open windows of vehicles. The driver was about to throw the paper
away, when Mrs. Bellbridge (seeing it on the other side) took it
out of his hand. "It isn't print," she said; "it's writing." A
closer examination showed that the writing was addressed to
herself. Her correspondent must have followed her to the church,
as well as to the house in St. John's Wood. He distinguished her
by the name which she had changed that morning, under the
sanction of the clergy and the law.

This was what she read: "Don't trouble yourself, madam, about the
diamonds. You have made a mistake--you have employed the wrong
man."

Those words--and no more. Enough, surely, to justify the
conclusion that he had stolen the diamonds. Was it worth while to
drive to his lodgings? They tried the experiment. The Expert had
gone away on business--nobody knew where.

The newspaper came as usual on Friday morning. To Mrs.
Bellbridge's amazement it set the question of the theft at rest,
on the highest authority. An article appeared, in a conspicuous
position, thus expressed:

"Another of the many proofs that truth is stranger than fiction
has just occurred at Liverpool. A highly respected firm of
shipwreckers in that city received a strange letter at the
beginning of the present week. Premising that he had some
remarkable circumstances to communicate, the writer of the letter
entered abruptly on the narrative which follows: A friend of
his--connected with literature--had, it appeared, noticed a