subject from Miss Callingham in person."

My head swam round. It was all like a dream to me. I held my
forehead with my hands, and gazed blankly at the Inspector.

"You understand what all this means?" he said interrogatively,
leaning forward as he spoke. "You remember the murder?"

"Perfectly," I answered him, trembling all over. "I remember every
detail of it. I could describe you exactly all the objects in the
room. The Picture it left behind has burned itself into my brain
like a flash of lightning!"

The Inspector drew his chair nearer. "Now, Miss Callingham," he said
in a very serious voice, "that's a remarkable expression--like a
flash of lightning.' Bear in mind, this is a matter of life and
death to somebody somewhere. Somebody's neck may depend upon your
answers. Will you tell me exactly how much you remember?"

I told him in a few words precisely how the scene had imprinted
itself on my memory. I recalled the room, the box, the green wires,
the carpet; the man who lay dead in his blood on the floor; the man
who stood poised ready to leap from the window. He let me go on
unchecked till I'd finished everything I had to say spontaneously.
Then he took a photograph from his pocket, which he didn't show me.
Looking at it attentively, he asked me questions, one by one, about
the different things in the room at the time in very minute detail:
Where exactly was the box? How did it stand relatively to the
unlighted lamp? What was the position of the pistol on the floor? In
which direction was my father's head lying? Though it brought back