 The experience of the Reverend C.C. Wombie of Marocom Hill is scarcely unique in the annals of The Strange and The Incredible. In fact, what is impressive is the number of times which similar experiences have occurred, and we can only regard them in view of their frequency as proof that science still has much to explain. It was the Reverend Wombie's custom to stroll from six to seven each evening across the downs that skirted on Marocom Hill. It had been his intention on this particular summer evening in the year 1874 to prepare his next sermon as he walked, but scarcely had he started out when he realized that he had overlooked another highly important duty. August, it is. Then August 22nd is just the day after tomorrow. Well, now how could I have forgotten good old Binkett's birthday? This would have been the first time in more than 30 years that the Reverend Wombie had failed to remember the birthday of that friend of his childhood. Dr. Bartley Winkett. In a moment, his sermon was forgotten, and he was absorbed in the task of composing his congratulatory message. You, my dear Winkett, are one of the few men in London, indeed in the whole world. You really should be congratulated on reaching your age. Have you, what says? Lucky Winkett, he's only 68. I think you'll like that. I doubt if he will, Reverend. I waste your time writing to a dead man. The voice that spoke these strange sinister words could not have been more than two feet away, and yet there was no one near him. There was not even a tree within 20 yards behind which a man might hide. I must have imagined it. Who's to be seen now? Where was I? Oh, yes. Lucky Winkett. He's only 68. Dead men, don't re-letter. This time the Reverend Wombie did not pause to investigate. Instead, he turned his footsteps hurriedly toward home. That night, after dinner, he finished the letter and posted it without further interruption. But during the remainder of the week, he thought of the strange occurrence frequently. Then, on the following Saturday, there was an envelope in the mailbox, bearing a London postmark and his friend's return address. The Reverend breathed a sigh of relief. Well, how stupid I was to worry. I was very tired that evening. I'd probably dream the whole affair. Well, let's see what good Winkett has to say. Whereupon the Reverend tore open the envelope and removed its contents. It contained another envelope and a small sheet of paper. As the Reverend read the message on the paper, his face grew pale and his eyes widened with horror. We are returning your letter on open. We regret to inform you that Dr Winkett passed quietly away at 6 p.m. on the evening of August 20. Yes, at the moment that Reverend Wombie walked across the downs, composing his letter, at the moment that he heard the solemn, insistent voice, at that very moment, the life of Dr Winkett came to an end. This is only one of the more impressive of the thousands of stories of those who have, by some mysterious intuition, known of the death of someone among their family or friends. And it, like all the others, remains simply a story, incredible but true. Thank you for watching.