IN MOST of the many countries I have visited there seemed to come a time when I
found myself mixed up with the police. This was not due to any civil or moral
defection on my part, but to the fact that sooner or later somebody or other
connected with the police would invite me to try my hand at an experiment in
Let me make it quite plain that I do not believe extra-sensory perception can be
used in a practical way to aid the Law as it stands at present. The whole
machinery of justice would have to be revised to allow for such a practice. The
trouble is that psychic knowledge is not likely to be accepted as conclusive
evidence ... and in view of human frailty and the fact that psychic ability is
nowhere near one hundred per cent efficient, such an attitude cannot be
Metaphysical ability, however, can be and, as I shall show, has been used
to aid the forces of the Law in the detection of crime. To take a simple
example, of the type one might come across in a detective novel: we have six
people, and it is quite certain that one of them is the murderer. By carrying
out an experiment with the handwritings of these six people I could state quite
firmly that 'the butler done it'.
Such fictitious situations do not occur in this real and earnest life; and in
any event, my assertion would hardly convince a judge or jury. But
cryptaesthesia and other forms of extra-sensory perception can be used to guide
official investigators along certain lines, perhaps unthought-of by them, and
thus provide a starting-point from which scientific investigation may be carried
out. I have demonstrated this on several occasions.
Regretfully, I must confess that I have not been instrumental in laying a
criminal by the heels in England, but in 1932 Harold Holt, the concert agent,
arranged for me to visit the crime museum at Scotland Yard and demonstrate my
faculties with some of the many 'Exhibits A' and blunt instruments there
My audience was composed of several famous Yard criminologists and I enjoyed the
visit immensely. I believe that I impressed the various grades of detectives
with the potentialities of psychic power applied to detection, but I have never
been invited to assist in any 'live' case.
I do not recall many details of the visit, for it was a very informal affair,
and I simply perambulated around the rather gruesome museum, picking up all
sorts of odd articles and recounting my various impressions. There was much
excited nodding and exchanging of glances among the little bunch of officials
watching me and listening to my interpretations. Later, many of them confirmed
my statements, quoting names and dates and cases; but I am not familiar with the
last twenty years of criminal history in England - or with any other period for
that matter - and though the names mentioned would probably be familiar to the
average newspaper reader, I am afraid they rang no bells of recognition in my
head and consequently I have forgotten them.
There was one interesting occurrence that may provide food for thought among
theorists, however. I came to deal with a pair of shoes that were handed to me.
After a few moments of concentration I described the man to whom the shoes
belonged. Then, I think, I must have appeared rather puzzled.
"I don't see why you have these shoes here," I remarked. "The man who wore them
was not a criminal at all."
The officer who had been in charge of this case was present in my little
audience, and he volunteered an explanation. The man to whom the boots had
belonged had been guilty of murder; but he was a schizophrenic, a man with a
split personality of the Jekyll and Hyde type. Under normal conditions he had
been unaware of the crimes he committed when possessed by his other personality.
I had picked up the 'Dr. Jekyll' emanations only. Perhaps further experiment
would have revealed the criminal side of the character; I believe that it would,
but having been told the full story it was pointless for me to proceed any
On the continent I have assisted the police many times. Most of this work has
been done unofficially for obvious reasons. As a matter of interest, I quote the
following translation of a letter I received from the Royal Dutch Constabulary
after I had carried out a test experiment for them.
Royal Dutch Constabulary. Apeldoorn, Nov. 17,1930.
Subject: Experiment by Mr. Fred Marion
The following experiment was conducted by Mr. Fred Marion on November 13, 1930,
in the presence of the undersigned members of the staff of the Apeldoorn Depot
of the Royal Constabulary:
Mr. Marion was given a small box containing an automatic pistol which had been
used for a crime. None of the officers present had any knowledge of the crime.
Mr. Marion then stated:
He saw a house with a terrace leading into a garden. It is dark. Two persons,
one of them a woman, approach. Between them there is great enmity, not only for
material reasons. The man grew more excited. He may have had a plan, yet, until
then, had refused to carry it out. Now, however, his plan came suddenly back to
him and he fired. Three shots were fired by him but the woman was not killed nor
fatally injured. The man is tall, slim and pale, with jutting-out shoulder
blades, the corners of his mouth are turned downwards, his face is bitter, his
chin sticking out and his nose crooked and slim. The man had had a tropical
disease caught while living in the tropics. His name begins with the letter L.
Mr. Marion made the above statement seven minutes after he had taken the pistol
from the box.
We then called Staff-Sergeant-Instructor Schenk, who had not been present at the
performance and who had some knowledge of the crime in question. He stated that,
several years ago, a farmer had shot at his wife with the same pistol in a
village near Schaarsbergen. The attack took place near a small farmhouse. The
criminal had previously nurtured the plan for some time. The woman had, in the
meantime, returned to her parents' house. It was then that the man decided to
carry out his plan. He fired six shots altogether but the woman was not fatally
injured. The criminal's name was Luttikhuizen.
Further investigations were carried out at the scene of the crime and the
following details ascertained:
The farmer, W. van Luttikhuizen, on May 2, 1927, fired at his wife near the
village of Schaarsbergen. His motive was jealousy. The attack took place near a
small farmhouse between 12 noon and 1 p.m. Three shots were fired, the first of
which missed. Already in January 1927 L. had planned to kill his wife. He then
fired one shot which, however, did not injure her.
The features and stature of the criminal as described by Mr. Marion could not be
checked by comparison with a photograph on a police index card.
In conclusion, the undersigned state that they were particularly impressed by
Mr. Marion's statement that only three shots were fired, although the
above-mentioned Instructor insisted that the number was six, and that the
subsequent examination proved the correctness of Mr. Marion's statement.
Major A. P. H. Boellard, Depot Commandant.
W. G. F. A. van Walt Meijer, First Lt., Royal Constab.
J. Heiniik, Adjutant-Sergeant-Instructor.
J. Schenk, Staff-Sergeant-Instructor.
The report, I am afraid, is not very lucid; but the
salient points stand out clearly. The jumble of tenses in my own reported
impressions arises from the fact that I gave these impressions in the Dutch
language and doubtless made several grammatical errors which were faithfully
There is one ambiguous point I have to clear up. In the penultimate paragraph of
the report the idea may be conveyed that my description of the criminal did not
tally with the photograph. This was not the case. Comparison was impossible
owing to the poor quality of the photograph, which was little more than a blur.
I urged that another should be obtained, but unfortunately the red tape involved
in this was sufficient to deter the Apeldoorn Constabulary from the attempt.
Even if the question of description is left out of account, the experiment still
contains sufficient convincing high-lights to make any suggestion of guesswork
fantastic, as a careful analysis of the report will show. I do not intend to
labour these points.
In spite of the successes I have had, I find that working with the police is a
very thankless task. For the most part they are unwilling to admit that any
psychic guidance is responsible for their success; the mystic gets no credit for
any help he may provide. If, however, he happened to be off the track, then I
can well imagine the ridicule to which he would be held and the blame that would
be imputed to him.
I hope I have made it plain that I do not believe extra-sensory
impressions can be used evidentially in criminology. I do believe that they can
be used as directives for scientific investigation, as they may well open up
avenues not previously considered by the police. Here again, human nature may
erect something of a barrier. The mystic may succeed in giving very explicit
guidance; but there is always the possibility that no material evidence will be
unearthed; and if the police were left empty-handed on this account, then they
would probably become most exasperated and impute failure to the unfortunate who
volunteered his psychic aid. I can give a good example of the misuse of such
In Salzburg, Austria, the manager of a large departmental store came to see me.
There were, he told me, about fifty employees in the offices of the store, and
for weeks past small amounts of money had been missing. The money could only
have been stolen. It was not a matter of accountancy errors. Could I indicate
the thief to him?
I said that I would try, and asked the manager to bring me a specimen of the
handwriting of each one of his employees. He returned next day with the
necessary specimens, and I went through them one by one. At length I picked one
"This is the handwriting of your thief," I announced.
The manager took a look at the piece of paper and consulted a little note-book.
He shook his head doubtfully.
"This is only a young boy," he told me. "He's just an apprentice, and seems a
good, keen lad. I think you've made a mistake."
I knew quite well that my experiment had been accurate, and managed to convince
the manager to this effect. He took the bundle of papers and a few hours later I
had a phone call from him. He was most delighted. He had called in the boy and
charged him with stealing the sums of money, telling him that he had been found
out by a clairvoyant - an action which I felt at the time to be extremely rash
and impulsive. The youngster broke down and confessed to the thefts. He was
dismissed from the firm, his father was sent for and the situation was explained
to the man.
Three weeks later the manager came to see me again. He was very distressed.
"I told you we dismissed the boy," he said. "Well, I've now received a letter
from a solicitor acting for the father. In the letter he states that I have no
proof that the boy was responsible for the thefts. He says when I confronted
this young lad of fourteen with the charge it was only natural for him to be so
scared that he confessed to the whole thing. He recovered his wits later and
denied all knowledge of the thefts. The father demands that we pay the boy's
salary for the period during which he's been dismissed and also that I write a
letter of apology to the boy. It's a most embarrassing situation."
Well, there was nothing I could do. The manager had been hot-headed in the way
he used the advice I gave him. Once the boy revealed that the accusation had
been made on the information of a clairvoyant, as he called me, then the whole
thing was a gift for any smart solicitor. There was not a scrap of proof for the
manager to go upon.
If he had used my advice wisely he would have contrived some simple scheme for
obtaining the proof he needed. Such a matter would have been elementary as he
knew the thief's identity. I had rather imagined that he would take a more
lenient view and simply warn the delinquent, but if he intended to go the whole
way with the matter then he should surely have been more prudent. As things
transpired, the impulsive man had to comply with the requirements of the
solicitor, much to his chagrin.
This was indeed an outstanding example of ill-used advice.
On the other hand, there are some who have profited by my criminological
counsel. In Sarajevo I was unofficially requested by the police to give my
assistance in the matter of an assassination (no - not the famous one) in which
the assassin was very much incognito. I went to the spot where the murder had
occurred and gave a vivid description of the murderer from the cryptaesthesic
impressions I picked up there.
The description was circulated, and on the basis of it the murderer was
apprehended within three days. Having detained him, the detectives then set
about procuring the factual evidence they needed for the case ... and did so
with outstanding success.
In Prague I carried out some unofficial detective work by telepathic means. This
was in the nature of an experiment, but nevertheless yielded splendid results.
When a suspect was being interrogated I sat unobtrusively in the room and
concentrated upon picking up telepathic connection with him. No matter what he
conveyed in words to the interrogator, he could not veil his thoughts, even had
he known what was happening. Once again such telepathic impressions as I
received were not evidential; but if the suspect were guilty, then his
subconscious revelations often provided the necessary opening for building up
the evidence required.
I believe illustration will show the value of psychic faculties far more clearly
than airy theorizing, so let me pick out one or two crime stories in which I was
permitted to play a vital part.
* * *
While in Salzburg I received a visit from a
first-class solicitor who wanted my advice in the matter of a highly complicated
testamentary question. A certain aged gentleman had died, and his latest will,
drawn up by him on his death-bed, showed that he had left practically the whole
of his substantial fortune to his housekeeper and only a very insignificant
legacy to each of his two daughters. The solicitor explained this situation to
me, giving all details of the sums of money involved.
"It sounds a little eccentric," I offered, "but I don't see how I can help you."
"It isn't a case of eccentricity," came the reply. "I represent the two
daughters, and they were very much loved by their father. It's absolutely
fantastic that he should have left the bulk of his fortune to the housekeeper."
"Are you contesting the genuineness of the will?" I asked.
"That's why I've come to see you. The will was dictated by the old man when he
was dying. He hadn't the strength to write it all out, so the housekeeper wrote
it down for him. It happened rather suddenly, and the daughters were away at the
time. Anyway, he managed to sign it. I've had two of the finest handwriting
experts in the country on the job and they both agree that the signature is
I remarked that there seemed little more to argue about. The situation was
unfortunate for his clients, the daughters, but if the signature had been proved
genuine, then ...
"But I don't care what the experts say. That signature must be a fake," insisted
my visitor. "I know that it is utterly impossible for the old man to have cut
off his daughters with the tiny legacies shown in the will. He was quite fond of
the housekeeper, because she'd been with him for years - ever since the death of
his wife. But ... I knew him well, and I'm absolutely convinced that there's
something fishy about the whole thing. I want you to tell me if my suspicions
I asked if he could get the will for me to handle, but this was impossible, as
it was in the custody of the court. The solicitor said that the only way in
which I might handle the will was for me to be called as a witness for him.
I think it must have been the first occasion on which a witness has been called
upon to demonstrate psychic phenomena in the witness-box in order to clinch an
argument. The situation was delicate for me, but I was intrigued and so agreed
to do my best.
On the day appointed I presented myself at the court, and when the case came up
for hearing the solicitor called me as a witness. He looked a very anxious man.
Amid curious stares I stepped into the box. Everybody concerned knew my position
in the affair. This was no surprise that we were attempting to spring upon the
court. I took the will in my hands, and, after a few moments' concentration,
began to receive vivid impressions. My testimony was quite sensational, and the
story I told was this:
Shortly before the death of the old man he had asked his housekeeper to write
out a will at his dictation. He had no thought of any possible dishonesty on her
part, but the temptation was too great for the unfortunate woman. She had
written at his dictation, but had transposed her name and the names of the two
daughters, thus distorting the whole purport of the document. The dying man had
made but a vague attempt to glance over the results of his dictation, and had
signed the will without any idea that the fraud was being practised upon him.
Now I have no idea what my legal position really was in this situation. I named
no names, but simply gave my usual word-picture of the impressions gained from
handling the will. There was certainly a most profound silence throughout the
court-room as I told my story; and as I came to the closing words a loud shriek
made everybody start. The sound had come from the pallid lips of the housekeeper
herself, and as all eyes turned towards her she fell to the floor in a faint.
I wish there were some way of telling this story so that it ran more true to
life; but the truth is that the court-room scene was far more true to Hollywood.
That, I am afraid, is one of fate's odd little tricks, and there is nothing I
can do about it.
My story, of course, was not evidence. The woman was carried through to a room
at the back of the court. I waited several minutes, and then saw my solicitor
client hurrying towards me. He was beaming with delight.
"She's confessed!" he exclaimed. "In a shocking state of nerves when she started
to come round, and then blabbed out the whole thing. There's a clerk just taking
down a detailed confession right now."
I contrived to see that written confession later, and was pleased to find that
my account of the death-bed scene had been accurate in every respect.
The handwriting experts had been quite correct in judging the signature to be
genuine. But this testimony alone would have caused a miscarriage of justice. A
graphologer, studying the handwriting of the housekeeper, would have found no
indication of her dishonesty; in fact, I believe that this was the only occasion
in her life when she stepped from the straight and narrow path.
I freely admit that a more hardened criminal would probably never have broken
down and confessed, and that in this particular case my findings would have been
hard to prove by evidence; but that is a side issue and does not in any way
lessen the potential value of such an aid to detection.
When all else had failed in this affair, the application of metagraphology
solved the problem. It is a typical example of the way in which an expert in
cryptaesthesia may assist the powers of justice in the war against crime.
* * *
In the city of Linz, on the Danube, I received a
plea for help from a skinny, haggard old man who sat opposite me in my
consulting-room fumbling nervously with his worn, leathery fingers. He had a
tragic story to tell.
"I'm worried about my son, Mr. Marion," he said, sadly, and went on to recount a
vague and wandering story which I must here précis as nearly as possible.
"We live together on a fair-sized piece of land," he told me, "and we have to
get our living from what we can produce. But every mite that I work and slave to
get, my son just keeps spending. I have no control over him. He's a drunkard and
a libertine, and we're getting into a terrible state with the farm. I've been
working as I've never worked before - and I'm a very old man now. I can't keep
it up. If something doesn't change, then everything will be over and we'll lose
our house and our farm and everything we own. It's impossible for me to clear
the debts as long as my son keeps up his spendthrift ways."
"Surely you can prevent your son from having any money if he doesn't work?" I
The old man shook his grey head.
"If I don't pay his debts, then he'll be taken to prison. I ... can't have that.
You see, I have a fear that his terrible experiences during the war have made
him funny in the head. And he can't be blamed for anything if he's that way."
"I think you'd better tell me the whole story," I suggested. In this matter I
had to know more, because until that moment I had no ideas as to the way in
which I might be able to advise the trouble-laden old man.
"My son was a different boy when he was younger," he told me. "As a boy and a
young man he was no trouble at all, and he was a son I was proud of. In 1912 he
married a nice girl, and he worked well to keep our little place in good order.
Then in 1914 the war came and he joined the Austrian Army. He was sent to the
Eastern Front, and was there for two years.
"At first in his letters he asked all about the progress of our farm and the
welfare of his young wife. Then, as the war became more and more terrible, the
letters became scarce. There was a long period when we heard nothing at all, and
at last there came an official letter to say that he was missing, probably a
prisoner of war.
"A long time later the war finished, but of course it was several years before
all the prisoners found their way back home. Many of them had been in Siberia,
and that, Mr. Marion, was perhaps less kind than death. It was a matter of years
before some of the far-off places in Siberia came to know that the war had
"We hoped on for a little while, and the years went slowly by. We gave up all
hope of ever seeing my son again. His wife, poor child, tried to be brave, but
after hope had finally gone I think she was happy to die. There were no
children, and I was alone once again.
"Then one day my son came back. I would not have known him. He had been in
Siberia, a prisoner for many years. He knew little of how or when the war had
finished, but during the upheaval of the Russian revolution he made the hard
journey across Siberia, and eventually managed to cross the sea to Japan. I do
not know why he went there. He has told me so very little. In Japan he worked
for several years, and at last managed to undertake the journey back to his
"Of course we fêted his return as best we could, my neighbours and I. All those
who had been his friends came to congratulate him ... but ten years is a long
time. They did not really remember.
"After the first joy of having him home once again, I tried to settle back to my
normal work, strengthened by the thought that I was no longer alone. It was a
very deep blow when I saw that my son was no longer a fine young man. He who
never drank before is now more often drunk than sober. He comes home at all
hours of the day or night, coarse and besotted. He never works. He disappears
for days on end, mingling with the lowest elements of the district.
"This has gone on for over two years now. I was patient at first. I felt that
perhaps it was the first exuberance of being home. But our debts have grown.
There is nobody else from whom I can get credit, and the end of our means of
living seems to be very near.
"I have come to you, Mr. Marion, because I want to know if this disaster is
unavoidable. Is there not a spark of hope that my son may reform? Or is he
suffering from some mental trouble that requires medical aid?"
The story took a long time to tell, for the old man spoke slowly. I asked him
for a recent specimen of his son's handwriting, and in silence he handed me an
envelope. He had been told of my methods and had come prepared for this.
The impressions I received were startling in the sinister light they threw upon
the whole situation. I hesitated for a while before speaking, and when at last I
addressed the old man I chose my words carefully.
"I have something rather shocking to tell you," I said. "You must try not to be
distressed or upset at what I have to say. The truth is ... the man who has come
back after all these years is not your son. He is an impostor."
The old man stared at me long and silently, his faded blue eyes wide and vacant.
I thought for a moment that he had failed to understand.
"This man was a comrade of your son," I went on, speaking slowly and carefully.
"They were together in some sort of hospital. But this man lived and your son
died. When this happened the impostor had the idea of taking all your son's
documents. He thought, perhaps, that they might be useful to him. Do you
understand what I am saying? This tale of imprisonment in Siberia is false."
The old man nodded stiffly.
"My son is dead?" he queried simply. I nodded. He sat quite still, and I saw no
sign in his face of the emotions which must have been warring within him. At
last he said quietly:
"I think I must be glad that this one is not my son. I had become very
accustomed to thinking him dead. Except for a few short days I do not think that
he ever really became alive for me again. Why has this man done such a thing?"
Now that the old chap was over the first shock of my revelation, I explained
such of the details as had appeared clearly to me. This impostor was an
adventurer, a shabby soldier of fortune, who had claimed to be the son in order
that he might enjoy such filial benefits as were available. He bore sufficient
general resemblance in build and features to carry off the imposture after a gap
of years - and years so frightful that they had changed the appearance of many a
man. Furthermore, he was well informed as to the family affairs of the true son.
The plan of imposture had been allowed to lapse for some years. Perhaps, even,
it had been discarded for a time. Whatever the reason for such a long delay, the
moment came at last when the impostor decided to try his luck at gaining the
first step towards an inheritance to which he had no title. The fact that the
son's wife had died in the meantime, and that there were no children, helped the
To what extent lies and truth were mingled in the story it was difficult to
decide, but, as the old man well knew, the extraordinary scheme had succeeded. I
touched on a number of details which helped him to remember and account for
certain anomalous aspects of his 'son's' return. Many things were made clear
that had hitherto bewildered him.
Here, then, was the explanation of the problem, but it was not a solution. It
would be easy to send the renegade about his business, but I felt that a
stronger line should be taken so that he might be punished for his heartless
roguery. Convinced that further experiments would provide proof of my assertion,
I worked for a long time, concentrating on that period when the two men were
together in hospital and when the documents of identity were stolen.
At last I hit upon something of extreme importance. I discovered that at the
time the impostor carried out his theft and fled, the son was not dead but
dying. The thief had never discovered for certain whether his comrade died or
not. I told the old man this and then gave him advice as to how he should put
this knowledge to use.
"This man, though cunning, is ignorant and witless," I told him. "Make such
preparations as will bear out the little drama you have to play, and then call
your 'son' and several of your friends together at your house. Announce that you
have just received a communication from your son - your real son - to say
that he is returning to you. Say he writes that for many years he has suffered
from loss of memory owing to his shocking experiences; that an accident has
restored his memory and he is coming back home."
Throughout my revelations I had seen a slow, smouldering anger building up
within my tragic visitor, finally bursting into a flame of bitter fury. The
patient resignation had disappeared, and he talked eagerly of my idea for
bringing the impostor to book.
From the outline I suggested we built up a detailed scheme to force a confession
from the pseudo son. Whether it would work or not was open to doubt; but from my
reading of his character I did not believe that the wretch would be sufficiently
self-possessed to bluff his way out.
My belief proved correct. Exactly what transpired I do not know, for the old
man, when he came to see me some days later, was grateful but taciturn. I fancy
that the scene had not been without its active moments, and that after the first
shock of surprise the truth had very probably been thrashed out of the impostor.
But I know beyond any doubt that the swindler was taken to court, tried,
convicted and punished with a severity that can have had few precedents in such
* * *
It is my lot to miss the closing scenes, the final
chapters, of many of the stories in which I become involved. It is a pity; but
that is the way of things. I advise, but I do not interfere. Consequently I am
seldom there when the curtain drops, and I can only check the results of my
advice from the accounts of those clients who think fit to write or visit me
once they have had the proof of the pudding.
Here, however, is a story in which I, and every newspaper reader in the country,
was able to read the final paragraph right down to the word 'Finis'; for death
rules a very heavy line across the page.
It started with a telephone call.
"Mandaus," said a voice. "My name is Mandaus."
The name was familiar to me as being that of a very famous singer from the
National Theatre, Prague. The caller had asked for an appointment, speaking
in Czech ... yet this was in London, 1940.
"Mandaus the singer?" I asked.
"Not quite," the other laughed. "I sing, but you are probably confusing me with
my brother. He is far more famous. However, I need some advice, Mr. Marion."
I arranged an appointment, and my client arrived that afternoon. He wanted, he
said, to start out in some form of business and was considering going into
partnership with a certain lady. Did I think that the project would prosper?
The whole story did not ring true to me. I say the whole story but, in fact,
there was no story, for Mandaus was vague and evasive about every detail. I did
not press him for information, but arranged for him to make a second visit,
bringing with him a specimen of the mysterious lady's handwriting. The
subsequent experiment was brief but, to me, dramatic. The impressions I received
were vivid and menacing.
"Keep out of it," I warned him. "Don't pursue your association with this lady
any further. There is an element of serious danger in it - danger for you. If
you disregard my advice, then your very life will be imperilled."
The strength and content of my advice was obviously distasteful to Mandaus. He
wanted to know the how and the why of the whole thing. I explained that it was
impossible for me to tell him more. I was offering advice, not attempting to
tell his fortune, and I certainly could not read the future as if it were a
Dissatisfied, he left me.
It was almost a year later - in August 1941 to be exact - that I picked up a
morning paper and the headline "Shot In Flat - Preyed on His Girl Friends"
caught my eye.
The report had been worked up into a sensational one, and began:
A bullet fired in a West End flat ended the career
of Frantisek Mandaus, 45 - to the world a minor star of Europe's opera stage and
screen, to his intimates an evil genius in the pursuit of women.
There was quite a lot of it in a similar strain, and
the report ended:
An inquest on Mandaus was opened yesterday and
adjourned after Sir Bernard Spilsbury had said death was due to haemorrhage
caused by the passage of a bullet through an artery of the heart.
Now I do not want to labour the details of this
unpleasant story. The accuracy of my impressions are amply proved by a simple
record of the outstanding facts. At the end of October 1941 the following
report, which I have summarized, appeared in all the national newspapers:
Flying Officer - was found not guilty at the Old
Bailey yesterday of the murder of Frantisek Mandaus, Czech, and was discharged.
Mandaus was found shot at his flat in Edgware Road, London, where, it was said,
he had kept against her will a girl...
That is as much as I intend to quote. I know the
picture is not complete as far as the details of the incident are concerned, but
then, I am not writing a newspaper report. I am trying to show that my
cryptaesthesic warning was a horribly serious one.
The experiment was a success. Mandaus staked his life on its failure ... and
The above article was taken from Frederick Marion's In My Mind's Eye (New
York, Melbourne, Sydney, Cape Town: Rider and Co., N.D.). A review and critique
of this book by Theodore Besterman, and a reply by Marion, was published in the
Journal of the Society for Psychical Research Vol. XXXV. No. 656,
January/ February 1950 pp. 187-195 and is reproduced with permission at