You
remember that poor girl of ours--Rosanna Spearman?"
"Of course!"
"You always thought she had some sort of confession in regard to this
matter of the Moonstone, which she wanted to make to you?"
"I certainly couldn't account for her strange conduct in any other way."
"You may set that doubt at rest, Mr. Franklin, whenever you please."
It was my turn to come to a standstill now. I tried vainly, in the
gathering darkness, to see his face. In the surprise of the moment, I
asked a little impatiently what he meant.
"Steady, sir!" proceeded Betteredge. "I mean what I say. Rosanna
Spearman left a sealed letter behind her--a letter addressed to YOU."
"Where is it?"
"In the possession of a friend of hers, at Cobb's Hole. You must have
heard tell, when you were here last, sir, of Limping Lucy--a lame girl
with a crutch."
"The fisherman's daughter?"
"The same, Mr. Franklin."
"Why wasn't the letter forwarded to me?"
"Limping Lucy has a will of her own, sir. She wouldn't give it into any
hands but yours. And you had left England before I could write to you."
"Let's go back, Betteredge, and get it at once!"
"Too late, sir, to-night.
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