et at the same moment. Ezra Jennings
took off his hat to me. I returned the salute, and got into a carriage
just as the train started. It was a relief to my mind, I suppose, to
dwell on any subject which appeared to be, personally, of no sort of
importance to me. At all events, I began the momentous journey back
which was to take me to Mr. Bruff, wondering--absurdly enough, I
admit--that I should have seen the man with the piebald hair twice in
one day!

The hour at which I arrived in London precluded all hope of my finding
Mr. Bruff at his place of business. I drove from the railway to his
private residence at Hampstead, and disturbed the old lawyer dozing
alone in his dining-room, with his favourite pug-dog on his lap, and his
bottle of wine at his elbow.

I shall best describe the effect which my story produced on the mind of
Mr. Bruff by relating his proceedings when he had heard it to the end.
He ordered lights, and strong tea, to be taken into his study; and he
sent a message to the ladies of his family, forbidding them to disturb
us on any pretence whatever. These preliminaries disposed of, he first
examined the nightgown, and then devoted himself to the reading of
Rosanna Spearman's letter.

The reading completed, Mr. Bruff addressed me for the first time since
we had been shut up together in the seclusion of his own room.

"Franklin Blake," said the old gentleman, "this is a very serious
matter, in more respects than one. In my opinion, it concerns Rachel
quite as nearly as it concerns you. Her extraordinary conduct is no
mystery NOW. She believes you have stolen the Diamond."

I had shrunk from reasoning my own way fairly to that revolting
conclusion. But it had forced itself on me, nevertheless. My resolution
to obtain a personal interview with Rachel, rested really and truly on
the ground just stated by Mr. Bruff.

"The first step to take in this investigation," the lawyer proceeded,
"is to appeal to Rachel. She has been silent all this time, from
motives which I (who know her character) can readily understand. It
is impossible, after what has happened, to submit to that silence any
longer. She must be persuaded to tell us, or she must be forced to tell
us, on what grounds she bases her belief that you took the Moonstone.
The chances are, that the whole of this case, serious as it seems now,
will tumble to pieces, if we can only break through Rachel's inveterate
reserve, and prevail upon her to speak