ONE LAST SCENE BEFORE we close the record. It was in a sitting-room of the Imperial Hotel at Folkestone. At the window sat Mr. and Mrs. Edward Malone gazing westwards down Channel at an angry evening sky. Great purple tentacles, threatening forerunners from what lay unseen and unknown beyond the horizon, were writhing up towards the zenith. Below, the little Dieppe boat was panting eagerly homewards. Far out the great ships were keeping mid-channel as scenting danger to come. The vague threat of that menacing sky acted subconsciously upon the minds of both of them.
"Tell me, Enid," said Malone, "of all our wonderful psychic experiences, which is now most vivid in your mind?"
"It is curious that you should ask, Ned, for I was thinking of it at that moment. I suppose it was the association
