took my arm, and led me out —" that's one
comfort!"

"What is to our credit?" I asked.

"Mr. Blake! you and I are the two worst
amateur detectives that ever tried their hands
at the trade. The man in the grey suit has
been thirty years in the chemist's service.
He was sent to the bank to pay money to his
master's account and he knows no more of
the Moonstone than the babe unborn."

I asked what was to be done next.

"Come back to my office," said Mr. Bruff.
"Gooseberry, and my second man, have
evidently followed somebody else. Let us hope
that they had their eyes about them, at any
rate!"

When we reached Gray's Inn Square, the
second man had arrived there before us. He
had been waiting for more than a quarter of an
hour.

"Well!" asked Mr. Bruff. " What's your
news?'

"I am sorry to say, sir," replied the man,
"that I have made a mistake. I could have
taken my oath that I saw Mr. Luker pass
something to an elderly gentleman, in a light-
coloured paletot. The elderly gentleman turns
out, sir, to be a most respectable master
ironmonger in Eastcheap."

"Where is Gooseberry?" asked Mr. Bruff
resignedly.

The man stared. "I don't know, sir. I
have seen nothing of him since I left the bank."

Mr. Bruff dismissed the man. " One of two
things," he said to me. " Either Gooseberry
has run away, or he is hunting on his own
account. What do you say to dining here, on
the chance that the boy may come back in an
hour or two? I have got some good wine in
the cellar, and we can get a chop from the
coffee-house."

We dined at Mr. Bruff's chambers. Before
the cloth was removed, "a person" was
announced as wanting to speak to the lawyer.
Was the person, Gooseberry? No: only the
man who had been employed to follow Mr.
Luker when he left the bank.

The report, in this case, presented no feature
of the slightest interest. Mr. Luker had gone
back to his own house, and had there dismissed
his guard. He had not gone out again
afterwards. Towards dusk, the shutters had been
put up, and the doors had been bolted. The
street before the house, and the alley behind
the house, had been carefully watched. No
signs of the Indians had been visible. No person
whatever had been seen loitering about the
premises. Having stated these facts, the man
waited to know whether there were any further
orders. Mr. Bruff dismissed him for the night.

"Do you think Mr. Luker has taken the
Moonstone home with him?" I asked.

"Not he," said Mr. Bruff. "He would
never have dismissed his two policemen, if he
had run the risk of keeping the Diamond in his
own house again."

We waited another half hour for the boy,
and waited in vain. It was then time for Mr.
Bruff to go to Hampstead, and for me to
return to Rachel in Portland Place. I left my
card, in charge of the porter at the chambers,
with a line written on it to say that I should
be at my lodgings at half past ten, that night.
The card was to be given to the boy, if the boy
came back.

Some men have a knack of keeping appointments;
and other men have a knack of missing
them. I am one of the other men. Add to
this, that I passed the evening at Portland
Place, on the same seat with Rachel, in a room
forty feet long, with Mrs. Merridew at the
further end of it. Does anybody wonder that I
got home at half past twelve instead of half past
ten? How thoroughly heartless that person
must be! And how earnestly I hope I may
never make that person's acquaintance!

My servant handed me a morsel of paper
when he let me in.

I read, in a neat legal handwriting, these
words:— "If you please, sir, I am getting
sleepy. I will come back to-morrow morning,
between nine and ten." Inquiry proved that a
boy, with very extraordinary-looking eyes, had
called, had presented my card and message,
had waited an hour, had done nothing but fall
asleep and wake up again, had written a line
for me, and had gone home— after gravely
informing the servant that " he was fit for nothing
unless he got his night's rest."

At nine, the next morning, I was ready for
my visitor. At half past nine, I heard steps
outside my door. " Come in, Gooseberry!" I
called out. " Thank you, sir," answered a grave
and melancholy voice. The door opened. I
started to my feet, and confronted Sergeant
Cuff!

"I thought I would look in here, Mr. Blake,
on the chance of your being in town, before
I wrote to Yorkshire," said the Sergeant.

He was as dreary and as lean as ever. His
eyes had not lost their old trick (so subtly
noticed in Betteredge's Narrative) of " looking
as if they expected something more from you
than you were aware of yourself." But, so
far as dress can alter a man, the great Cuff
was changed beyond all recognition. He wore a
broad-brimmed white hat, a light shooting jacket,
white trousers, and drab gaiters. He carried
a stout oak stick. His whole aim and object
seemed to be, to look as if he had lived in the
country all his life. When I complimented him
ou his Metamorphosis, he declined to take it as a
joke. He complained, quite gravely, of the
noises and the smells of London. I declare I
am far from sure that he did not speak with a
slightly rustic accent! I offered him breakfast.
The innocent countryman was quite
shocked. His breakfast-hour was half past six
and he went to bed with the cocks and
hens!

"I only got back from Ireland last night,"
said the Sergeant, coming round to the
practical object of his visit, in his own
impenetrable manner. " Before I went to bed, I read