I ascertained that Miss Delorme was a responsible person, quite able and willing to defray the costs of printing her book, in case it proved to be out of the line of the regular publishing houses. I arranged to visit her home on June 18th, an easy matter, as I found I could get there by subway. On June 18th, therefor, I walked across the fields to the great wall which she had described in her letters, and rang the bell of the bronze gate. From that moment, I began to realize what Miss Delorme meant when she wrote that she feared for the safety of her manuscript.

Even as I stood there waiting, things started to happen in a most bewildering fashion. I heard somebody throw up a window on a side of the house (to my right), and then there came a woman’s scream, which sounded to me more angry than fearful. The scream was followed by a heavy, metallic clang upon the pavement just around the corner from where I stood. I left the gate and ran in the direction of the noise.

On the sidewalk lay a black tin box as is often used to preserve papers of importance. It was dented badly where it had struck the pavement. I picked it up and then turned my eyes toward the windows above me.

And elderly woman stood at the open window nearest the corner of the house, holding with both hands to the window-frame at either side of her. Although she appeared to be alone, I received a strong impression that she was being pulled from behind, for she was struggling as if with all her power to maintain her position there. As I looked up, the tin box in my hand, she called to me anxiously.

“Who are you?”

I told her.

“Thank God you came in time!” She cried excitedly. “Take the box and get away from her as quickly as you can. Don’t let it out of your sight until it has been printed and the books distributed. You’ll understand why, when you’ve read it. Never mind about me! My work is done!”

As the last words were flung down at me, she disappeared backward into the room, as if pulled there by invisible hands.