"Uncle Thomas, that assistant, and I had prepared a great surprise.
"I often had noticed that Paul was very superstitious, fearful of unreal dangers. It occurred to me that a scare would be suitable entertainment for Paul's last visit. Uncle Thomas had planned our departure from Bombay for Calcutta on the next steamer. The vessel would sail on Friday morning, and our passage already had been engaged. We would go aboard soon after midnight, and the ship was to sail in the early morning.
"I chose a tableau for Paul. Aided by Uncle Thomas and that assistant, the performance was staged. During that day there had been two rehearsals. That assistant manipulated the lights. Uncle Thomas had produced a copy of London Press containing a graphic account of the Thames drownings. This he ornamented with heavy red headlines. The paper is lying on a small table in uncle's room.
"Dressed in that Thames clothing, over which hangs a draping of seaweed, my hair combed back from the temples, I await Paul's evening call.
"With loaded pistols Uncle Thomas occupies my room. Fully armed, the assistant is hiding in the folding wardrobe.
"The house-servant is directed to admit any male caller into the room usually occupied by Sir Charles Chesterton.
"The bell is soon rung, and Paul is ushered according to directions.
"Pouring over my head a pitcher of warm water, daubing the temple scar with thin, red liquid paint, from darkened room I watch Paul through slightly open connecting door, which has been effectively braced against pressure from that side.
"Paul picks up the paper, glares frightfully, turns deathly pale, and shakes with fear.
"Just then, with uplifted hand, I slowly enter, approaching Paul as if to strike him down. Paul falls upon the floor, begging me to spare him.