 In the annals of the strange and the incredible, death has always played a significant role. For it is inevitable that the great mystery, which has intrigued men's minds since the beginning of time, should itself be surrounded by countless minor mysteries. Of all of these, none is more curious, none more difficult to explain, than the tantalizing story of Geoffrey de Rocier's mirror. Geoffrey de Rocier was dying. He lay in a ward at the War Memorial Hospital in Sault Ste. Marie. His nurse, Adeline Noop, hovering near his bed, knew that the end could not be far off. Indeed, she thought that consciousness had already slipped away. But then, to her astonishment, Geoffrey de Rocier opened his eyes and his lips moved feebly. A mirror. Bring me a mirror. Hastening to obey what was unquestionably his last wish, Nurse Noop found the mirror and brought it to him. It was just an ordinary mirror, a rectangular piece of glass without a frame. He took it in his trembling hands and held it before his face. My God! I'm dying! Nurse Noop and three other occupants of the ward heard that wild, frantic cry. They saw him throw the mirror down on the steel table that stood beside his bed. But it did not break. It lay where it had fallen. And Geoffrey de Rocier slumped weakly back on his pillows. But before he lost consciousness completely, de Rocier murmured one final, mysterious statement. And every person in the room heard it. That mirror. You won't be able to pick it up. Later that morning, when the body of Geoffrey de Rocier had been removed, Nurse Noop assisted in preparing the bed for a new patient. And then the mirror, still lying on the table, caught her eye. She bent to pick it up. A moment later, her face suddenly white. She hurried out of the room and summoned an intern who was passing in the corridor. When she told him his story, he followed her to the bed, chuckling with amusement. Relax, Nurse. I don't think I'd be too upset about this. But I tell you, it won't budge. You've heard of a knee-day fix, haven't you? The late patient planted the idea in your mind and it stayed there. That's all. He said you wouldn't be able to pick up the mirror, and lo and behold, you can't pick it up. Let's see you pick it up. Good Lord. For some strange reason it stuck to the table. And it remained stuck for 24 hours. During that time, practically every doctor and nurse on the floor tried to move it. And throughout that whole day and night, there was scarcely a person in the War Memorial Hospital who was not recalling, with a shudder, those strange last words of Geoffrey de Rossier. The following morning, Nurse Adeline Newt came back on duty. Her first act when she entered the ward was to approach the bedside table. The occupants of the other beds watched attentively as she made one final effort to remove the mirror. It touched it. It flew high in the air. After that, the mirror was carefully examined. No chemical or adhesive substance was found either on it or on the surface of the table. Efforts were made to force it to re-adhere to the table, but they were unsuccessful. It still remains a mystery, a mystery incredible, but true.