your letter, telling me what has happened since
my inquiry after the Diamond was suspended
last year. There's only one thing to be said about
the matter, on my side. I completely mistook
my case. How any man living was to have
seen things in their true light, in such a situation
as mine was at the time, I don't profess to
know. But that doesn't alter the facts as they
stand. I own that I made a mess of it. Not
the first mess, Mr. Blake, which has distinguished
my professional career! It's only in
books that the officers of the detective force
are superior to the weakness of making a
mistake."

"You have come in the nick of time to recover
your reputation," I said.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Blake," rejoined
the Sergeant. " Now I have retired from business,
I don't care a straw about my reputation.
I have done with my reputation, thank God!
I am here, sir, in grateful remembrance of the
late Lady Verinder's liberality to me. I will
go back to my old work—if you want me, and
if you will trust me— on that consideration, and
on no other. Not a farthing of money is to
pass, if you please, from you to me. This is
on honour. Now tell me, Mr. Blake, how the
case stands since you wrote to rne last."

I told him of the experiment with the opium,
and of what had occurred afterwards at the
bank in Lombard Street. He was greatly
struck by the experiment—it was something
entirely new in his experience. And he was
particularly interested in the theory of Ezra
Jennings, relating to what I had done with the
Diamond, after I had left Rachel's sitting-room,
on the birthday night.

"I don't hold with Mr. Jennings that you
hid the Moonstone," said Sergeant Cuff. " But
I agree with him, that you must certainly have
taken it back to your own room."

"Well?" I asked. "And what happened
then?"

"Have you no suspicion yourself of what
happened, sir?"

"None whatever."

"Has Mr. Bruff no suspicion?"

"No more than I have."

Sergeant Cuff rose, and went to my writing-
table. He came back with a sealed envelope.
It was marked " Private;" it was addressed
to me; and it had the Sergeant's signature in
the corner.

"I suspected the wrong person, last year,"
he said; " and I may be suspecting the wrong
person now. Wait to open the envelope, Mr.
Blake, till you have got at the truth. And
then compare the name of the guilty person,
with the name that I have written in that sealed
letter."

I put the letter into my pocket— and then
asked for the Sergeant's opinion of the
measures which we had taken at the bank.

"Very well intended, sir," he answered,
"and quite the right thing to do. But there
was another person who ought to have been
looked after, besides Mr. Luker."

"The person named in the letter you have
just given to me?"

"Yes, Mr. Blake, the person named in the
letter. It can't be helped now. I shall have
something to propose to you and Mr. Bruff,
sir, when the time comes. Let's wait, first,
and see if the boy has anything to tell us that
is worth hearing."

It was close on ten o'clock, and the boy had
not yet made his appearance. Sergeant Cuff
talked of other matters. He asked after his
old friend Betteredge, and his old enemy the
gardener. In a minute more, he would no
doubt have got from this, to the subject of his
favourite roses, if my servant had not
interrupted us by announcing that the boy was
below.

On being brought into the room, Gooseberry
stopped at the threshold of the door, and looked
distrustfully at the stranger who was in my
company. I called to the boy to come to me.

"You may speak before this gentleman," I
said. " He is here to assist me; and he knows
all that has happened. Sergeant Cuff," I added,
"this is the boy from Mr. Bruff's office."

In our modern system of civilisation, celebrity
(no matter of what kind) is the lever that
will move anything. The fame of the great
Cuff had even reached the ears of the small
Gooseberry. The boy's ill-fixed eyes rolled,
when I mentioned the illustrious name, till I
thought they really must have dropped on the
carpet.

"Come here, my lad," said the Sergeant,
"and let's hear what you have got to tell us."

The notice of the great man— the hero of
many a famous story in every lawyer's office in
London— appeared to fascinate the boy. He
placed himself in front of Sergeant Caff, and
put his hands behind him, after the approved
fashion of a neophyte who is examined in his
catechism.

"What is your name?" said the Sergeant,
beginning with the first question in the
catechism.

"Octavius Guy," answered the boy. " They
all me Gooseberry at the office, because of
my eyes."

"Octavius Guy, otherwise Gooseberry,"
pursued the Sergeant, with the utmost gravity,
"you were missed at the bank yesterday.
What were you about?"

"If you please, sir, I was following a man."

"Who was he?"

"A tall man, sir, with a big black beard,
dressed like a sailor."

"I remember the man!" I broke in. " Mr.
Bruff and I thought he was a spy, employed
by the Indians."

Sergeant Cuff did not appear to be much
impressed by what Mr. Bruff and had thought,
He went on catechising Gooseberry.

"Well?" he said—" and why did you follow
the sailor?"

"If you please, sir, Mr. Bruff wanted to
know whether Mr. Luker passed anything to
anybody on his way out of the bank. I saw