 There is an element of pathos as well as comedy in the curious story of the Comptons of Leeds, for they were people whom incredible things shouldn't happen. But that such things did happen to them can scarcely be doubted. Else, why would they have been standing in the British railroad station in their nightclothes at two o'clock in the morning? It was patrolman Boswell of the Bristol Police who first heard them. He'd been having his usual late cup of tea in the restaurant adjoining the railroad station and he had just stepped out into the crisp winter night when their screams of terror reached his ears. The patrolman Boswell ran swiftly toward the station, waiting room, hoping that he would be in time to prevent the bloodshed which obviously impended. The sight which met his eyes was one that he was destined never to forget, for there was no sign of blood, no hint of violence. There was only the ludicrous spectacle of two elderly people clinging together with all their might in the midst of the great empty room. Both were barefooted, both were clad only in nightcaps and night shirts. Here, here, what was all that noise about? Are you, are you a policeman, sir? Why that I am, and being a policeman I got me orders not to allow folks to be running around the streets in the condition you're in. Now go on home, both of you. But, but you don't understand. Very up now I'll have you arrested on the charge of intoxication. My wife and I are respectable citizens. We are not intoxicated. Then what do you do when in public in your mighty? We had to leave our hotel in hurry. We had no time to dress. We've had a very bad fight. All right then, I'll help you and I'll get you back to your hotel. Oh, Doctor. Never. You can arrest us, you can hang us if you like, but we are not going back to that hotel. Patrolman Boswell had no choice but to arrest them on a charge of disorderly conduct. Standing before the police magistrate, they told their story. They were the comestants of leads. It was their first holiday in 30 years, and now this terrible thing had happened. This ghastly experience they had had in room 117 of the Victoria Hotel. First, there'd been the voices. From all around they'd come. From the walls and the floor and ceiling. And then, there'd been knocking, and finally the agonized groans. As if someone in a nearby room would die. I think we ought to get out of here, Martha. I think we ought to get out of here, Martha. Is it an echo? Or is somebody mocking us? Is it an echo? Or is somebody mocking us? I don't know. Oh, I knew it. We're getting out. And with that, Thomas comes to leap from his bed. But ghastly had his feet touched the floor when... Martha! The floor balls! They're moving! They're giving way off to me! Oh, look, I'm finished! She too jumped up from the bed and, seizing her husband by the arm, pulled him back just in time to save him from falling into a yawning opening in the center of the room. And then, as if with one mind, they turned and climbed out of the window and ran toward the railroad station screaming for help. It may have been a collective hallucination. It may even have been an outright lie. But given the character of the persons involved, given the fact that they were found at the station in a condition which must have been a source of pain and embarrassment to them, how can we doubt that they were forced from their hotel by an intolerable experience? An experience incredible but true.