The Headless Dead

And the master of the headless dead. I say, God, just call me Swiss, sir. Spare with an E.

At the end. Yes, yes, yes, of course. You remind me before. What were you about to say, sir? I was about to observe that this Tower of London is quite a historic place. That it is, sir. Historic indeed.

And, uh, haunted, I have her tell. Have you now, sir? Oh, yes. Don't tell me. You haven't heard stories about the tower. stories about the towers gold. Perhaps I have. Perhaps not. Of course I don't believe that sort of rubbish you know. Rubbish. Certainly not the legend of the ghosting veritably appears whenever a gambling game is in progress to wipe it all in the top

it always wins his stakes. Yes. Don't tell me you believe such a fantastic yarn as that. Or such an unbelievable story as the one about the pig face specter of of the rectory. I imagine Brother Randolph would tell you there's nothing fantastic about the story at all.

Brother Randolph? Yes, sir. He's oversteer the rectory. He's seen the specter many times. The superstition of the Randolph says the thing is always dressed in a long black clip. Is the body a wee human?

The face is that some grotesque and repulsive animal. It sounds like an old wives tale. Mind you, sir, I'm not trying to convince you about such things. Perhaps he entered the Kualoft, the chapel over there.

The chapel? I didn't know there was one in here. It's a chapel in Peter at Vintkira. For me to go in there? Picking your borders there. That's what the climb of the stars was far.