what eyes? what nose? Did you see the shot fired? And if so, what
sort of person was the man who fired it?"

Again I searched the pigeon-holes of my memory in vain, as I had
done a hundred times before by myself.

"It's no use," I cried helplessly, letting my hands drop by my side.
"I can't remember a thing, except the Picture. I don't know whether
I saw the shot fired or not. I don't know what the murderer looked
like in the face. I've told you all I know. I can recall nothing
else. It's all a great blank to me."

The Inspector hesitated a moment, as if in doubt what step to take
next. Then he drew himself up and said, still more gravely:

"This inability to assist us is really very singular. I had hoped,
after Dr. Thornton's report, that we might at last count with some
certainty upon arriving at fresh results as to the actual murder. I
can see from what you tell me you're a young lady of
intelligence--much above the average--and great strength of mind.
It's curious your memory should fail you so pointedly just where we
stand most in need of its aid. Recollect, nobody else but you ever
saw the murderer's face. Now, I'm going to presume you're answering
me honestly, and try a bold means to arouse your dormant memory.
Look hard, and hark back.--Is that the room you recollect? Is that
the picture that still haunts and pursues you?"

He handed me the photograph he held in his fingers. I took it, all
on fire. The sight almost made me turn sick with horror. To my awe
and amazement, it was indeed the very scene I remembered so well.