member
the mysterious loss of the Indian Diamond, now nearly a year since?
Circumstances have lately happened which lead to the hope that it may
yet be found--and I am interesting myself, as one of the family, in
recovering it. Among the obstacles in my way, there is the necessity of
collecting again all the evidence which was discovered at the time, and
more if possible. There are peculiarities in this case which make it
desirable to revive my recollection of everything that happened in the
house, on the evening of Miss Verinder's birthday. And I venture to
appeal to her late mother's friends who were present on that occasion,
to lend me the assistance of their memories----"

I had got as far as that in rehearsing my explanatory phrases, when
I was suddenly checked by seeing plainly in Mr. Candy's face that my
experiment on him was a total failure.

The little doctor sat restlessly picking at the points of his fingers
all the time I was speaking. His dim watery eyes were fixed on my face
with an expression of vacant and wistful inquiry very painful to see.
What he was thinking of, it was impossible to divine. The one thing
clearly visible was that I had failed, after the first two or three
words, in fixing his attention. The only chance of recalling him to
himself appeared to lie in changing the subject. I tried a new topic
immediately.

"So much," I said, gaily, "for what brings me to Frizinghall! Now, Mr.
Candy, it's your turn. You sent me a message by Gabriel Betteredge----"

He left off picking at his fingers, and suddenly brightened up.

"Yes! yes! yes!" he exclaimed eagerly. "That's it! I sent you a
message!"

"And Betteredge duly communicated it by letter," I went on. "You had
something to say to me, the next time I was in your neighbourhood. Well,
Mr. Candy, here I am!"

"Here you are!" echoed the doctor. "And Betteredge was quite right.
I had something to say to you. That was my message. Betteredge is a
wonderful man. What a memory! At his age, what a memory!"

He dropped back into silence, and began picking at his fingers again.
Recollecting what I had heard from Betteredge about the effect of the
fever on his memory, I went on with the conversation, in the hope that I
might help him at starting.

"It's a long time since we met," I said. "We last saw each other at the
last birthday dinner my poor aunt was ever to give."

"That's it!" cried Mr. Candy. "The birthday dinner!" He started
impulsively