They followed him up a flight of stairs into a big room across which were row upon row of chairs. Facing them as they sat was a small white screen, and behind them an iron partition with two square holes. “This is our theatre,” he explained. “You’ve no idea whether your father is trying to take motion pictures—I mean photo-plays? If he is, then this scene was pretty well acted, but I can’t understand why he did it. It’s labelled ‘Trout in a Pond’ or something of the sort, but there are no trout here, and there is no pond either!” There was a click, and the room went black; and then there was shown on the screen a picture which showed in the foreground a stretch of grey, sandy soil, and the dark opening of a burrow, out of which peeped a queer-looking animal. “That’s a badger,” explained Mr. Silenski. “It looked very promising up to there, and then I don’t know what he did. You’ll see he changed the elevation of the camera.” As he spoke, the picture jerked round a little to the right, as though it had been pulled violently. And they were looking upon two men, obviously tramps. One was sitting with his head on his hands, the other, close by him, was pouring out whisky into a container. “That’s Lew Brady,” whispered Elk fiercely, and at that moment the other man looked up, and Ella Bennett uttered a cry. “It is Ray! Oh, Dick, it is Ray!” There was no question of it. The light beard he wore melted into the shadows which the strong sunlight cast. They saw Brady offer him a drink, saw him toss it down and throw the cup back to the man; watched him as his arms stretched in a yawn; and then saw him curl up to sleep, lie back, and Lew Brady standing over him. The prostrate figure turned on to its face, and Lew, stooping, put something in his pocket. They caught the reflection of glass. “The flask,” said Elk. And then the figure standing in the centre of the picture spun round. There walked toward him a man. His face was invisible. Never once during that period did he turn his face to that eager audience. They saw his arm go up quickly, saw the flash of the two shots, watched breathless, spellbound, horrified, the tragedy that followed. The man stooped and placed the pistol by the side of the sleeping Ray, and then, as he turned, the screen went white. “That’s the end of the picture,” said Mr. Silenski. “And what it means, heaven knows.” “He’s innocent! Dick, he’s innocent!” the girl cried wildly. “Don’t you see, it was not he who fired?” She was half-mad with grief and terror, and Dick caught her firmly by the shoulders, the dumbfounded Silenski gaping at the scene. “You are going back to my house and you will read! Do you hear, Ella? You’re to do nothing until you hear from me. You are not to go out; you are to sit and _read_! I don’t care what you read—the Bible, the Police News, anything you like. But you must not think of this business. Elk and I will do all that is possible.” She mastered her wild terror and tried to smile.