I was awakened some time later by the sound of strange voices and once I had squeezed the sleep from my eyes, I realized the voices were coming from the passageway beyond. I staggered to my feet, my entire body feeling unaccountably stiff and sore--no doubt from sleeping in a cramped position on the cold, hard floor--and lurched over to the doorway. A few feet down the passage, two men were carrying on an animated conversation, their backs to me. I hailed them with undisguised relief and needless to say, they were quite surprised to find me there.

At first they were somewhat belligerent toward me. They must have thought I was a burglar, it being so early in the morning and the mausoleum not yet open to the public, but what on earth could I possibly have stolen in such a place? After I had related my story to them and they viewed my appearance, they became very helpful and even apologetic about my adventure. They led me upstairs--I could hardly believe it, but the stairway to the ground floor was but a dozen feet beyond the room in which I had spent most of the night--and took me directly to the manager's office.

It turned out to be after eight o'clock in the morning and while one of the workmen went in to explain my unusual circumstances to the manager, I waited in the reception area. I was treated to a welcome cup of coffee by a quietly efficient secretary, who kept stealing curious glances at me whenever she thought I wasn't looking her way.

Very quickly, the manager appeared, nearly fawning over me in his attempt to sooth and placate me. Mr Gilstrap, as his name turned out to be, must have thought that I was intent upon suing the establishment for negligence at my having been locked within the mausoleum overnight. I assured him that I harbored no ill feelings toward either him or the owners and proceeded to make an explanation as to what had befallen me.

Before I could begin, however, he ushered me into his office and had me seated on a couch so I could tell my story in a more relaxed vein. I then told him of my waking in the flower room and of my subsequent mistaken descent into the subterranean vault, where, after wandering about for some time without being able to find an exit, I had apparently collapsed in the room where I was found and had obviously slept until I was awakened by the workmen. I did not bother relating to him the curious dream I had (for dream it surely must have been) while sleeping in that dusty, empty room--of seeing and speaking to my deceased grandmother and dancing the night away with the apparition of a long dead, young woman.