In answering Ezra Jennings, I accordingly
repeated what I had myself heard from the lawyer's
own lips—and what is already familiar to the
readers of these pages.

He showed plainly that he was not satisfied
with my reply.

"With all deference to you," he said, "and
with all deference to your legal adviser, I
maintain the opinion which I expressed just now.
It rests, I am well aware, on a mere assumption.
Pardon me for reminding you, that your
opinion also rests on a mere assumption as
well."

The view he took of the matter was entirely
new to me.  I waited anxiously to hear how he
would defend it.

"I assume," pursued Ezra Jennings, "that
the influence of the opium—after impelling
you to possess yourself of the Diamond, with
the purpose of securing its safety—might also
impel you, acting under the same influence and
the same motive, to hide it somewhere in
your own room.  You assume that the Hindoo
conspirators could by no possibility commit a
mistake.  The Indians went to Mr. Luker's
house after the Diamond—and, therefore, in
Mr. Luker's possession the Diamond must be!
Have you any evidence to prove that the
Moonstone was taken to London at all?  You can't
even guess how, or by whom, it was removed
from Lady Verinder's house!   Have you any
evidence that the jewel was pledged to Mr.
Luker?  He declares that he never heard of
the Moonstone; and his banker's receipt
acknowledges nothing but the deposit of a
valuable of great price.  The Indians assume that
Mr. Luker is lying—and you assume again
that the Indians are right.  All I say, in
defence of mv view is—that it is possible.  What
more, Mr. Blake, either logically or legally, can
be said for yours?"

It was put strongly; but there was no denying
that it was put truly as well.

"I confess you stagger me,"  I replied.  "Do
you object to my writing to Mr. Bruff, and
telling him what you have said?"

"On the contrary, I shall be glad if you will
write to Mr. Bruff.  If we consult his experience,
we may see the matter under a new light.
For the present, let us return to our experiment
with the opium.  We have decided that you
leave off the habit of smoking, from this
moment?"

"From this moment."

"That is the first step.  The next step is to
reproduce, as nearly as we can, the domestic
circumstances which surrounded you last year."

How was this to be done?  Lady Verinder
was dead.  Rachel and I, so long as the
suspicion of theft rested on me, were parted
irrevocably. Godfrey Ablewhite was away, travelling
on the Continent.  It was simply impossible to re-
assemble the people who had inhabited the house,
when I had slept in it last.  The statement of
this objection did not appear to embarrass Ezra
Jennings.  He attached very little importance,
he said, to reassembling the same people—seeing
that it would be vain to expect them to
re-assume the various positions which they had
occupied towards me in the past time.  On the
other hand, he considered it essential to the
success of the experiment, that I should see
the same objects about me which had
surrounded me when I was last in the house.

"Above all things," he said, "you must
sleep in the room which you slept in, on the
birthday night, and it must be furnished in the
same way. The stairs, the corridors, and Miss
Verinder's sitting—room, must also be restored
to what they were when you saw them last.  It
is absolutely necessary, Mr. Blake, to replace
every article of furniture in that part of the
house which may now be put away.  The sacrifice
of your cigars will be useless, unless we
can get Miss Verinder's permission to do that."

"Who is to apply to her for permission?"
I asked.

"Is it not possible for you to apply?"

"Quite out of the question.  After what has
passed between us, on the subject of the lost
Diamond, I can neither see her, nor write to
her, as things are now."

Ezra Jennings paused, and considered for a moment

"May I ask you a delicate question?"  he
said.

I signed to him to go on.

"Am I right, Mr. Blake, in fancying (from
one or two things which have dropped from you)
that you felt no common interest in Miss
Verinder, in former times?"

"Quite right."

"Was the feeling returned?'

"It was."

"Do you think Miss Verinder would be likely
to feel a strong interest in the attempt to prove
your innocence?"

"I am certain of it."

"In that case, I will write to Miss Verinder—
if you will give me leave."

"Telling her of the proposal that you have
made to me?"

"Telling her of everything that has passed
between us to-day."

It is needless to say that I eagerly accepted
the service which he had offered to me.

"I shall have time to write by to-day's post,"
he said, looking at his watch.  "Don't forget
to lock up your cigars, when you get back to
the hotel!  I will call to-morrow morning and
hear how you have passed the night."

I rose to take leave of him; and attempted
to express the grateful sense of his kindness
which I really felt.

He pressed my hand gently.  "Remember
what I told you on the moor," he answered.
"If I can do you this little service, Mr. Blake, I
shall feel it like a last gleam of sunshine, falling
on the evening of a long and clouded day."

We parted. It was then the fifteenth of
June. The events of the next ten days—every
one of them more or less directly connected
with the experiment of which I was the passive