“No,” he answered, “that’s what worries me. All she would say was, ‘Go to Edinburgh—something will happen.’”
“And how long are you going to remain here?” I inquired.
“I don’t know,” he replied. “I’ve been here a week already, and Jobstock writes quite angrily. I wouldn’t have come if Maria hadn’t been so urgent. She repeated it three evenings running.”
I hardly knew what to do. The little man was so dreadfully in earnest about the business that one could not argue much with him.
“You are sure,” I said, after thinking a while, “that this Maria is a good Spirit? There are all sorts going about, I’m told. You’re sure this isn’t the spirit of some deceased lunatic, playing the fool with you?”
“I’ve thought of that,” he admitted. “Of course that might be so. If nothing happens soon I shall almost begin to suspect it.”
“Well, I should certainly make some inquiries into its character before I trusted it any further,” I answered, and left him.
About a month later I ran against him outside the Law Courts.
“It was all right about Maria; something did happen in Edinburgh while I was there. That very morning I met you one of my oldest clients died quite suddenly at his house at Queensferry, only a few miles outside the city.”
“I’m glad of that,” I answered, “I mean, of course, for Maria’s sake. It was lucky you went then.”