At two there came a visitor. None other than Wong himself. He called me on my mobile from Giddy Up, the coffee stall in Fortune Street Park and summoned me there. He didn't want to enter Taylor Wimpey's The Denizen luxury apartment block and so demanded I meet him across the road. 'You must not stay here ignorant of the rumours that are afloat,' he said. 'Of course, when I let the place to Fong I knew nothing of the open door. I had no idea there was any ghost story connected with The Denizen, or I should have kept the place empty.' He wanted to know what had I seen? What did I think of the matter? Very honestly I told him I did not know what to say. The door certainly would not remain shut and there seemed no human agency to account for its persistent opening; but then on the other hand, ghosts generally did not tamper with firearms, and my pistol, though not loaded, had been tampered with. I was sure of that.
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"Death, death, death," the heart of The Denizen beats proudly. "Long years—" he sighs. "Again you found me." "Here," she murmurs, "sleeping; on a balcony reading; laughing, rolling marbles in the games room. Here we left our lives—" Stooping, their light lifts the lids upon my eyes. "Death! Death! Death!" the pulse of The Denizen beats wildly. Waking, I cry "Oh, so this your life within? It's a living death."