“Why, the man’s mad! I wonder you did not see it in him before.”
“What man? The Professor?” inquired M^cSweeny, with great simplicity.
“No, this Mr Stafford.”
M^cSweeny would not believe it, and I suggested that we should
ascertain if he had really drawn £200 from the bank on the day of
the alleged purchase of the jewels. I did not believe that he had,
but was surprised at the bank to find that he had really drawn
that sum. We then went over every jeweller’s in Princes Street,
but could not discover one who had sold to any one on that day the
jewels described as stolen so magically. After thinking over these
discoveries for a little, I formed in my mind a theory, which proved
pretty sound in the end, and which I proceeded to test, by going
out to Mr Stafford’s house in company with M^cSweeny, and having
a talk with that gentleman upon general topics. When done, I felt
slightly disappointed. I could find no trace of insanity about the
man, but then I ought to have remembered that my profession is not to
detect lunacy, but thieves. Still, acting on my theory, I requested
permission, and Mr Stafford’s assistance, to search the whole house.
This was given with the greatest alacrity. We went over every room
and closet, but Mr Stafford’s study, without discovering anything.
Then we came to that room, and I promptly asked for his keys. The
request appeared to stagger him, but was granted, and I turned out
all the drawers in his writing-table. At the bottom of one of them
was an envelope or thick packet, which I took up, but which he as
hastily tried to take from me, saying—
“That’s only some bank notes—some money of mine.”
Very impolitely, as it may seem, I retained the envelope, turned out
the contents, and found, on counting the notes, that they amounted to
£200 exactly. I then handed them to the owner without a comment, and
searched no more. With a shrewd suspicion of what I might expect, I
went to the Professor whom Mr Stafford had named as his persecutor,
and from him learned Mr Stafford had, on a former occasion, been
unfortunate enough to injure his brain by over-study, and was by
the Professor’s advice removed to an asylum for the insane. That
gentleman, who evinced the liveliest friendship for Mr Stafford,
agreed to see his friend at once, and report on his mental condition.
The result was, that Mr Stafford was proved to be not exactly insane,
but in a condition of mental derangement which threatened to become
more pronounced, and it was decided that he had better have an
experienced attendant from one of the asylums. This was arranged
quietly, and with very little demur on the part of the patient, but
his condition became more grave, and eventually he had to be removed
to an asylum, in which, with one brief interval, he has remained ever
since. His mind, however, has taken firm hold of the story of the
magic jewels, and the development which that incident has now assumed
is that I, the writer of these sketches, was the robber of the
jewels, and that, in fear of detection, I smuggled the money I had
received for them into his drawer. He also asserts that I declared
him insane only to protect myself from the consequences of the crime,
and that if I could be removed from power his liberation would at
once follow. Poor, suffering humanity! who shall minister to a mind
diseased?