“What is the other one, daddy?” she asked, and John Bennett pulled a face. “That is the dud,” he said regretfully. “Five hundred feet of good film gone west! I may have got a picture by accident, but I can’t afford to have it developed on the off-chance. I’ll keep it by, and one day, when I’m rolling in money, I’ll go to the expense of satisfying my curiosity.” He took the boxes into the house, and turned round to his stationery rack to find two adhesive labels, and had finished writing them, when Dick Gordon’s cheery voice came through the open window. He rose eagerly and went out to him. “Well, Captain Gordon, did you get it?” he asked. “I got it,” said Dick solemnly, waving an envelope. “You’re the first cinematographer that has been allowed in the Zoological Gardens, and I had to _crawl_ to the powers that be to secure the permission!” The pale face of John Bennett flushed with pleasure. “It is a tremendous thing,” he said. “The Zoo has never been put on the pictures, and Selinski has promised me a fabulous sum for the film if I can take it.” “The fabulous sum is in your pocket, Mr. Bennett,” said Dick, “and I am glad that you mentioned it.” “I am under the impression you mentioned it first,” said John Bennett. Ella did not remember having seen her father smile before. “Perhaps I did,” said Dick cheerfully. “I knew you were interested in animal photography.” He did not tell John Bennett that it was Ella who had first spoken about the difficulties of securing Zoo photographs and her father’s inability to obtain the necessary permission. John Bennett went back to his labelling with a lighter heart than he had borne for many a day. He wrote the two slips, wetted the gum and hesitated. Then he laid down the papers and went into the garden. “Ella, do you remember which of those boxes had the trout in?” “The one in your right hand, daddy,” she said. “I thought so,” he said, and went to finish his work. It was only after the boxes were labelled that he had any misgivings. Where had he stood when he put them down? On which side of the table? Then, with a shrug, he began to wrap the trout picture, and they saw him carrying it under his arm to the village post-office. “No news of Ray?” asked Dick. The girl shook her head. “What does your father think?” “He doesn’t talk about Ray, and I haven’t emphasized the fact that it is such a long time since I had a letter.” They were strolling through the garden toward the little summer-house that John Bennett had built in the days when Ray was a schoolboy. “You have not heard?” she asked. “I credit you with an omniscience which perhaps isn’t deserved. You have not found the man who killed Mr. Maitland?” “No,” said Dick. “I don’t expect we shall until we catch Frog himself.” “Will you?” she asked quietly. He nodded. “Yes, he can’t go on for ever. Even Elk is taking a cheerful view. Ella,” he asked suddenly, “are you the kind of person who keeps a promise?”