"MISS UNA CALLINGHAM AND THE WOODBURY MYSTERY! Is SHE SCREENING THE
MURDERER? A POSSIBLE EXPLANATION!"

The words took my breath away. They were too horrible to realise. I
positively couldn't speak. I went up to the bookstall, laid down my
penny without moving my lips, and took the paper in my hand in
tremulous silence.

I dared not open it there and then, I confess. I waited till I was
in the train, and on my way to Woodbury.

When I did so, it was worse, even worse than my fears. The article
was short, but it was very hateful. It said nothing straight
out--the writer had evidently the fear of the law of libel before
his eyes as he wrote,--but it hinted and insinuated in a detestable
undertone the most vile innuendoes. A Treasury Doctor and a Police
Inspector, it said, had lately examined Miss Callingham again, and
found her intellect in every respect perfectly normal, except that
she couldn't remember the face of her father's murderer. Now, this
was odd, because, you see, Miss Callingham was in the room at the
moment the shot was fired; and, alone in the world, Miss Callingham
had seen the face of the man who fired it. Who was that man? and why
was he there, unknown to the servants, in a room with nobody but Mr.
Callingham and his daughter? A correspondent (who preferred to guard
his incognito) had suggested in this matter some very searching
questions: Could the young man--for it was allowed he was
young--have been there with Miss Callingham when Mr. Callingham
entered? Could he have been on terms of close intimacy with the
heroine of The Grange Mystery, who was a young lady--as all the