"This entirely unexpected answer was followed by sensational statements concerning the murder and the identity of the murderer. Some days after she was taken out to Fairwater--which she had never before visited--and reenacted in a trance the scene of the murder. "The story leaked out, and came to the ears of the _Western Mail_. Doubts were cast at once on the _bona fides_ of the girl and the whole story. An offer was made to repeat the experiment in the presence of two _Mail_ representatives. The offer was accepted, and one night this week, at ten o'clock, the little party met outside the Railway Inn, where poor David Thomas had had his last drink. "A start was made. The medium walked at an easy pace between a male and female friend, whose arms were linked. The faint outline of the road ahead led always on towards a wall of blackness. "At last they came near Fairwater. Suddenly the medium spoke: "'I see a pistol right in front of me--held towards me--it is a shiny one--there it is, held up--it has a large mouth.' "Forty yards farther on the medium spoke again: 'Hark! I hear footsteps! I see a man!' "'Where?' "'Right in front of us. There he is, creeping along the hedge. He is keeping out of sight.' "'What is he like? How is he dressed?' "The medium described her vision very minutely. Her pace increased suddenly; she dragged her linked companions on with a lurch forward. The farmhouse where she first saw the phantom stranger was well passed. She was following him, eagerly now. "A piercing scream came from the girl. A pressman sprang to her side and helped to prevent her body pitching headlong forward. "This was at the spot where David Thomas fell at the first shot. "'O--o--oh!' moaned the medium, twisting her left arm round to the back, to a spot immediately below the shoulder-blade, as if in intense agony. Then, supported on either side, she staggered forward. "A light was struck to see her face. It was the hue of death. Her eyes were turned until the whites only were visible. "'Let her go down!' "Moaning, she was allowed to sink, and lay there prone. Her moans expressed intense agony, and were like those of a man dying, blood gurgling in the sound; it was scarce conceivable a woman actually lay there. "'Speak, friend,' said her interlocutor, and presently came the slow answer, a whisper: "'David--T-T-Thomas.' "'What do you want of us, friend?' "'I--was--shot!' The tones of the voice were those of a man. "'Who shot you?' "A name was given. "'What do you want to do, my friend?' "Slowly, distinctly, with relentless purpose came the answer: "'I--will--have--my revenge. He shot me.' "Then the medium told them where the pistol had been bought by the murderer a year ago under an assumed name, and where the pistol would be found. All this while the poor girl lay prone on the roadside under the thin sinister telegraphic pole. "Gradually she revived. 'Look, look!' she cried, in a voice of horror, 'Look at the blood.'