Some years previously she had met a middle-aged widow who attended the same church. The widow, a French-woman, had been married to a British officer who was killed in 1916, leaving her with a young daughter, Rosalie.

The widow determined to bring up her child in England and made her home in London.

The child, Rosalie, was never strong. In 1921, when she was six, she contracted diphtheria and, after a few days illness [she died].

The mother, whom I will call Madame Z, was heartbroken. She became ill with grief and nearly died. And then came the miracle.

One night early in 1925, when Madame Z was lying awake in bed, she thought she heard the dead child's voice calling ‘mother’. She nearly swooned with fear and delight at the thought that her girl had ‘come back’ and was still near her. She called her daughter by name but there was no reply. Next night and on many succeeding nights Madame Z heard that same word ‘Mother’ coming out of the darkness in the same, loving, lisping voice that was so dear and so familiar to her.

Gradually, she thought she thought she could see in the dim obscurity of her bedroom the fluorescent outline of her child. She put her arm out of bed, she said, and her hand was clasped by that of Rosalie.

After that, the visits became more frequent; the “spirit” more human, and mother and child even talked a little.

That was the story told by the woman who rang me up. She added that in 1928 she persuaded Madame Z to visit her home in order to see whether Rosalie could be induced to “appear”.

The experiments were successful and, in six months the child was materialising regularly in the home circle, every Wednesday night.

I was invited to attend one of these séances. I was surprised when I was told that I could take charge of this séance, search the rooms, search the sitters, control anything and everything.

The one condition was that I had to ask permission to do anything during the actual sitting, in order to avoid shock to Rosalie or her mother. This was reasonable. I accepted.

The séance was fixed for December 15, 1937. After I had had supper with the family I began my search of the house, a large detached building.

I examined every room. I sealed all external doors and windows. I removed most of the furniture from the room-room (the drawing-room), examined the bare boards of the floor, sounded the distempered walls and ceiling, blocked up the chimney with newspapers, and finally sprinkled starch powder in front of the fireplace and locked door in order to register and possible foot or hand marks.

Then I sealed the door and windows with adhesive tape and screw-eyes and drew the heavy curtains across the windows. A mouse could not have entered that room undetected.

We were ready for the room.

It was 9.10 p.m. when I finished the job watched not without amusement - by the broker and his wife, his daughter, her boy friend, and Madame Z. With myself, these formed the sitters.

I then searched them. No one was concealing anything. In the centre of the room I placed six heavy mahogany chairs in a circle. We sat down. My host switched off the lights. The room began.

Suddenly, Madame Z gave a choking sob and murmured ‘My darling!’. I was warned that Rosalie was present. At the same moment I sensed that something was before me and that the distressed mother was fondling her child.

Then something brushed my left hand; it felt soft and cool. I did not move, but asked permission to touch the figure, Permission was given, and I stretched out my arm, which came into contact with the nude and living body of a little girl, about three feet seven inches tall.

I stroked her cheeks and rested my hand on her chest. I could feel her heart beating and could hear her breathing. Then with both hands I felt her hair, long and soft, falling over her shoulders.

By this time most of the sitters were distressed. The women were sobbing.

I got permission to examine the child by means of some luminous plates. By their soft light I found that Rosalie was a well-formed little girl with dark, intelligent eyes, which gazed into mine without flinching.

I received permission to speak to the figure. I hesitated, and finally said:

“Where do you live, Rosalie?” (No answer)
“What do you do there?” (No answer)
“Do you play with other children?” (No answer)
“Have you any toys there?” (No answer)
“Are there any animal pets?” (No answer)

Rosalie simply stared, and did not seem to understand what I was saying. I asked her a final question: “Rosalie, do you love your mummy?” I saw her expression change and her eyes light up. “Yes,” she lisped.

Rosalie had barely uttered this single word when Madame Z gave a cry and clasped her “daughter” to her breast. Our luminous plates were removed and the séance was over. Rosalie had gone.

We sat for fifteen minutes, then the lights were switched on. I found all my seals and controls intact.

After thanking my hosts I left – not nearly as sceptical as I was a few hours before. I was impressed, puzzled, and almost convinced that survival of human personality had been demonstrated.

I asked for another sitting in my own laboratory, with a different group of observers. This was promised, but before it could be arranged Madame Z went to visit her old home in Paris. This was at the end of August, 1939. She was apparently engulfed by the war and nothing has been heard of her since.