles, as it was now dark, made the tea, and gave it to his friend. They had been playing golf, and they talked about their game. They agreed that certain shots could have been better, and that neither of them had had much luck.

It was then that the friend—let us call him Professor Binks—picked up the engraving and said, "What's this place, Williams?"

"Just what I am going to try to find out," said Williams, getting a reference book. "Look at the back. Something-ley Hall, in either Sussex or Essex. Half the name is gone. You don't know it, I suppose?"

"It's from that man Britnell, isn't it?" said Binks. "Is it for the museum?"

"Well, I would buy it if the price was five shillings," said Williams; "but for some strange reason he wants two Pounds for it. I can't understand why. It's a poor engraving, and there aren't even any figures to make it interesting."

"It's not worth two Pounds," said Binks; "but I don't think it's so badly done. The moonlight seems rather good. And I think there is a figure, just on the edge of the lawn."

"Let's look," said Williams. "Well, the light is rather clever. Where's your figure? Oh yes! Just a head, at the very front of the picture."

And indeed there was—hardly more than a dark spot on the edge—the head of a person, wrapped up, with its back to the viewer, looking towards the house. Williams had not noticed it before.

"Still," he said, "even though it's better than I thought, I can't spend the museum's money on a picture of a place I don't know."

Professor Binks soon left to do his work. Williams spent a long time trying to identify the house in the picture. "If the letter before the 'ng' was there, it would be easy," he thought. "But the name could be anything from Guestingley to Langley."

That evening, after dinner, a few friends came to Williams's rooms. During a quiet moment, Williams picked up the mezzotint and handed it to a friend who was mildly interested in art. He told him where it came from.

The gentleman looked at it carelessly, then said with some interest, "It's a very good piece of work, Williams. The light is managed very well, and the figure, though rather strange, is somehow very impressive."

"Yes, isn't it?" said Williams, who was busy getting drinks for the others and couldn't come to look.

It was now late, and the visitors soon left. Williams had some letters to write and work to finish. Finally, after midnight, he was ready for bed. He put out his lamp after lighting his bedroom candle.

The picture was lying face up on the table. As he turned the lamp down, he looked at it.

What he saw made him nearly drop the candle. He says now that if he had been left in the dark at that moment, he would have had a fit. But he was able to put the candle down and take a good look.

It was unbelievable, but absolutely certain. In the middle of the lawn, where there had been no figure at five o'clock, there was now a figure. It was crawling on its hands and knees towards the house. It was wrapped in a strange black garment with a white cross on the back.

I do not know the best thing to do in this situation. I can only tell you what Mr. Williams did. He took the picture and carried it to a second set of rooms he had. He locked it in a drawer, locked the doors of both rooms, and went to bed. But first, he wrote down and signed an account of the extraordinary change the picture had undergone.

He did not sleep well. But it was comforting to think that the man who had looked at it earlier had also seen something strange. Otherwise, he might have thought there was something wrong with his eyes or his mind.