There were the familiar letters which told me that the nightgown was mine. I looked up from them. There was the sun; there were the glittering waters of the bay; there was old Betteredge, advancing nearer and nearer to me. I looked back again at the letters. My own name. Plainly confronting me--my own name.

`If time, pains, and money can do it, I will lay my hand on the thief who took the Moonstone.'--I had left London, with those words on my lips. I had penetrated the secret which the quick-sand had kept from every other living creature. And, on the unanswerable evidence of the paint-stain, I had discovered Myself as the Thief.


  By PanEris using Melati.

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