"Some such suspicion," I answered, "crossed my own mind, as soon as I
opened the letter."

"Exactly! And when you had read the letter, you pitied the poor
creature, and couldn't find it in your heart to suspect her. Does you
credit, my dear sir--does you credit!"

"But suppose it turns out that I did wear the nightgown? What then?"

"I don't see how the fact can be proved," said Mr. Bruff. "But assuming
the proof to be possible, the vindication of your innocence would be
no easy matter. We won't go into that, now. Let us wait and see whether
Rachel hasn't suspected you on the evidence of the nightgown only."

"Good God, how coolly you talk of Rachel suspecting me!" I broke out.
"What right has she to suspect Me, on any evidence, of being a thief?"

"A very sensible question, my dear sir. Rather hotly put--but well worth
considering for all that. What puzzles you, puzzles me too. Search your
memory, and tell me this. Did anything happen while you were staying at
the house--not, of course, to shake Rachel's belief in your honour--but,
let us say, to shake her belief (no matter with how little reason) in
your principles generally?"

I started, in ungovernable agitation, to my feet. The lawyer's question
reminded me, for the first time since I had left England, that something
HAD happened.

In the eighth chapter of Betteredge's Narrative, an allusion will be
found to the arrival of a foreigner and a stranger at my aunt's house,
who came to see me on business. The nature of his business was this.

I had been foolish enough (being, as usual, straitened for money at the
time) to accept a loan from the keeper of a small restaurant in Paris,
to whom I was well known as a customer. A time was settled between
us for paying the money back; and when the time came, I found it (as
thousands of other honest men have found it) impossible to keep my
engagement. I sent the man a bill. My name was unfortunately too well
known on such documents: he failed to negotiate it. His affairs had
fallen into disorder, in the interval since I had borrowed of him;
bankruptcy stared him in the face; and a relative of his, a French
lawyer, came to England to find me, and to insist upon the payment of my
debt. He was a man of violent temper; and he took the wrong way with
me. High words passed on both sides; and my aunt and Rachel were
unfortunately in the next room, and heard us. Lady Verinder came in,
and insisted on knowing what was the mat