say to the end, as it looks on the surface, 'She shot her father to
save her lover.'"

"You're right," I said slowly. "I shall let this thing rest. But the
photographs, Jack--the apparatus--the affair of the inquest?"

"That was all very simple," Jack answered. "For a day or two, of
course, I was in a frantic state of mind for fear you should be
suspected, or the revolver should betray you. But though I saw the
electric sparks, of course, I knew nothing about the photographs. I
wasn't even aware that the apparatus took negatives automatically.
And I was so full of the terrible reports in the newspapers about
your sudden loss of health, that I could think of nothing
else--least of all my own safety. As good luck would have it,
however, the clergyman at Wrode, who knew the Wilsons, happened to
speak to me of the murder--all England called it the murder and
talked of nothing else for at least a fortnight,--and in the course
of conversation he mentioned this apparatus of Mr. Callingham's
construction. 'What a pity,' he said, 'there didn't happen to be one
of them in the library at the time! If it was focussed towards the
persons, and had been set on by the victim, it would have
photographed the whole scene the murder, the murderer.'

"That hint revealed much to me. As he spoke, I remembered suddenly
about those mysterious flashes when you burst all at once on my
sight from behind the screen. Till that moment, I thought of them
only as some result of your too suddenly turning off the electric
current. But then, it came home to me in a second that Mr.
Callingham must have set out his apparatus all ready for
experimenting--that the electric apparatus was there to put it in