One day during the prevalence of the excitement Saylor presented himself at the office of the Commercial for orders.  He received a note from the city editor which read as follows:  “Go and pass the night alone in the haunted house in Vine street and if anything occurs worth while make two columns.”  Saylor obeyed his superior; he could not afford to lose his position on the paper.

Apprising the police of his intention, he effected an entrance through a rear window before dark, walked through the deserted rooms, bare of furniture, dusty and desolate, and seating himself at last in the parlor on an old sofa which he had dragged in from another room watched the deepening of the gloom as night came on.  Before it was altogether dark the curious crowd had collected in the street, silent, as a rule, and expectant, with here and there a scoffer uttering his incredulity and courage with scornful remarks or ribald cries.  None knew of the anxious watcher inside.  He feared to make a light; the uncurtained windows would have betrayed his presence, subjecting him to insult, possibly to injury.  Moreover, he was too conscientious to do anything to enfeeble his impressions and unwilling to alter any of the customary conditions under which the manifestations were said to occur.

It was now dark outside, but light from the street faintly illuminated the part of the room that he was in.  He had set open every door in the whole interior, above and below, but all the outer ones were locked and bolted.  Sudden exclamations from the crowd caused him to spring to the window and look out.  He saw the figure of a man moving rapidly across the lawn toward the building—­saw it ascend the steps; then a projection of the wall concealed it.  There was a noise as of the opening and closing of the hall door; he heard quick, heavy footsteps along the passage—­heard them ascend the stairs—­heard them on the uncarpeted floor of the chamber immediately overhead.

Saylor promptly drew his pistol, and groping his way up the stairs entered the chamber, dimly lighted from the street.  No one was there.  He heard footsteps in an adjoining room and entered that.  It was dark and silent.  He struck his foot against some object on the floor, knelt by it, passed his hand over it.  It was a human head—­that of a woman.  Lifting it by the hair this iron-nerved man returned to the half-lighted room below, carried it near the window and attentively examined it.  While so engaged he was half conscious of the rapid opening and closing of the outer door, of footfalls sounding all about him.  He raised his eyes from the ghastly object of his attention and saw himself the center of a crowd of men and women dimly seen; the room was thronged with them.  He thought the people had broken in.