“Put her out,” said Gordon, and Elk lifted the helpless girl in his arms and carried her into the dining-room. “True!” Ella whispered the word, and Dick nodded. “I’m afraid it’s true, Ella.” She sat down slowly. “I wonder where I can find father,” she said, as calmly as though she were discussing some everyday event. “You can do nothing. He knows nothing. Do you think it is kind to tell him?” She searched his face wonderingly. “I think you’re right. Of course you’re right, Dick. I’m sure you’re right. Father mustn’t know. Couldn’t I see him—Ray, I mean?” Dick shook his head. “Ella, if Ray has kept silent to save you from this, all his forbearance, all his courage will be wasted if you go to him.” Again her lips drooped. “Yes. It is good of you to think for me.” She put her hand on his, and he felt no tremor. “I don’t know what I can do,” she said. “It is so—stunning. What can I do?” “You can do nothing, my dear.” His arm went round her and her tired head fell upon his shoulder. “No, I can do nothing,” she whispered. Elk came in. “A telegram for Miss Bennett,” he said. “The messenger just arrived with it. Been redirected from Horsham, I expect.” Dick took the wire. “Open it, please,” said the girl. “It may be from father.” He tore open the envelope. The telegram ran: “Have printed your picture. Cannot understand the murder. Were you trying take photo-play? Come and see me. Silenski House, Wardour Street.” “What does it mean?” she asked. “It is Greek to me,” said Dick. “‘Cannot understand murder’—has your father been trying to take photo-plays?” “No, dear, I’m sure he hasn’t; he would have told me.” “What photographs did your father take?” “It was a picture of trout,” she said, gathering her scattered thoughts; “but he took another picture—in his sleep. He was in the country waiting for a badger, and dozed. He must have pressed the starter; he thought that picture was a failure. It can’t be the trout; it doesn’t mention the trout; it must be the other.” “We will go to Wardour Street.” It was Elk who spoke so definitely, Elk who called a cab and hustled the two people into it. When they arrived at Wardour Street, Mr. Silenski was out at lunch, and nobody knew anything whatever about the film, or had authority to show it. For an hour and a half they waited, fuming, in that dingy office, whilst messengers went in search of Silenski. He arrived at last, a polite and pleasant little Hebrew, who was all apologies, though no apology was called for, since he had not expected his visitors. “Yes, it is a curious picture,” he said. “Your father, miss, is a very good amateur; in fact, he’s a professional now; and if it is true that he can get these Zoo photographs, he ought to be in the first rank of nature photographers.”