“Penelope returned to us quite beside herself with rage at the manner in which Mr. Seegrave had treated her.  He had hinted, beyond the possibility of mistaking him, that he suspected her of being the thief.  We were all equally astonished at hearing this, and we all asked, Why?

“’Because the Diamond was in Miss Rachel’s sitting-room,” Penelope answered.  “And because I was the last person in the sitting-room at night!”

“Almost before the words had left her lips, I remembered that another person had been in the sitting-room later than Penelope.  That person was yourself.  My head whirled round, and my thoughts were in dreadful confusion.  In the midst of it all, something in my mind whispered to me that the smear on your nightgown might have a meaning entirely different to the meaning which I had given to it up to that time.  ’If the last person who was in the room is the person to be suspected,’ I thought to myself, ‘the thief is not Penelope, but Mr. Franklin Blake!’

“In the case of any other gentleman, I believe I should have been ashamed of suspecting him of theft, almost as soon as the suspicion had passed through my mind.

“But the bare thought that you had let yourself down to my level, and that I, in possessing myself of your nightgown, had also possessed myself of the means of shielding you from being discovered, and disgraced for life—­I say, sir, the bare thought of this seemed to open such a chance before me of winning your good will, that I passed blindfold, as one may say, from suspecting to believing.  I made up my mind, on the spot, that you had shown yourself the busiest of anybody in fetching the police, as a blind to deceive us all; and that the hand which had taken Miss Rachel’s jewel could by no possibility be any other hand than yours.

“The excitement of this new discovery of mine must, I think, have turned my head for a while.  I felt such a devouring eagerness to see you—­to try you with a word or two about the Diamond, and to make you look at me, and speak to me, in that way—­that I put my hair tidy, and made myself as nice as I could, and went to you boldly in the library where I knew you were writing.

“You had left one of your rings up-stairs, which made as good an excuse for my intrusion as I could have desired.  But, oh, sir! if you have ever loved, you will understand how it was that all my courage cooled, when I walked into the room, and found myself in your presence.  And then, you looked up at me so coldly, and you thanked me for finding your ring in such an indifferent manner, that my knees trembled under me, and I felt as if I should drop on the floor at your feet.  When you had thanked me, you looked back, if you remember, at your writing.  I was so mortified at being treated in this way, that I plucked up spirit enough to speak.  I said, ‘This is a strange thing about the Diamond, sir.’  And you looked up again, and said, ‘Yes, it