“As well as if it was yesterday!  My lady herself wrote you a letter about it; and you were so good as to show the letter to me.  It said that Miss Rachel was mortally offended with you, for the part you had taken in trying to recover her jewel.  And neither my lady, nor you, nor anybody else could guess why.

“Quite true, Betteredge!  And I come back from my travels, and find her mortally offended with me still.  I knew that the Diamond was at the bottom of it, last year, and I know that the Diamond is at the bottom of it now.  I have tried to speak to her, and she won’t see me.  I have tried to write to her, and she won’t answer me.  How, in Heaven’s name, am I to clear the matter up?  The chance of searching into the loss of the 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?”