This was what she read:  “Don’t trouble yourself, madam, about the diamonds.  You have made a mistake—­you have employed the wrong man.”

Those words—­and no more.  Enough, surely, to justify the conclusion that he had stolen the diamonds.  Was it worth while to drive to his lodgings?  They tried the experiment.  The Expert had gone away on business—­nobody knew where.

The newspaper came as usual on Friday morning.  To Mrs. Bellbridge’s amazement it set the question of the theft at rest, on the highest authority.  An article appeared, in a conspicuous position, thus expressed: 

“Another of the many proofs that truth is stranger than fiction has just occurred at Liverpool.  A highly respected firm of shipwreckers in that city received a strange letter at the beginning of the present week.  Premising that he had some remarkable circumstances to communicate, the writer of the letter entered abruptly on the narrative which follows:  A friend of his—­connected with literature—­had, it appeared, noticed a lady’s visiting card on his desk, and had been reminded by it (in what way it was not necessary to explain) of a criminal case which had excited considerable public interest at the time; viz., the trial of Captain Westerfield for willfully casting away a ship under his command.  Never having heard of the trial, the writer, at his friend’s suggestion, consulted a file of newspapers—­discovered the report—­and became aware, for the first time, that a collection of Brazilian diamonds, consigned to the Liverpool firm, was missing from the wrecked vessel when she had been boarded by the salvage party, and had not been found since.  Events, which it was impossible for him to mention (seeing that doing so would involve a breach of confidence placed in him in his professional capacity), had revealed to his knowledge a hiding-place in which these same diamonds, in all probability, were concealed.  This circumstance had left him no alternative, as an honest man, but to be beforehand with the persons, who (as he believed) contemplated stealing the precious stones.  He had, accordingly, taken them under his protection, until they were identified and claimed by the rightful owners.  In now appealing to these gentlemen, he stipulated that the claim should be set forth in writing, addressed to him under initials at a post-office in London.  If the lost property was identified to his satisfaction, he would meet—­at a specified place and on a certain day and hour—­a person accredited by the firm and would personally restore the diamonds, without claiming (or consenting to receive) a reward.  The conditions being complied with, this remarkable interview took place; the writer of the letter, described as an infirm old man very poorly dressed, fulfilled his engagement, took his receipt, and walked away without even waiting to be thanked.  It is only an act of justice to add that the diamonds were afterward counted, and not one of them was missing.”