I looked at it and fell back with a deadly shriek of horror. It was
an instantaneous photograph. It represented a scene just before the
one the Inspector gave me. And there, in its midst, I saw myself as
a girl, with a pistol in my hand. The muzzle flashed and smoked. I
knew the whole truth. It was I myself who held the pistol and fired
at my father!






CHAPTER XIX.

THE REAL MURDERER





For some seconds I sat there, leaning back in my chair and gazing
close at that incredible, that accusing document. I knew it couldn't
lie: I knew it must be the very handiwork of unerring Nature. Then
slowly a recollection began to grow up in my mind. I knew of my own
memory it was really true. I remembered it so, now, as in a glass,
darkly. I remembered having stood, with the pistol in my hand,
pointing it straight at the breast of the man with the long white
beard whom they called my father. A new mental picture rose up
before me like a vision. I remembered it all as something that once