Admiration of the ingenuity which had woven this smooth and finished
texture out of the ravelled skein was naturally the first impression
that I felt, on handing the manuscript back to Ezra Jennings. He
modestly interrupted the first few words in which my sense of surprise
expressed itself, by asking me if the conclusion which he had drawn from
his notes was also the conclusion at which my own mind had arrived.
"Do you believe as I believe," he said, "that you were acting under the
influence of the laudanum in doing all that you did, on the night of
Miss Verinder's birthday, in Lady Verinder's house?"
"I am too ignorant of the influence of laudanum to have an opinion of
my own," I answered. "I can only follow your opinion, and feel convinced
that you are right."
"Very well. The next question is this. You are convinced; and I am
convinced--how are we to carry our conviction to the minds of other
people?"
I pointed to the two manuscripts, lying on the table between us. Ezra
Jennings shook his head.
"Useless, Mr. Blake! Quite useless, as they stand now for three
unanswerable reasons. In the first place, those notes have been taken
under circumstances entirely out of the experience of the mass of
mankind. Against them, to begin with! In the second place, those notes
represent a medical and metaphysical theory. Against them, once more! In
the third place, those notes are of my making; there is nothing but my
assertion to the contrary, to guarantee that they are not fabrications.
Remember what I told you on the moor--and ask yourself what my assertion
is worth. No! my notes have but one value, looking to the verdict of the
world outside. Your innocence is to be vindicated; and they show how it
can be done. We must put our conviction to the proof--and You are the
man to prove it!"
"How?" I asked.
He leaned eagerly nearer to me across the table that divided us.
"Are you willing to try a bold experiment?"
"I will do anything to clear myself of the suspicion that rests on me
now."
"Will you submit to some personal inconvenience for a time?"
"To any inconvenience, no matter what it may be."
"Will you be guided implicitly by my advice? It may expose you to the
ridicule of fools; it may subject you to the remonstrances of friends
whose opinions you are bound to respect."
"Tell me what to do!" I broke out impatiently. "And, come what may, I'll
do it."