18 NOVEMBER 1949, page 13

The Small Ghosts

By PETER FLEMING O N the crest of the ridge I switched off the engine and let the car coast down the hill which sloped, gently at first, towards the still distant sea. The......

The Chimney Sweep

By SIR STEPHEN I ALLENTS S S a little Londoner, tramping the streets with his nurse, I used to feel my heart leap up when I beheld a man with a 'black face and a bundle of sooty......