e
Moonstone, is the one chance of inquiry that Rachel herself has left
me."

Those words evidently put the case before him, as he had not seen it
yet. He asked a question which satisfied me that I had shaken him.

"There is no ill-feeling in this, Mr. Franklin, on your side--is there?"

"There was some anger," I answered, "when I left London. But that is
all worn out now. I want to make Rachel come to an understanding with
me--and I want nothing more."

"You don't feel any fear, sir--supposing you make any discoveries--in
regard to what you may find out about Miss Rachel?"

I understood the jealous belief in his young mistress which prompted
those words.

"I am as certain of her as you are," I answered. "The fullest disclosure
of her secret will reveal nothing that can alter her place in your
estimation, or in mine."

Betteredge's last-left scruples vanished at that.

"If I am doing wrong to help you, Mr. Franklin," he exclaimed, "all I
can say is--I am as innocent of seeing it as the babe unborn! I can put
you on the road to discovery, if you can only go on by yourself. You
remember that poor girl of ours--Rosanna Spearman?"

"Of course!"

"You always thought she had some sort of confession in regard to this
matter of the Moonstone, which she wanted to make to you?"

"I certainly couldn't account for her strange conduct in any other way."

"You may set that doubt at rest, Mr. Franklin, whenever you please."

It was my turn to come to a standstill now. I tried vainly, in the
gathering darkness, to see his face. In the surprise of the moment, I
asked a little impatiently what he meant.

"Steady, sir!" proceeded Betteredge. "I mean what I say. Rosanna
Spearman left a sealed letter behind her--a letter addressed to YOU."

"Where is it?"

"In the possession of a friend of hers, at Cobb's Hole. You must have
heard tell, when you were here last, sir, of Limping Lucy--a lame girl
with a crutch."

"The fisherman's daughter?"

"The same, Mr. Franklin."

"Why wasn't the letter forwarded to me?"

"Limping Lucy has a will of her own, sir. She wouldn't give it into any
hands but yours. And you had left England before I could write to you."

"Let's go back, Betteredge, and get it at once!"

"Too late, sir, to-night. They're great savers of candles along our
coast; and they go to bed early at Cobb's Hole."

"Nonsense! We might get there in half an hour."

"You might, sir. And when you did get there, you