Recalled to Life | Page 7

went down to Barton-on-the-Sea on
Monday, and once more examined Miss Callingham's intellect. Though
the Doctor is judiciously reticent as to the result of his visit, it is
generally believed at Barton that he thinks the young lady sufficiently
recovered to undergo a regular interrogatory; and in spite of the fact
that Dr. Wade is opposed to any such proceeding at present, as
prejudicial to the lady's health, it is not unlikely that the Treasury may
act upon their own medical official's opinion, and send down an
Inspector from Scotland Yard to make inquiries direct on the subject
from Miss Callingham in person."
My head swam round. It was all like a dream to me. I held my forehead
with my hands, and gazed blankly at the Inspector.
"You understand what all this means?" he said interrogatively, leaning
forward as he spoke. "You remember the murder?"
"Perfectly," I answered him, trembling all over. "I remember every
detail of it. I could describe you exactly all the objects in the room. The
Picture it left behind has burned itself into my brain like a flash of
lightning!"
The Inspector drew his chair nearer. "Now, Miss Callingham," he said
in a very serious voice, "that's a remarkable expression--like a flash of
lightning.' Bear in mind, this is a matter of life and death to somebody
somewhere. Somebody's neck may depend upon your answers. Will
you tell me exactly how much you remember?"
I told him in a few words precisely how the scene had imprinted itself
on my memory. I recalled the room, the box, the green wires, the carpet;
the man who lay dead in his blood on the floor; the man who stood
poised ready to leap from the window. He let me go on unchecked till

I'd finished everything I had to say spontaneously. Then he took a
photograph from his pocket, which he didn't show me. Looking at it
attentively, he asked me questions, one by one, about the different
things in the room at the time in very minute detail: Where exactly was
the box? How did it stand relatively to the unlighted lamp? What was
the position of the pistol on the floor? In which direction was my
father's head lying? Though it brought back the Horror to me in a fuller
and more terrible form than ever, I answered all his questions to the
very best of my ability. I could picture the whole scene like a
photograph to myself; and I didn't doubt the object he held in his hand
was a photograph of the room as it appeared after the murder. He
checked my statements, one by one as I went on, by reference to the
photograph, murmuring half to himself now and again: "Yes, yes,
exactly so"; "That's right"; "That was so," at each item I mentioned.
At the end of these inquiries, he paused and looked hard at me.
"Now, Miss Callingham," he said again, peering deep into my eyes, "I
want you to concentrate your mind very much, not on this Picture you
carry so vividly in your own brain, but on the events that went
immediately before and after it. Pause long and think. Try hard to
remember. And first, you say there was a great flash of light. Now,
answer me this: was it one flash alone, or had there been several?"
I stopped and racked my brain. Blank, blank, as usual.
"I can't remember," I faltered out, longing terribly to cry. "I can recall
just that one scene, and nothing else in the world before it."
He looked at me fixedly, jotting down a few words in his note-book as
he looked. Then he spoke again, still more slowly:
"Now, try once more," he said, with an encouraging air. "You saw this
man's back as he was getting out of the window. But can't you
remember having seen his face before? Had he a beard? a moustache?
what eyes? what nose? Did you see the shot fired? And if so, what sort
of person was the man who fired it?"
Again I searched the pigeon-holes of my memory in vain, as I had done
a hundred times before by myself.
"It's no use," I cried helplessly, letting my hands drop by my side. "I
can't remember a thing, except the Picture. I don't know whether I saw
the shot fired or not. I don't know what the murderer looked like in the
face. I've told you all I know. I can recall nothing else. It's all a great

blank to me."
The Inspector hesitated a moment, as if in doubt what step to take next.
Then he drew himself up and said, still more gravely:
"This inability to assist us is really very singular. I had hoped, after Dr.