“Do whatever you like, Ella,” he said gently. “There is a curse upon me, and you must suffer for my sin. Perhaps he will never know—but I am tired of expecting miracles.” “Father, what do you mean?” she asked anxiously. “I don’t know what I mean,” he said as he patted her shoulder. “Things may work out as they do in stories. Perhaps . . .” He ruminated for a while. “Those pictures I took yesterday may be the making of me, Ella. But I’ve thought that of so many things. Always there seems to be a great possibility opening out, and always I have been disappointed. But I’m getting the knack of this picture taking. The apparatus is working splendidly, and the man who buys them—he has a shop in Wardour Street—told me that the quality of the films is improving with every new ‘shot.’ I took a mother duck on the nest, just as the youngsters were hatching out. I’m not quite sure how the picture will develop, because I had to be at some distance from the nest. As it was, I nearly scared the poor lady when I fixed the camera.” Very wisely she did not pursue a subject which was painful to her. That afternoon she saw a strange man standing in the roadway opposite the gate, looking toward the house. He was a gentleman, well dressed, and he was smoking a long cigar. She thought, by his shell glasses, that he might be an American, and when he spoke to her, his New England accent left no doubt. He came toward the gate, hat in hand. “Am I right in thinking that I’m speaking to Miss Bennett?” he asked, and when she nodded: “My name is Broad. I was just taking a look round, and I seemed to remember that you lived somewhere in the neighbourhood. In fact, I think your brother told me to-day.” “Are you a friend of Ray?” she asked. “Why, no,” said Broad with a smile. “I can’t say that I’m a friend of Mr. Bennett; I’m what you might call a club acquaintance.” He made no attempt to approach her any closer, and apparently he did not expect to be invited into the house on the strength of his acquaintance with Ray Bennett. Presently, with a commonplace remark about the weather (he had caught the English habit perfectly) he moved off, and from the gate she saw him walking up towards the wood road. That long _cul-de-sac_ was a favourite parking place of motorists who came to the neighbourhood, and she was not surprised when, a few minutes later, she saw the car come out. Mr. Broad raised his hat as he passed, and waved a little greeting to some person who was invisible to her. Her curiosity whetted, she opened the gate and walked on to the road. A little way down, a man was sitting on a tree trunk, reading a newspaper and smoking a large-bowled pipe. An hour later, when she came out, he was still there, but this time he was standing; a tall, soldier-like-looking man, who turned his head away when she looked in his direction. A detective, she thought, in dismay.