time I had never been allowed to hear anything about my
father--anything about the great tragedy with which my second life
began. It was wonderful to me even now to be allowed to speak and
ask questions on it with anybody. So hedged about had I been all my
days with mystery.

As I listened, I saw the Inspector could tell by the answering flash
in my eye that his words recalled SOMETHING to me, however vaguely.
As he finished, I leant forward, and with a very flushed face, that
I could feel myself, I cried, in a burst of recollection:

"Yes, yes. I remember. And the box on the table--the box that's in
my mental picture, and is not in the photograph--THAT was the
apparatus you've just been describing."

The Inspector turned upon me with a rapidity that fairly took my
breath away.

"Well, where are the other ones?" he asked, pouncing down upon me
quite fiercely.

"The other WHAT?" I repeated, amazed; for I didn't really understand
him.

"Why, the other photographs!" he replied, as if trying to surprise
me. "There must have been more, you know. It held six plates. Except
for this one, the apparatus, when we found it, was empty."

His manner seemed to crush out the faint spark of recollection that
just flickered within me. I collapsed at once. I couldn't stand such