iy'mj 
 
 
 
 >w^v\ 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 THE MOONSTONE 
 
 % '§mmt. 
 
 BY 
 
 WILKIE COLLINS, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 THE WOMAN IN WHITE," "NO NAME," "ARMADALE, 
 ETC. ETC. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 TINSLEY BROTHERS, 18, CATHERINE STREET, STRAND. 
 1868. 
 
 [The Author reserves the right of Translation.']

 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/moonstoneromance01coll
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 N some of my former novels, tlie object 
 proposed has been to trace the influence of 
 circmnstances upon character. In the present story 
 I have reversed the process. The attempt made, 
 here, is to trace the influence of character on cir- 
 cumstances. The conduct pursued, under a sudden 
 emergency, by a young girl, supplies the founda- 
 tion on which I have built this book. 
 
 The same object has been kept in view, in the 
 handling of the other characters which appear in 
 these pages. Their course of thought and action 
 under the circumstances which surround them, is 
 shown to be (what it would most probably have 
 been in real life) sometimes right, and sometimes 
 wrong. Right, or wrong, their conduct, in either 
 event, equally directs the course of those portions 
 of the story in which they are concerned. 
 
 In the case of the physiological experiment
 
 VIU PREFACE. 
 
 whicli occupies a prominent place in the closing 
 scenes of The Moonstone^ the same principle has 
 guided me once more. Having first ascertained, 
 not only from books, but from living authorities as 
 well, what the result of that experiment would 
 really have been, I have declined to avail myself of 
 the novelist^s privilege of supposing something which 
 might have happened, and have so shaped the story 
 as to make it grow out of what actually would 
 have happened — which, I beg to inform my readers, 
 is also what actually does happen, in these pages. 
 
 With reference to the story of the Diamond, as 
 here set forth, I have to acknowledge that it is 
 founded, in some important particulars, on the 
 stories of two of the royal diamonds of Europe. 
 The magnificent stone which adorns the top of the 
 Russian Imperial Sceptre, was once the eye of an 
 Indian idol. The famous Koh-i-Noor is also sup- 
 posed to have been one of the sacred gems of India ; 
 and, more than this, to have been the subject of a 
 prediction, which prophesied certain misfortune to 
 the persons who should divert it from its ancient 
 uses. 
 
 Gloucester Place, Portman Square, 
 June 30th 1868.
 
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 THE STOEMIXG OF SEEIXGAPATAM (1799) : 
 {Extracted from a Family Taper.) 
 
 ADDRESS these lines — written in India — 
 to my relatives in England. 
 
 My object is to explain the motive which has in- 
 duced me to refuse the right hand of friendship to 
 my cousin, John Herncastle. The reserve which I 
 have hitherto maintained in this matter has been 
 misinterpreted by members of my family whose good 
 opinion I cannot consent to forfeit. I request 
 them to suspend their decision until they have read 
 my narrative. And I declare^ on my word of honour^ 
 that what I am now about to write is^ strictly and 
 literally^ the truth. 
 
 The private difference between my cousin and 
 
 TOL. I. B
 
 Z THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 me took its rise in a gTeat public event in wliich 
 we were both concerned — the storming of Seringa- 
 patam, under General Baird^ on the 4th of May, 
 1799. 
 
 In order that the circumstances may be clearly 
 understood, I must revert for a moment to the 
 period before the assault, and to the stories current 
 in our camp of the treasure in jewels and gold 
 stored up in the Palace of Seringapatam. 
 
 II. 
 
 One of the wildest of these stories related to 
 a Yellow Diamond — a famous gem in the native 
 annals of India. 
 
 The earliest known traditions describe the stone 
 as having been set in the forehead of the four- 
 handed Indian god who typifies the Moon. Partly 
 from its peculiar colour, partly from a superstition 
 which represented it as feeling the influence of the 
 deity whom it adorned, and groAving and lessening- 
 in lustre with the waxing and waning of the moon, 
 it first gained the name by which it continues to 
 be known in India to this day — the name of The 
 Moonstone. A similar superstition was once pre- 
 valent, as I have heard, in ancient Greece and 
 Rome; not applying, however (as in India), to a 
 diamond devoted to the service of a god, but to a
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 3 
 
 semi-transparent stone of the inferior order of 
 gemsj supposed to be affected by tlie lunar in- 
 fluences — the moon^ in this latter case also^ gi^'ing 
 the name by which the stone is still known to col- 
 lectors in our own time. 
 
 The adventures of the Yellow Diamond begin 
 with the eleventh century of the Christian era. 
 
 At that datC;, the Mohammedan conqueror, 
 Mahmoud of Ghizni_, crossed India; seized on the 
 holy city of Somnauth ; and stripped of its treasures 
 the famous temple^ which had stood for centuries — 
 the shrine of Hindoo pilgrimage, and the wonder of 
 the eastern world. 
 
 Of all the deities worshipped in the temple, the 
 moon-god alone escaped the raj)acity of the con- 
 quering Mohammedans. Preserved by three Brah- 
 mins, the inviolate deity, bearing the Yellow Dia- 
 mond in its forehead, was removed by night, and 
 was transported to the second of the sacred cities 
 of India — the city of Benares. 
 
 Here, in a new shrine — in a hall inlaid with 
 precious stones, under a roof supported by pillars 
 of gold — the moon-god was set uj) and worshipped. 
 Here, on the night when the shrine was completed, 
 Vishnu the Preserver appeared to the three 
 Brahmins in a dream. 
 
 The deity breathed the breath of his divinity on 
 
 B 2
 
 4 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 the Diamond in the forehead of the god. And the 
 Brahmins knelt and hid their faces in their robes. 
 The deity commanded that the Moonstone should 
 be watched J from that time forth^ by three priests 
 in turn^ night and day, to the end of the genera- 
 tions of men. And the Brahmins heard, and 
 bowed before his will. The deity predicted certain 
 disaster to the presumptuous mortal wdio laid hands 
 on the sacred gem, and to all of his house and name 
 w^ho received it after him. And the Brahmins 
 caused the prophecy to be w ritten over the gates of 
 the shrine in letters of gold. 
 
 One age followed another — and still, generation 
 after generation, the successors of the three 
 Brahmins watched their priceless Moonstone, night 
 and day. One age followed another, until the first 
 3-ears of the eighteenth Christian century saw the 
 reign of Aurungzcbe, Emperor of the Moguls. At 
 his command, havoc and rapine were let loose once 
 more among the temples of the worship of Brahmah. 
 The shrine of the four-handed god was polluted by 
 the slaughter of sacred animals ; the images of the 
 deities were broken in pieces ; and the Moonstone 
 was seized by an officer of rank in the army of 
 Aurungzcbe. 
 
 Powerless to recover their lost treasure by open 
 force, the three guardian priests followed and
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 5 
 
 Tratched it in disguise. The generations succeeded 
 each other; the T^-arrior ^ho had committed the 
 sacrilege perished miserably ; the ^loonstone passed 
 (carrying its curse ^ith it) from one lawless ^lo- 
 hammedan hand to another ; and still, through all 
 chances and changes_, the successors of the three 
 guardian priests kept their watch_, waiting the day 
 when the will of Vishnu the Preserver should re- 
 store to them their sacred gem. Time rolled on 
 from the first to the last years of the eighteenth 
 Christian century. The Diamond fell into the 
 possession of Tippoo_, Sultan of Seringapatam^ who 
 caused it to be placed as an ornament in the handle of 
 a dagger, and who commanded it to be kept among 
 the choicest treasiu'es of his armoury. Even then 
 — in the palace of the Sultan himself — the three 
 guardian priests still kept their watch in secret. 
 There were three oflBcers of Tippoo^s household, 
 strangers to the rest, who had won their master^s 
 confidence by conforming, or appearing to conform, 
 to the Mussulman faith ; and to those three men 
 report pointed, as the three priests in disguise. 
 
 III. 
 
 So, as told in our camp, ran the fanciful story 
 of the Moonstone. It made no serious impression 
 on any of us except my cousin — whose love of the
 
 G THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 marvellous induced him to believe it. On tlie night 
 before the assault on Seringapatam^ he was absurdly 
 angry with me, and with others, for treating the 
 whole thing as a fable. A foolish wrangle fol- 
 lowed ; and Herncastle^s unlucky temper got the 
 better of him. He declared, in his boastful way, 
 that we should see the Diamond on his finger, if 
 the English army took Seringapatam. The sally 
 was saluted by a roar of laughter, and there, as we 
 all thought that night, the thing ended. 
 
 Let me now take you on to the day of the 
 assault. 
 
 My cousin and I were separated at the outset. 
 I never saw him when we forded the river ; when 
 we planted the English flag in the first breach ; 
 when we crossed the ditch beyond ; and, fighting 
 every inch of our way, entered the town. It was 
 only at dusk, when the place was ours, and after 
 General Baird himself had found the dead body of 
 Tippoo under a heap of the slain, that Herncastle 
 and I met. 
 
 We were each attached to a party sent out by 
 the generals orders to prevent the plunder and 
 confusion which followed our couquest. The 
 camp-followers committed deplorable excesses ; 
 and, worse still, the soldiers found their way, by 
 an unguarded door, into the treasury of th6 Palace,
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 7 
 
 and loaded themselves witli gold and jewels. It 
 was in the court outside the treasmy that my 
 cousin and I met_, to enforce the laws of discipline 
 on our own soldiers. Herncastlc's fiery temper 
 had been, as I could plainly see, exasperated to a 
 kind of frenzy by the terrible slaughter through 
 which we had passed. He was very unfit, in my 
 opinion, to perform the duty that had been en- 
 trusted to him. 
 
 There was riot and confusion enough in the 
 treasury, but no violence that I saw. The men 
 (if I may use such an expression) disgraced them- 
 selves good-humouredly. All sorts of rough jests 
 and catchwords were bandied about among them ; 
 and the story of the Diamond turned up again un- 
 expectedly, in the form of a mischievous joke. 
 '' Who^s got the Moonstone ?'' was the rallying cry 
 which perpetually caused the plundering, as soon 
 as it was stopped in one place, to break out in 
 another. While I was still vainly trying to estab- 
 lish order, I heard a frightful yelling on the other 
 side of the court -yard, and at once ran towards the 
 cries, in dread of finding some new outbreak of the 
 pillage in that direction. 
 
 I got to an open door, and saw the bodies of 
 two Indians (by their dress, as I guessed, officers 
 of the palace) lying across the entrance, dead.
 
 » THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 A cry inside hurried me into a room^, whicli ap- 
 peared to serve as an armoury. A third Indian, 
 mortally wounded, was sinking at the feet of a man 
 whose back was towards me. The man turned at 
 the instant when I came in, and I saw John Hern- 
 castle, with a torch in one hand, and a dagger 
 dripping with blood in the other. A stone, set like 
 a pommel, in the end of the dagger's handle, flashed 
 in the torchlight, as he turned on me, like a gleam 
 of fire. The dying Indian sank to his knees, pointed 
 to the dagger in Herncastle's hand, and said, in his 
 native language : — ^' The Moonstone will have its 
 vengeance yet on you and yours !" He spoke those 
 words, and fell dead on the floor. 
 
 Before I could stir in the matter, the men who 
 had followed me across the courtyard crowded in. 
 My cousin rushed to meet them, like a madman. 
 ^' Clear the room !" he shouted to me, ^^ and set a 
 guard on the door V The men fell back as he 
 threw himself on them with his torch and his dag- 
 ger. I put two sentinels of my own company, on 
 whom I could rely, to keep the door. Through the 
 remainder of the night, I saw no more of my 
 cousin. 
 
 Early in the morning, the plunder still going on, 
 General Bau^d announced publicly by beat of drum, 
 that any thief detected in the fact, be he whom he
 
 THE MOONSTONE. ^ 
 
 mighty should be hung. The provost-marshal was 
 in attendance^ to prove that the general "was in 
 earnest; and in the throng that followed the pro- 
 clamation^ Herncastle and I met again. 
 
 He held out his hand, as usual, and said^ '' Good 
 morning.'''' » 
 
 I waited before I gave him my hand in return. 
 
 '^ Tell me first/'' I said, ^' how the Indian in the 
 armoury met his death, and what those last words 
 meant, when he pointed to the dagger in your 
 hand.^^ 
 
 '^The Indian met his death, as I suppose, by a 
 mortal wound/'' said Herncastle. "^ ^Yhat his last 
 words meant I know no more than you do.'^ 
 
 I looked at him narrowly. His frenzy of the 
 previous day had all calmed down. I determined 
 to give him another chance. 
 
 ^^ Is that all you have to tell me ?" 1 asked. 
 
 He answered, '' That is all/^ 
 
 I turned my back on him ; and we have not 
 spoken since. 
 
 IV. 
 
 I beg it to be understood that what I write here 
 about my cousin (unless some necessity should arise 
 for making it public) is for the information of the 
 family only. Herncastle has said nothing that can
 
 11 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 Justify me in speaking to our commanding officer. 
 He has been taunted more than once about the 
 Diamond, by those who recollect his angry outbreak 
 before the assault ; but_, as may easily be imagined, 
 his own remembrance of the circumstances under 
 which 1 surprised him in the armoury has been 
 enough to keep him silent. It is reported that he 
 means to exchange into another regiment_, avowedly 
 for the purpose of separating himself from me. 
 
 TVTiether this be true or not, I cannot prevail 
 upon myself to become his accuser — and I think 
 with good reason. If I made the matter public, I 
 have no evidence but moral evidence to bring for- 
 ward. I have not only no proof that he killed the 
 two men at the door ; I cannot even declare that he 
 killed the third man inside — for I cannot say that 
 my own eyes saw the deed committed. It is true 
 that I heard the dying Indian-'s words ; but if those 
 words were pronounced to be the ravings of delirium, 
 how could I contradict the assertion from my own 
 knowledge? Let our relatives, on either side, form 
 their own opinion on what I have written, and de- 
 cide for themselves whether the aversion I now feel 
 towards this man is well or ill founded. 
 
 Although I attach no sort of credit to the fan- 
 tastic Indian legend of the gem, I must acknowledge, 
 before I conclude, that I am influenced by a certain
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 10 
 
 superstition of my own in this matter. It is my 
 conviction, or my delusion, no matter which, that 
 crime brings its own fatality with it. I am not 
 only persuaded of Herncastle^s guilt ; I am even 
 fanciful enough to believe that he will live to regret 
 it, if he keeps the Diamond ; and that others will 
 live to regret taking it from him, if he gives the 
 Diamond away.
 
 THE STORT. 
 
 riEST PERIOD. THE LOSS OF THE DIAMOND 
 
 (1848). 
 
 The Events related hij Gabriel Betteredge, liouse-steward in 
 the service of Jidia, Loxly Verinder. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 X the first part of Robinson Crusoe, at page 
 one Imndred and twenty-nine, you will find 
 it thus written : 
 
 '^ Now I saw, though too late, the Folly of be- 
 ginning a Work before we count the Cost, and before 
 we judge rightly of our own Strength to go through 
 with it.'' 
 
 Only yesterday, I opened my Robinson Crusoe 
 at that place. Only this morning (May twenty- 
 first, eighteen hundred and fifty), came my lady's 
 nephew, Mr. Franklin Blake, and held a short con-^ 
 versation with me, as follows : — 
 
 " Betteredge,'' says Mr. Franklin, " I have been 
 to the lawyer's about *some family matters ; and, 
 among other things, we have been talking of the 
 loss of the Indian Diamond, in my aunt's house in
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 13 
 
 Yorkshire^ two years since. Mr. Bruff thinks, as I 
 think, that the whole story ought, in the interests of 
 truth, to be placed on record in writing — and the 
 sooner the better.^' 
 
 Not perceiving his drift yet, and thinking it 
 always desirable for the sake of peace and quietness 
 to be on the lawyer^'s side, I said I thought so too. 
 Mr. Franklin went on. 
 
 " In this matter of the Diamond,''^ he said, " the 
 characters of innocent people have suffered under 
 suspicion already — as you know. The memories of 
 innocent people may suffer, hereafter, for want of a 
 record of the facts to which those who come after us 
 can appeal. There can be no doubt that this 
 strange family story of ours ought to be told. And 
 I think, Betteredge, ]Mr. Bruff, and I together have 
 hit on the right way of telling it.^'' 
 
 Yery satisfactory to both of them, no doubt. But 
 I failed to see what I myself had to do with it, so 
 far. 
 
 " We have certain events to relate," ^Ir. Franklin 
 proceeded ; " and we have certain persons concerned 
 in those events who are capable of relating them. 
 Starting from these plain facts, the idea is that we 
 should all write the story of the Moonstone in turn 
 — as far as our own personal experience extends, 
 and no farther. We must begin by showing how
 
 14 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 the Diamond first fell into tlie hands of my uncle 
 Herncastle, when he -vvas serving in India fifty 
 years since. This prefatory narrative I have already 
 got by me in the form of an old family paper,, which 
 relates the necessary particulars on the authority 
 of an eye-witness. The next thing to do is to tell 
 how the Diamond found its way into my aunt^s 
 house in Yorkshire^ two years since^ and how it came 
 to be lost in little more than twelve hours after- 
 wards. Nobody knows as much as you do^ Better- 
 edge^ about what went on in the house at that time. 
 So you must take the pen in hand^ and start the 
 story.^^ 
 
 In those terms I was informed of what my per- 
 sonal concern was with the matter of the Diamond. 
 If you are curious to know what course I took 
 under the circumstances, I beg to inform you that 
 I did what you would probably have done in my 
 place. I modestly declared myself to be quite un- 
 equal to the task imposed upon me — and I pri- 
 vately felt, all the time, that I was quite clever 
 enough to perform it, if I only gave my own 
 abilities a fair chance. Mr. Franklin, I imagine, 
 must have seen my private sentiments in my face. 
 He declined to believe in my modesty ; and he 
 insisted on giving my abilities a fair chance. 
 
 Two hours have passed since Mr. Franklin left
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 15 
 
 me. As soon as his back was turned, I went to 
 my writing-desk to start the story. There I have 
 sat helpless (in spite of my abilities) ever since ; 
 seeing what Robinson Crusoe saw, as quoted above 
 — namely, the folly of beginning a work before we 
 count the cost, and before we judge rightly of our 
 own strength to go through with it. Please to re- 
 member, I opened the book by accident, at that bit, 
 only the day before I rashly undertook the business 
 now in hand ; and, allow me to ask — If that isn^t 
 prophecy, what is ? 
 
 I am not superstitious ; I have read a heap of 
 books in my time ; I am a scholar in my own way. 
 Though turned seventy, I possess an active memory, 
 and legs to correspond. You are not to take it, 
 if you please, as the saying of an ignorant man_j. 
 when I express my opinion that such a book as 
 Robinson Crusoe never was written, and never will 
 be written again. I have tried that book for years 
 — generally in combination with a pipe of tobacco — 
 and I have found it my friend in need in all the 
 necessities of this mortal life. When my spirits are 
 bad — Robinson Crusoe. When I want advice — 
 Robinson Crusoe. In past times, when my wife 
 plagued me ; in present times, when I have had a 
 drop too much — Robinson Crusoe. I have worn 
 out six stout Robinson Crusoes with hard work in
 
 16 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 my service. On my lady^s last birth-day she gave 
 me a seventh. I took a drop too much on the 
 strength of it ; and Robinson Crusoe put me right 
 again. Price four shillings and sixpence, bound in 
 blue J with a picture into the bargain. 
 
 Still, this don^t look much like starting the story 
 of the Diamond — does it ? I seem to be wandering 
 off in search of Lord knows what, Lord knows 
 where. We will take a new sheet of paper, if you 
 please, and begin over again, with my best respects 
 to you. 
 
 ^-^ ^^""^
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 SPOKE of my lady a line or two back. 
 Now the Diamond could never have been in 
 our house^ where it was lost^ if it bad not been made 
 a present of to my lady^s daughter ; and my lady's 
 daughter would never have been in existence to 
 have the present, if it had not been for my lady 
 who (with pain and travail) produced her into the 
 world. Consequently, if we begin with my lady, 
 we are pretty sure of beginning far enough back. 
 And that, let me tell you, when you have got such 
 a job as mine in hand, is a real comfort at starting. 
 If you know anything of the fashionable world, 
 you have heard tell of the three beautiful Miss 
 Herncastles. Miss Adelaide ; Miss Caroline ; and 
 Miss Julia — this last being the youngest and the 
 best of the three sisters, in my opinion ; and I had 
 opportunities of judging, as you shall presently sec. 
 I went into the ser\dce of the old lord, their father 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 (thank God,, ^ve have got nothing to do with him, 
 in this business of the Diamond ; he had the longest 
 tongue and the shortest temper of any man^ high 
 or low, I ever met with) — I say_, I went into the 
 service of the old lord, as page-boy in waiting on 
 the three honourable young ladies, at the age of 
 fifteen years. There I lived, till Miss Julia mar- 
 ried the late Sir John Vcrinder. An excellent 
 man, who only wanted somebody to manage him ; 
 and, between ourselves, he found somebody to do 
 it ; and what is more, he throve on it, and grew fat 
 on it, and lived happy and died easy on it, dating 
 from the day when my lady took him to church to 
 be married, to the day when she relieved him of liis 
 last breath, and closed his eyes for ever. 
 
 I have omitted to state that I went with the 
 bride to the bride^s husband^s house and lands down 
 here. '' Sir John,'''' she said, " I can^t do without 
 Gabriel Betteredge.^^ " My lady,^^ says Sir John, 
 '^ I can^'t do without him, either.^" That was his 
 way with her — and that was how I went into his 
 service. It was all one to me where I went, so long 
 as my mistress and I were together. 
 
 Seeing that my lady took an interest in the out- 
 of-door work, and the farms, and such like, I took 
 an interest in them too — with all the more reason 
 that I was a small farmer^s seventh son mvself.
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 19 
 
 !My lady got me put under the bailiff, and I did 
 my best; and gave satisfaction^ and got promotion 
 accordingly. Some years later, on the Monday as 
 it might be, my lady says, " Sir Jolm, your bailiff 
 is a stupid old man. Pension him liberally, and 
 let Gabriel Betteredge have his place. ^'' On the 
 Tuesday as it might be. Sir John says, ^' My lady, 
 the bailiff is pensioned liberally ; and Gabriel 
 Betteredge has got his place. ^^ You hear more 
 than enough of married people living together 
 miserably. Here is an example to the contrary. 
 Let it be a warning to some of you, and an en- 
 couragement to others. In the mean time, I vaW 
 go on "uith my story. 
 
 Well, there I was in clover, you will say. Placed 
 in a position of tinist and honour, with a little 
 cottage of my own to live in, with my rounds on 
 the estate to occupy me in the morning, and my 
 accounts in the afternoon, and my pipe and my 
 Robinson Crusoe in the evening — what more could 
 I possibly want to make me happy ? Remember 
 what Adam wanted when he was alone in the 
 Garden of Eden; and if you don-'t blame it in 
 Adam, don't blame it in me. 
 
 The woman I fixed my eye on, was the woman 
 who kept house for me at my cottage. Her name 
 was Selina Goby. I agree with the late William 
 
 c 2
 
 20 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 Cobbett about picking a wife. See that she chews 
 her food well^ and sets her foot down firmly on the 
 ground when she walks^, and you^re all right. Selina 
 Goby was all right in both these resjiects, which 
 was one reason for marrying her. I had another 
 reason^ likewise,, entirely of my own discovering. 
 Selina^ being a single woman^ made me pay so much 
 a week for her board and services. Selina, being 
 my wife, couldn^t charge for her board, and would 
 have to give me her services for nothing. That 
 was the point of view I looked at it from. Economy 
 — with a dash of love. I put it to my mistress, as 
 in duty bound, just as I had put it to myself. 
 
 " I have been turning Selina Goby over in my 
 mind,^^ I said, '' and I think, my lady, it will be 
 cheaper to marry her than to keep her.'''' 
 
 My lady burst out laughing, and said she didn^t 
 know which to be most shocked at — my language 
 or my principles. Some joke tickled her, I suppose, 
 of the sort that you can't take unless you are a 
 person of quality. Understanding nothing myself 
 but that I was free to ]}\\t it next to Selina, I went 
 and put it accordingly. And what did Selina say ? 
 Lord ! how little you must know of women, if you 
 ask that. Of course she said, Yes. 
 
 As my time drew nearer, and there got to be 
 talk of my having a new coat for the ceremony,
 
 THE MOONSTONE, 21 
 
 my mind began to misgive me. I have compared 
 notes with other men as to what they felt while 
 they were in my interesting situation ; and they 
 have all acknowledged that, about a week before it 
 happened^ they privately wished themselves out of 
 it. I went a trifle further than that myself; I 
 actually rose up, as it were^ and tried to get out of 
 it. Not for nothing ! I was too just a man to 
 expect she would let me off for nothing. Compen- 
 sation to the woman when the man gets out of it_, 
 is one of the laws of England. In obedience to 
 the laws^ and after turning it over carefully in my 
 mind^ I oflPered Selina Goby a featherbed and fifty 
 shillings to be ofi' the bargain. You will hardly 
 believe it^ but it is nevertheless true — she Avas fool 
 ■enough to refuse. 
 
 After that it was all over with me^ of course. I 
 got the new coat as cheap as I could^ and I went 
 through all the rest of it as cheap as I could. We 
 were not a happy couple_, and not a miserable couple. 
 We were six of one and half-a-dozen of the other. 
 How it was I don^t understand, but we always 
 seemed to be getting, with the best of motives, in 
 one another^s way. When I wanted to go up-stairs, 
 there was my wife coming down ; or when my wife 
 wanted to go down, there was I coming up. That 
 is married life, according to my experience of it.
 
 22 THE MOONSTONIr. 
 
 After five years of misunderstandings on the 
 stairs^ it pleased an all-wise Providence to relieve 
 us of each other by taking my wife. I w^as left 
 with my little girl Penelope, and with no other 
 child. Shortly afterwards Sir John died, and my 
 lady was left with her little girl Miss Rachel, and 
 no other child. I have wTitten to yerj poor j)urpose 
 of my lady, if you require to be told that my little 
 Penelope was taken care of, under my good mis- 
 tresses own eye, and was sent to school, and taught, 
 and made a sharp girl, and promoted, w^hen old 
 enough, to be Miss Rachers owd maid. 
 
 As for me, I w^ent on with my business as bailifl^" 
 year after year up to Christmas, 1847, w^hen there 
 came a change in my life. On that day, my lady 
 invited herself to a cup of tea alone with me in my 
 cottage. She remarked that, reckoning from the 
 year when I started as page-boy in the time of the 
 old lord, I had been more than fifty years in her 
 service, and she put into my hands a beautiful 
 waistcoat of wool that she had worked herself, to 
 keep me warm in the bitter winter weather. 
 
 I received this magnificent present quite at a 
 loss to find words to thank my mistress Avith for the 
 honour she had done me. To my great astonish- 
 ment, it turned out, however, that the waistcoat was 
 not an honour, but a bribe. My lady had discovered
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 23 
 
 that I was getting old before I had discovered it my- 
 self, and she had come to my cottage to wheedle me 
 (if I may use such an expression) into giving up my 
 hard out-of-door work as bailiff, and taking my ease 
 for the rest of my days as steward in the house. I 
 made as good a fight of it against the indignity of 
 taking my ease as I could. But my mistress knew 
 the weak side of me; she put it as a favour to herself. 
 The dispute between us ended_, after that, in my 
 wiping my eyes, like an old fool, with my new 
 woollen waistcoat, and saying I would think about it. 
 The perturbation in my mind, in regard to think- 
 ing about it, being truly dreadful after my lady 
 had gone away, I applied the remedy which I have 
 never yet found to fail mc in cases of doubt and 
 emergency. I smoked a pipe and took a turn at 
 Robinson Crusoe. Before I had occupied myself 
 with that extraordinar}^ book five minutes, I came 
 on a comforting bit (page one hundred and fifty- 
 eight), as follows : " To-day Ave love, what to-morrow 
 we hatc.^^ T saw my way clear directly. To-day 
 I was all for continuing to be farm -bailiff; to- 
 morrow, on the authority of Robinson CiTisoe, I 
 should be all the other way. Take myself to- 
 morrow while in to-morrow's humour, and the thing 
 was done. My mind being relieved in this manner, 
 I went to sleep that night in the character of Lady
 
 24 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 Veriuder^'s farm-bailifiP, and I woke up the next 
 morning in the character of Lady Verinder^s house- 
 steward. All quite comfortable^ and all through 
 Robinson Crusoe ! 
 
 My daughter Penelope has just looked over my 
 shoulder to see what I have done so far. She re- 
 marks that it is beautifully written, and every word 
 of it true. But she points out one objection. She 
 says what I have done so far isn^t in the least what 
 I was wanted to do. I am asked to tell the story 
 of the Diamond, and, instead of that, I have been 
 telling the story of my own self. Curious, and 
 quite beyond me to account for. I wonder whether 
 the gentlemen who make a business and a living out 
 of writing books, ever find their own selves getting in 
 the way of their subjects, like me ? If they do, I can 
 feel for them. In the mean time, here is another 
 false start, and more waste of good writing-paper. 
 What^s to be done now ? Nothing that I know of, 
 except for you to keep your temper, and f(?r me 
 to begin it all over again for the third time.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 HE question of how I am to start the story 
 2m1 properly I have tried to settle in two ways. 
 Firsts by scratching my head^ which led to nothing. 
 Second^ by consulting my daughter Penelope, which 
 has resulted in an entirely new idea. 
 
 Penelope^s notion is that I should set down what 
 happened^ regularly day by day, beginning with the 
 day when we got the news that Mr. Franklin Blake 
 was expected on, a visit to the house. When you come 
 to fix your memory with a date in this way, it is 
 wonderful what your memory will pick up for you 
 upon that compulsion. The only difficulty is to 
 fetch out the dates, in the first place. This Penelope 
 off'ers to do for me by looking into her own diary, 
 which she was taught to keep when she was at 
 school, and which she has gone on keeping ever 
 since. In answer to an improvement on this notion, 
 de\'ised by myself, namely, that she should tell the
 
 26 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 story instead of me^ out of her own diaiy, Penelope 
 observes,, with a fierce look and a red face, that her 
 journal is for her own private eye, and that no 
 living creature shall ever know what is in it but 
 herself. When I inquire what this means, Penelope 
 says, " Fiddlesticks V I say. Sweethearts. 
 
 Beginning, then, on Penelope^s plan, I beg to 
 mention that I was specially called one Wednesday 
 morning into my lady^s o^^ti sitting room, the date 
 being the twenty-fourth of ^lay, eighteen hundred 
 and forty-eight. 
 
 " Gabriel,''^ says my lady, " here is news that will 
 surprise you. Franklin Blake has come back from 
 abroad. He has been staying with his father in 
 London, and he is coming to us to-morrow to stop 
 till next month, and keep BacheFs birthday .''' 
 
 If I had had a hat in my hand, nothing but re- 
 spect would have prevented me from throwing that 
 hat up to the ceiling. I had not seen Mr. Franklin 
 since he was a boy, living along with us in this 
 house. He was, out of all sight (as I remembered 
 him), the nicest boy that ever spun a top or broke 
 a window. Miss Bachel, who was present, and to 
 whom I made that remark, observed, in return, that 
 she remembered him as the most atrocious tyrant 
 that ever tortm'cd a doll, and the hardest driver of 
 an exhausted little girl in string harness that Eng-
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 27 
 
 land could produce. '' I burn Trith indignation, and 
 I aclie with fatigue/^ was the way ^liss Rachel sum- 
 med it up, " when I think of Franklin Blake /^ 
 
 Hearing what I now tell you, you will naturally 
 ask how it was that Mr. Franklin should have passed 
 all the years, from the time when he was a boy to 
 the time when he was a man, out of his own coun- 
 try. I answer, because his father had the misfor- 
 tune to be next heir to a Dukedom, and not to be 
 able to prove it. 
 
 In two words, this was how the thing happened : 
 My lady's eldest sister married the celebrated 
 Mr. Blake— equally famous for his great riches, and 
 his great suit at law. How many years he went 
 on worrying the tribunals of his country to turn 
 out the Duke in possession, and to put himself in 
 the Duke's place — how many lawyers' purses he 
 filled to biu'sting, and how many otherwise harmless 
 people he set by the ears together disputing whether 
 he was right or wrong — is more by a great deal than 
 I can reckon up. His wife died, and two of his 
 three children died, before the tribunals could make 
 up their minds to show him the door and take no 
 more of his money. When it was all over, and the 
 Duke in possession was left in possession, Mr. Blake 
 discovered that the only way of being even with his 
 countn^ for the manner in which it had treated
 
 28 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 him^ was not to let his country have the honour of 
 educating his son. " How can I trust my native 
 institutions/^ was the form in which he put it, 
 " after the way in which my native institutions 
 have behaved to me?^' Add to this^ that Mr. 
 Elake disliked all boys, his own included, and you 
 will admit that it could only end in one way. 
 Master Franklin was taken from us in England, 
 and was sent to institutions which his father could 
 trust, in that superior country, Germany ; Mr. 
 Blake himself, you will observe, remaining snug in 
 England, to improve his fellow-countrymen in the 
 Parliament House, and to publish a statement on the 
 subject of the Duke in possession, which has remained 
 an unfinished statement from that day to this. 
 
 There ! thank God, that's told ! Neither you nor 
 I need trouble our heads any more about Mr. Blake, 
 senior. Leave him to the Dukedom ; and let you 
 and I stick to the Diamond. 
 
 The Diamond takes us back to Mr. Franklin, 
 who was the innocent means of bringing that un- 
 lucky jewel into the house. 
 
 Our nice boy didn't forget us after he went 
 abroad. He wrote every now and then ; sometimes 
 to my lady, sometimes to Miss Rachel, and some- 
 times to me. We had had a transaction together, 
 before he left, which consisted in his borrowing of
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 2^ 
 
 me a ball of string, a four-bladed knife, and seven- 
 and- sixpence in money — the colour of which last I 
 have not seen, and never expect to see, again. His 
 letters to me chiefly related to borrowing more. 1 
 heard, however, from my lady, how he got on 
 abroad, as he grew in years and stature. After he 
 had learnt what the institutions of Germany could 
 teach him, he gave the French a turn next, and the 
 Italians a turn after that. They made him among 
 them a sort of universal genius, as well as I could 
 understand it. He wrote a little; he painted a 
 little ; he sang and played and composed a little — 
 borrowing, as I suspect, in all tliese cases, just as 
 he had boiTowed from me. His mother^s fortune 
 (seven hundred a year) fell to him when he came 
 of age, and ran through him, as it might be through 
 a sieve. The more money he had, the more he 
 wanted ; there was a hole in ]Mr. Franklin^s pocket 
 that nothing would sew up. Wherever he went, 
 the lively, easy way of him made him welcome. He 
 lived here, there, and everywhere; his address (as 
 he used to put it himself) being, ^' Post Office 
 Europe — to be left till called for.^" Twice over, he 
 made up his mind to come back to England and see 
 us ; and twice over (saving your presence), some un- 
 mentionable woman stood in the way and stopped 
 him. His third attempt succeeded, as you know
 
 30 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 already from what my lady told me. On Tuesday, 
 the twenty-fifth of May, we were to see for the 
 first time what our nice boy had grown to be as a 
 man. He came of good blood; he had a high 
 courage ; and he was five-and-twenty years of age, 
 bv our reckoning. Now you know as much of Mr. 
 Franklin Blake as I did — before Mr. Franklin Blake 
 came down to our house. 
 
 The Thursday was as fine a summer's day as 
 «ver you saw: and my lady and Miss Rachel 
 (not expecting Mr. Franklin till dinner-time) drove 
 out to lunch with some friends in the neighbour- 
 hood. 
 
 When they were gone, I went and had a look 
 at the bedroom which had been got ready for our 
 guest, and saw that all was straight. Then, being 
 butler in my lady's establishment, as well as 
 steward (at my own particular request, mind, and 
 because it vexed me to see anybody but myself in 
 possession of the key of the late Sir John's cellar) 
 — then, I say, I fetched up some of our famous 
 Latour claret, and set it in the warm summer air 
 to take off the chill before dinner. Concluding 
 to set myself in the warm summer aii' next — 
 seeing that what is good for old claret is equally 
 good for old age — I took up my beehive chair to
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 31 
 
 go out into the back court, when I was stopped by 
 hearing a sound like the soft beating of a drum, 
 on the terrace in front of my lady's residence. 
 
 Going round to the terrace, I found three ma- 
 hogany-coloured Indians, in white linen frocks and 
 trousers, looking up at the house. 
 
 The Indians, as I saw on looking closer, had 
 small hand-drums slung in front of them. Behind 
 them stood a little delicate-looking light-haired 
 English boy carrying a bag. I judged the fellows 
 to be strolling conjurors, and the boy with the bag 
 to be carrying the tools of their trade. One of the 
 three, who spoke English, and who exhibited, I 
 must own, the most elegant manners, presently 
 informed me that my judgment was right. He 
 requested permission to show his tricks in the 
 presence of the lady of the house. 
 
 Now I am not a sour old man. I am generally 
 all for amusement, and the last person in the world 
 to distrust another person because he happens to be 
 a few shades darker than myself. But the best of 
 us have our weaknesses — and my weakness, when I 
 know a family plate-basket to be out on a pantry 
 table, is to be instantly reminded of that basket by 
 the sight of a strolling stranger whose manners are 
 superior to my own. I accordingly informed the 
 Indian that the lady of the house was out ; and I
 
 32 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 warned him and his party off the premises. He 
 made me a beautiful bow in return; and he and 
 his party went off the premises. On my side, I 
 returned to my beehive chair, and set myself down 
 on the sunny side of the court, and fell (if the 
 truth must be owned), not exactly into a sleep, but 
 into the next best thing to it. 
 
 I was roused up by my daughter Penelope, run- 
 ning out at me as if the house was on fire. What 
 do you think she wanted ? She wanted to have the 
 three Indian jugglers instantly taken up ; for this 
 reason, namely, that they knew who was coming 
 from London to visit us, and that they meant some 
 mischief to Mr. Franklin Blake. 
 
 Mr. Franklin^s name roused me. I opened my 
 eyes, and made my girl explain herself. 
 
 It appeared that Penelope had just come from 
 our lodge, where she had been having a gossip with 
 the lodge-keeper's daughter. The two girls had 
 seen the Indians pass out, after I had warned 
 them off, followed by their little boy. Taking it 
 into their heads that the boy was ill used by the 
 foreigners — for no reason that I could discover, 
 except that he was pretty and delicate-looking — the 
 two girls had stolen along the inner side of the 
 hedge between us and tlie road, and had watched 
 the proceedings of the foreigners on the outer side.
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 33 
 
 Those proceedings resulted in the performance of 
 the following extraordinaiy tricks. 
 
 They first looked up the road, and down the 
 road, and naade sure that they were alone. Then 
 they all three faced about, and stared hard in the 
 direction of our house. Then they jabbered and 
 disputed in theii' own language, and looked at each 
 other like men in doubt. Then they all turned to 
 their little English boy, as if they expected him to 
 help them. And then the chief Indian, who spoke 
 English, said to the boy, " Hold out your hand.^'' 
 
 On hearing those dreadful words, my daughter 
 Penelope said she didn^t know what prevented her 
 heart from, flying straight out of her. I thought 
 priA'ately that it might have been her stays. All I 
 said, however, was, '^ You make my flesh creep. ^^ 
 (Not a bene : women like these little compliments.) 
 
 AVell, when the Indian said '^ Hold out your 
 hand,''' the boy shrunk back, and shook his head, 
 and said he didn't like it. The Indian, thereupon, 
 asked him (not at all unkindly), whether he would 
 like to be sent back to London, and left where they 
 had found him, sleeping in an empty basket in a 
 market — a hungry, ragged, and forsaken little boy. 
 This, it seems, ended the difficulty. The little chap 
 unwillingly held out his hand. Upon that, the 
 Indian took a bottle from his bosom, and poured 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 out of it some black stuff, like ink; into the palm 
 of tlie boy's hand. The Indian — first touching the 
 boy's head; and making signs over it in the air — then 
 said; " Look."' The boy became quite stiff, and 
 stood like a statue, looking into the ink in the 
 hollow of his hand. 
 
 (So far, it seemed to me to be juggling, ac- 
 companied by a foolish waste of ink. I was be- 
 ginning to feel sleepy again, when Penelope's next 
 words stirred me up.) 
 
 The Indians looked up the road and down the 
 road once more — and then the chief Indian said 
 these words to the boy : '^ See the English gentle- 
 man from foreign parts." 
 
 The boy said, '' I see him.'^ 
 
 The Indian said, "Is it on the road to this 
 house, and on no other, that the English gentle- 
 man will travel to-day?" 
 
 The boy said, " It is on the road to this house, 
 and on no other, that the English gentleman will 
 travel to-day." 
 
 The Indian put a second question — after waiting 
 a little first. He said: " Has the English gentleman 
 got It about him ?" 
 
 The boy answered — also, after waiting a little 
 first—" Yes." 
 
 The Indian put a third and last question:
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 35 
 
 *'Will the English gentleman come here, as he has 
 promised to come, at the close of day?^'' 
 
 The boy said, '' I can't tell/' 
 
 The Indian asked why. 
 
 The boy said, '^1 am tired. The mist rises in 
 my head, and puzzles me. I can see no more 
 to-day.'' 
 
 With that, the catechism ended. The chief Indian 
 said something in his own language to the other 
 two, pointing to the boy, and pointing towards the 
 town, in which (as we afterwards discovered) they 
 were lodged. He then, after making more signs 
 on the boy's head, blew on his forehead, and so 
 woke him up with a start. After that, they aU 
 went on their way towards the town, and the girls 
 saw them no more. 
 
 Most things, they say have a moral, if you only 
 look for it. What was the moral of this? 
 
 The moral was, as I thought: First, that the 
 chief juggler had heard Mr. Franklin's arrival 
 talked of among the servants out-of-doors, and 
 saw his way to making a little money by it. 
 Second, that he and his men and boy (with a view 
 to making the said money) meant to hang about till 
 they saw my lady drive home, and then to come 
 back, and foretell Mr. Franklin's arrival by magic. 
 Third, that Penelope had heard them rehearsing 
 
 D 2
 
 36 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 theii' hocus-pocus_, like actors rehearsing a play. 
 Fourth, that I should do well to have an eye, that 
 evenings on the plate basket. Eifth_, that Peneloj)e 
 would do well to cool down, and leave me, her father, 
 to doze off again in the sun. 
 
 That appeared to me to be the sensible view. 
 If you know anything of the ways of young women, 
 you won^t be surprised to hear that Penelope 
 wouldn^t take it. The moral of the thing was 
 serious, according to my daughter. She particularly 
 reminded me of the Indian^ s third question, Has 
 the English gentleman got It about him? " Oh, 
 father \" says Penelope, clasping her hands, ^^ don''t 
 joke about this ! What does ^ It ' mean ?'' 
 
 " We'll ask Mr. Franklin, my dear,'' I said, " if 
 you can wait till Mr. Franklin comes." I winked 
 to show I meant that in joke. Penelope took it 
 quite seriously. My girl's earnestness tickled me. 
 "What on earth should Mr. Franklin know about 
 it ?" I inquired. " Ask him," says Penelope. 
 '^^And see whether he thinks it a laughing matter, 
 too." With that parting shot, my daughter left 
 me. 
 
 I settled it with myself, when she was gone, that 
 I really would ask IMr. Franklin — mainly to set 
 Penelope's mind at rest. "VMiat was said between 
 us, when I did ask him, later on that same dav, you
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 37 
 
 Avill find set out fully in its proper place. But as 
 I don't wish to raise yoiu' expectations and then 
 disappoint them, I will take leave to warn you here 
 — before we go any further — that you won''t find the 
 ghost of a joke in our conversation on the subject 
 of the jugglers. To my great surprise, Mr. 
 Franklin, like Penelope, took the thing seriously. 
 How seriously, you will understand, when I tell 
 you that, in his opinion, '^ It '^ meant the Moon- 
 -stone. 
 
 
 1
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 AM truly soriy to detain you over me and 
 my LeeHve chair. A sleepy old man, in a 
 sunny back yard, is not an interesting object, I am 
 well aware. But things must be put down in their 
 places, as things actually happened — and you must 
 please to jog on a little while longer with me, in 
 expectation of Mr. Franklin Blake^s arrival later in 
 the day. 
 
 Before I had time to doze off again, after my 
 daughter Penelope had left me, I was disturbed by 
 a lattling of plates and dishes in the servants' hall, 
 which meant that dinner was ready. Taking my 
 own meals in my own sitting-room, I had nothing 
 to do with the servants^ dinner, except to wish them 
 a good -stomach to it all round, previous to com- 
 posing myself once more in my chair. I was just 
 stretching my legs, when out bounced another 
 woman on me. Not my daughter again; only 
 Nancy, the kitchenmaid, this time. I was straight
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 39 
 
 in her way out ; and I observed^, as she asked me to 
 let her by, that she had a sulky face — a thing which, 
 as head of the servants, I never allow, on principle, 
 to pass me without inquiry. 
 
 ^' What are you turning your back on your dinner 
 for?^'' I asked. " What^s wrong now, Nancy P^"* 
 
 Nancy tried to push by, without answering; 
 upon which I rose u^), and took her by the ear. 
 She is a nice plump young lass, and it is customary 
 with me to adopt that manner of showing that I 
 personally approve of a girl. 
 
 '^ What''s wrong now V I said once more. 
 
 ^^Rosanna^s late again for dinner,''^ says Nancy. 
 " And I^m sent to fetch her in. All the hard work 
 falls on my shoulders in this house. Let me alone, 
 Mr. Betteredge V 
 
 The person here mentioned as Rosanna was oar 
 second housemaid. Having a kind of pity for oui' 
 second housemaid (why, you shall presently know), 
 and seeing in Nancy's face that she would fetch 
 her fellow-servant in with more hard words than 
 might be needful under the circumstances, it struck 
 me that I had nothing particular to do, jmd that I 
 might as well fetch Rosanna myself; giviag her a 
 hint to be punctual in future, which I knew she 
 would take kindly from me. 
 
 " Where is Rosanna P^"* I inquired.
 
 40 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 " At the sands, of course V says Nancy, with a 
 toss of her head. " She had another of her faint- 
 ing {its this morring, and she asked to go out and 
 get a breath of fresh air. I have no patience Avith 
 her V 
 
 " Go back to your dinner, my girl/'' I said. " I 
 have patience with her, and 1^11 fetch her in."*^ 
 
 Nancy (who has a fine appetite) looked pleased. 
 When she looks pleased, she looks nice. AVhen she 
 looks nice, I chuck her under the chin. It isn^t 
 immorality — it^s only habit. 
 
 Well, I took my stick, and set off for the sands. 
 
 No ! it won't do to set oflP yet. I am sorry 
 again to detain you ; but you really must hear the 
 story of the sands, and the story of Rosanna — for 
 this reason, that the matter of the Diamond touches 
 them both nearly. How hard I try to get on with 
 my statement without stopping by the way, and 
 how badly I succeed ! But, there ! — Persons and 
 Things do turn up so vexatiously in this life, and 
 will in a maner insist on being noticed. Let us 
 take it easy, and let us take it short ; we shall be 
 in the thick of the mystery soon, I promise you ! 
 
 Rosanna (to put the Person before the Thing, 
 which is but common politeness) was the only new 
 servant in our house. About four months before 
 the time I am writing of, my lady had been in
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 41 
 
 Londou_, and liad gone over a Reformatory, in- 
 tended to save forlorn women from drifting back 
 into bad ways, after they bad got released from 
 prison. The matron, seeing my lady took an in- 
 terest in the place, pointed out a girl to her, named 
 Rosanna Spearman, and told her a most miserable 
 story, which I haven^t the heart to repeat here ; for 
 I don^t like to be made wretched without any use, 
 and no more do you. The upshot of it was, that 
 Rosanna Spearman had been a thief, and not being 
 of the sort that get up Companies in the City, and 
 rob from thousands, instead of only robbing from 
 one, the law laid hold of her, and the prison and 
 the reformatoiy followed the lead of the law. The 
 matron^s opinion of Rosanna was (in spite of what 
 she had done) that the girl was one in a thousand, 
 and that she only wanted a chance to prove herself 
 worthy of any Christian woman^s interest in her. 
 IMy lady (being a Christian woman, if ever there 
 was one yet) said to the matron, upon that, 
 '•' Rosanna Spearman shall have her chance, in my 
 service.^^ In a Aveek afterwards, Rosanna Spearman 
 entered this establishment as oui' second housemaid. 
 Xot a soul was told the girPs story, excepting 
 Miss Rachel and me. ^ly lady, doing me the 
 honour to consult me about most things, consulted 
 me about Rosanna. Having fallen a good deal
 
 42 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 latterly into the late Sir John^s way of always 
 agTeeiiig with my lacly^ I agreed with her heartily 
 about Kosauna Spearman. 
 
 A fairer chance no girl could have had than was 
 given to this poor girl of ours. None of the ser- 
 vants could cast her past life in her teeth^ for none 
 of the servants knew what it had been. She had 
 her wages and her privileges^ like the rest of them ; 
 and every now and then a friendly word from my 
 lady^ in private, to encourage her. In return, she 
 showed herself, I am bound to say, well worthy of 
 the kind treatment bestowed upon her. Though 
 far from strong, and troubled occasionally with 
 those fainting fits already mentioned, she went 
 about her work modestly and -uncomplainingly, 
 doing it carefully, and doing it well. But, some- 
 how, she failed to make friends among the other 
 women-servants, excepting my daughter Penelope, 
 who was always kind to Rosanna, though never 
 intimate with her. 
 
 I hardly know what the girl did to offend them. 
 There Avas certainly no beauty about her to make 
 the others envious ; she was the plainest wo-man in 
 the house, with the additional misfortune of having 
 one shoulder bigger than the other. What the 
 servants chiefly resented, I think, was her silent 
 tongue and her solitaiy ways. She read or worked
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 4S 
 
 in leisure hours, when the rest gossiped. And, 
 when it came to her turn to go out, nine times out 
 of ten she quietly put on her bonnet, and had her 
 turn by herself. She never quarrelled, she never 
 took offence ; she only kept a certain distance, 
 obstinately and civilly, between the rest of them 
 and herself. Add to this that, plain as she was, 
 there was just a dash of something that wasn''t like 
 a housemaid, and that was like a lady, about her. 
 It might have been in her voice, or it might have 
 been in her face. All I can say is, that the other 
 women pounced on it like lightning the first day 
 she came into the house, and said (which was most 
 unjust) that Rosanna Spearman gave herself airs. 
 
 Having now told the story of Rosanna, I have 
 only to notice one of the many queer ways of this 
 strange girl to get on next to the story of the sands. 
 
 Our house is high up on the Yorkshne coast, 
 and close by the sea. We have got beautiful walks 
 all round us, in every direction but one. That 
 one I acknowledge to be a horrid walk. It leads, 
 for a quarter of a mile, through a melancholy plan- 
 tation of firs, and brings you out between low 
 cliffs on the loneliest and ugliest little bay on all 
 our coast. 
 
 The sand-hills here run down to the sea, and 
 end in two spits of rock jutting out opposite each
 
 44 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 otliei';, till YOU lose sight of them in the water. 
 One is called the North Spit^ and one the South. 
 Between the two^ shifting backwards and forwards 
 at certain seasons of the year^ lies the most horrible 
 quicksand on the shores of Yorkshire. At the turn of 
 the tide^ something goes on in the unknown deeps be- 
 loW;, which sets the whole face of the quicksand 
 quivering and trembling in a manner most remarkable 
 to see, and which has given to it, among the people in 
 our parts, the name of The Shivering Sand. A great 
 bank, half a mile out, nigh the mouth of the bay, 
 breaks the force of the main ocean coming in from 
 the offing. Winter and summer, when the tide 
 flows over the quicksand, the sea seems to leave the 
 waves behind it on the bank, and rolls its waters in 
 smoothly with a heave, and covers the sand in 
 silence. A lonesome and a horrid retreat, I can 
 tell you ! No boat ever ventures into this bay. 
 No children from our fishing-village, called Cobb^s 
 Hole, ever come here to play. The very birds of 
 the air, as it seems to me, give the Shivering Sand 
 a wide berth. That a young woman, with dozens 
 of nice walks to choose from, and company to go 
 with her, if she only said " Come !'', should prefer 
 this place, and should sit and work or read in it, all 
 alone, when it^s her turn out, I grant you, passes 
 -belief. It^s true, nevertheless, account for it as you
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 45 
 
 may^ that this was Rosanna Spearman^s favourite 
 walk_, except when she went once or twice to Cobb^s 
 Hole^ to see the only friend she had in our neigh- 
 bourhood, of whom more anon. Ifs also true that 
 I was now setting out for this same place, to fetch 
 the girl in to dinner, which brings us round happily 
 to our former pointy and starts us fair again on our 
 way to the sands. 
 
 I saw no sign of the gui in the plantation. 
 When I got out_, through the sand-hills, on to the 
 beach, there she was, in her little straw bonnet, 
 and her plain grey cloak that she always wore to 
 hide her deformed shoulder as much as might be — 
 there she was, all alone, looking out on the quick- 
 sand and the sea. 
 
 She started when I came up with her, and turned 
 her head away from me. Xot looking me in the 
 face being another of the proceedings which, as 
 head of the servants, I never allow, on principle, to 
 pass without inquiry — I turned her round my way, 
 and saw that she was crying. My bandanna hand- 
 kerchief — one of six beauties given to me by my 
 lady — Avas handy in my pocket. I took it out, and 
 I said to Rosanna, " Come and sit down, my dear, 
 on the slope of the beach along with me. Ill dry 
 your eyes for you first, and then V\l make so bold 
 as to ask what you have been crying about. ''^
 
 46 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 When you come to my age, you "will find sitting 
 down on the slope of a beach a much longer job 
 than you think it now. By the time I was settled,, 
 Rosanna had dried her ow^n eyes with a very inferior 
 handkerchief to mine — cheap cambric. She looked 
 very quiet, and very wretched; but she sat down 
 by me like a good girl, when I told her. When 
 you want to comfort a woman by the shortest way, 
 take her on your knee. I thought of this golden 
 rule. But there ! Bosanna wasn^t Nancy, and 
 that^s the truth of it ! 
 
 ^^ Now, tell me, my dear,^^ I said, " what are 
 you crying about V 
 
 "About the years that are gone, Mr. Better- 
 edge,''' says Bosanna, quietly. " My past life still 
 comes back to me sometimes .''■' 
 
 ^' Come, come, my girl,^^ I said, " your past life 
 is all sponged out. Why can't you forget it ?" 
 
 She took me by one of the lappets of my coat. 
 I am a slovenly old man, and a good deal of my 
 meat and drink gets splashed about on my clothes. 
 Sometimes one of the women, and sometimes 
 another, cleans me of my grease. The day before, 
 Bosanna had taken out a spot for me on the lappet 
 of my coat, with a new composition, warranted to 
 remove anything. The grease was gone, but there 
 Avas a little dull place left on the nap of the cloth
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 47 
 
 where the grease had been. The girl pointed to 
 that place and shook her head. 
 
 " The stain is taken off/' she said. '' But the 
 place showsj Mr. Betteredge — the place shows V^ 
 
 A remark which takes a man unawares by means 
 of his own coat is not an easy remark to answer. 
 Something in the girl herself, too^ made me particu- 
 larly sorry for her just then. She had nice brown 
 eyes, plain as she was in other ways — and she looked 
 at me with a sort of respect for my happy old age and 
 my good character, as things for ever out of her 
 own reach, which made my heart hea-^y for our 
 second housemaid. Xot feeling myself able to 
 comfort her, there was only one other thing to do. 
 That thing was — to take her in to dinner. 
 
 " Help me up,'" I said. ^' You're Late for dinner, 
 Rosanna — and I have come to fetch you in.'''' 
 
 '' You, ^Ir. Betteredge !""'' says she. 
 
 '' Thev told Xancv to fetch tou,'' I said. '' But 
 I thought you might like your scolding better, my 
 dear, if it ca:me from me.'''' 
 
 Instead of helping me up, the poor thing stole 
 her hand into mine, and gave it a little squeeze. 
 She tried hard to keep from crying again, and 
 succeeded — for which I respected her. '' You're 
 very kind, Mr. Betteredge,'' she said. '' I don't want 
 any dinner to-day — let me bide a little longer here.'''
 
 48 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 ^^What makes you like to be here ?^^ I askecL 
 " What is it that brings you everlastingly to this 
 miserable place V 
 
 " Something draws me to it/^ says the girl, 
 making images with her finger in the sand. '' I 
 tiy to keep away from it, and I can^t. Sometimes/'' 
 says sliej in a low voice, as if she was frightened at 
 her own fancy^ " sometimes^ Mr. Betteredge, I think 
 that my grave is waiting for me here/^ 
 
 " There^s roast mutton and suet pudding waiting 
 for you '/'' says I. ^^ Go in to dinner directly. 
 This is what comes, Eosanna, of thinking on an 
 empty stomach !" I spoke severely, being natu- 
 rally indignant (at my time of life) to hear a young 
 woman of five-and-twenty talking about her latter 
 end ! 
 
 She diduH seem to hear me : she put her hand 
 on my shoulder, and kept me where I was, sitting 
 by her side. 
 
 " I think the place has laid a spell on me," she 
 said. ^' I dream of it, night after night ; I think 
 of it when I sit stitching at my work. You know 
 I am grateful, Mr. Betteredge — you know I try to 
 deserve your kindness, and my lady^s confidence in 
 me. But I wonder sometimes whether the life 
 here is too quiet and too good for such a woman as 
 I am, after all I have gone through, Mr. Betteredge
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 49 
 
 — after all I have gone througli. It^s more lonely 
 to me to be among the other servants_, knowing I 
 am not what they- are_, than it is to be here. My 
 lady doesn^t know, the matron at the reformatory 
 doesn^t know, what a dreadful reproach honest 
 people are in themselves to a woman like me. 
 Don^t scold me, there^s a dear good man. I do my 
 work, don^t I ? Please not to tell my lady I am 
 •discontented — I am not. My mind^s nnqniet some- 
 times, that's all.'' She snatched her hand off my 
 shoulder, and suddenly pointed down to the quick- 
 sand. ^^ Look !" she said. '^ Isn't it wonderful ? 
 isn't it terrible ? I have seen it dozens of times, and 
 it's always as new to me as if I had never seen it 
 before !" 
 
 I looked where she pointed. The tide was on 
 the turn, and the horrid sand began to shiver. The 
 broad brown face of it heaved slowly, and then 
 dimpled and quivered all over. '^ Do you know 
 what it looks like to me .?" says Eosanna, catching 
 me by the shoulder again. " It looks as if it had 
 hundreds of suffocating people under it — all 
 struggling to get to the surface, and all sinking 
 lower and lower in the dreadful deeps ! Throw a 
 stone in, Mr. Betteredge ! Throw a stone in, and 
 let's see the sand suck it down !" 
 
 Here was unwholesome talk ! Here was an 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 50 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 empty stomach feeding on an unquiet mind ! My 
 answer — a pretty sharp one^ in the poor girVs own 
 interests^ I promise you ! — was at my tongue^s end, 
 when it was snapped short off on a sudden by a 
 voice among the sand-hills shouting for me by 
 my name. '^ Betteredge \" cries the voice^ "where 
 are you ?" '^ Here !" I shouted out in return^ without 
 a notion in my mind of who it was. Rosanna 
 started to her feet, and stood looking towards the 
 voice. I was just thinking of getting on my own 
 legs next, when I was staggered by a sudden change 
 in the girPs face. 
 
 Her complexion turned of a beautiful red, which 
 I had never seen in it before ; she brightened all 
 over with a kind of speechless and breathless sur- 
 prise. " Who is it V^ I asked. Rosanna gave me 
 back my own question. " Oh ! who is it V she 
 said softly, more to herself than to me. I twisted 
 round on the sand, and looked behind me. There, 
 coming out on us from among the hills, was a 
 bright-eyed young gentleman, dressed in a beautiful 
 fawn-coloui'ed suit, with gloves and hat to match, 
 with a rose in his butt on- hole, and a smile on his 
 face that might have set the Shivering Sand itself 
 smiling at him in return. Before I could get on 
 my legs, he plumped down on the sand by the side 
 of me, put his arm round my neck, foreign fashion.
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 51 
 
 and gave me a hug that fairly squeezed the breath 
 out of my body. ^^ Dear old Betteredge V' says he. 
 " I owe you seven and sixpence. Now do you know 
 who I am?^^ 
 
 Lord bless us and save us ! Here — four good 
 hours before we expected him — was Mr. Franklin 
 Blake ! 
 
 Before I could say a word, I saw Mr. Franklin, 
 a little surprised to all appearance, look up from me 
 to Rosanna. Following his lead, I looked at the 
 girl too. She was blushing of a deeper red than 
 ever, seemingly at having caught Mr. Franklin^s 
 eye ; and she turned and left us suddenly, in a con- 
 fusion quite unaccountable to my mind, without 
 either making her curtsy to the gentleman or saying 
 a word to me. Very unlike her usual self : a civiller 
 and better-behaved servant, in general, you never 
 met with. 
 
 ''That's an odd girl," says Mr. Franklin. ''1 
 wonder what she sees in me to surprise her ?" 
 
 *' I suppose, sir,'' I answered, drolling on our 
 young gentleman's Continental education, ''it's the 
 varnish from foreign parts." 
 
 I set down here Mr. Franklin's careless question, 
 and my foolish answer, as a consolation and 
 encouragement to all stupid people — it being, as I 
 have remarked, a great satisfaction to our inferior 
 
 E 2
 
 52 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 fellow-creatures to find that their betters are, on 
 occasions, no brighter than they are. Neither 
 Mr. Franklin, with his wonderful foreign training, 
 nor I, with my age, experience, and natural mother- 
 wit, had the ghost of an idea of what Rosanna 
 Spearman^s unaccountable behaviour really meant. 
 She was out of our thoughts, poor soul, before we 
 had seen the last flutter of her little grey cloak 
 ximong the sand-hills. And what of that ? you 
 will ask, naturally enough. Read on, good friend, 
 as patiently as you can, and perhaps you will be as 
 sorry for Rosanna Spearman as I was, when I found 
 out the truth. 
 
 ^--
 
 ^.^L<^ T-7rV'V-'-"-y 
 
 JUV 
 
 w^ 
 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 HE first thing I did^ after we were left to- 
 gether alone,, was to make a third attempt 
 to get Tip from my seat on the sand. ]Mr. Eranklin 
 stopped me. 
 
 ^^ There is one advantage about this horrid place/'' 
 he said ; '' we have got it all to ourselves. Stay 
 where you are^ Betteredge ; I have something ta 
 say to you/^ 
 
 "VMiile he was speakings I was looking at him^ and 
 trying to see something of the boy I remembered^ in 
 the man before me. The man put me out. Look as 
 I mighty I could see no more of his boy^s rosy cheeks 
 than of his boy^s trim little jacket. His complexion 
 had got pale : his face^ at the lower part, was covered, 
 to my great surprise and disappointment, with a curly 
 brown beard and moustachios. He had a lively 
 touch-and-go way with him, very pleasant and. 
 engaging, I admit ; but nothing to compare with
 
 54 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 his free-and-easy manners of other times. To 
 make matters ^'orse^ he had promised to be tall, and 
 had not kept his promise. He was neat, and slim, 
 and well made ; but he wasn^t by an inch or two np 
 to the middle height. In short, he baffled me 
 altogether. The- years that had passed had left 
 nothing of his old self, except the bright, straight- 
 forward look in his eyes. There I found our nice 
 boy again, and there I concluded to stop in my in- 
 vestigation. 
 
 '' Welcome back to the old place, Mr. Franklin,^^ 
 I said. " All the more welcome, sir, that you have 
 come some hom's before we expected you.''^ 
 
 ^^ I have a reason for coming before you expected 
 me,''"' answered jMr. Franklin. ^' I suspect, Better- 
 edge, that I have been followed and watched in 
 London, for the last three or four days ; and I have 
 travelled by the morning instead of the afternoon 
 train, because I wanted to give a certain dark- 
 looking stranger the siip.^^ 
 
 Those words did more than surprise me. They 
 brought back to my mind, in a flash, the three 
 jugglers, and Penelope^s notion that they meant 
 some mischief to Mr. Franklin Blake. 
 
 " Who^s watching you, sir, — and why V I in- 
 quired. 
 
 '^ Tell me about the three Indians vou have had
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 55 
 
 at the house to-day/^ says Mr. Franklin^ without 
 noticing my question. '^ It's just possible^ Better- 
 edge, that my stranger and your three jugglers may 
 turn out to be pieces of the same puzzle. ''' 
 
 "How do you come to know about thejugglers^ 
 sii'?" I asked, putting one question on the top of 
 another, which was bad manners, I own. But you 
 don't expect much from poor human nature — so 
 don't expect much from me. 
 
 '' I saw Penelope at the house," says Mr. 
 Franklin ; " and Penelope told me. Your daughter 
 promised to be a pretty girl, Betteredge, and she 
 has kept her promise. Penelope has got a small 
 ear and a small foot. Did the late Mrs. Betteredge 
 possess those inestimable advantages?" 
 
 " The late Mrs. Betteredge possessed a good 
 many defects, sir," says I. " One of them (if you 
 will pardon my mentioning it) was never keeping 
 to the matter in hand. She was more like a fly 
 than a woman : she couldn't settle on anything." 
 
 " She would just have suited me," says Mr. 
 Franklin. " I never settle on anything either 
 Betteredge, your edge is better than ever. Your 
 daughter said as much, when I asked for particulars 
 about the jugglers. ^ Father will tell you, sir. 
 He's a wonderful man for his age ; and he expresses 
 himself beautifully.' Penelope's own words —
 
 56 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 blushing divinely. Not even my respect for you 
 prevented me from — never mind ; I knew her when 
 she was a child^ and she^s none the worse for it. 
 Let-'s be serious. What did the jugglers do ?" 
 
 I was something dissatisfied with my daughter — 
 not for letting Mr. Franklin kiss her ; Mr. Franklin 
 was welcome to that — but for forcing me to tell 
 her foolish story at second hand. However, there 
 was no help for it now but to mention the circum- 
 stances. Mr. Franklin^s merriment all died away 
 as I went on. He sat knitting his eyebrows, and 
 twisting his beard. When I had done, he repeated 
 after me two of the questions which the chief 
 juggler had put to the boy — seemingly for the 
 purpose of fixing them well in his mind. 
 
 " ' Is it on the road to this house, and on no 
 other, that the English gentleman will travel 
 to-day V ' Has the English gentleman got It 
 about him ?' I suspect,^^ says Mr. Franklin, pulling 
 a little sealed paper parcel out of his pocket, *^ that 
 ' It^ means this. And ^ this,'' Betteredge, means 
 my uncle Herncastle^s famous Diamond.''^ 
 
 ^^ Good Lord, sir V I broke out, "how do you 
 come to be in charge of the wicked ColonePs 
 Diamond ?" 
 
 " The wicked ColoneFs will has left his Diamond 
 as a birthday present to my cousin Rachel,''^ says.
 
 THE MOOy STONE. 57" 
 
 Mr. Frauklin. " And my father^ as the wicked 
 Coloners executor^ has given it in charge to me to 
 bring down here.''' 
 
 If the sea, then oozing in smoothly over the 
 Shivering Sand_, had been changed into dry land 
 before my own eyes^ I doubt if I could have been 
 more surprised than I was when Mr. Franklin 
 spoke those words. 
 
 " The Coloners Diamond left to Miss Rachel V 
 says I. '■^ And your father, sir, the ColoneFs 
 executor ! ^'hy, I would have laid any bet you 
 like, Mr. Franklin, that your father wouldn't have 
 touched the Colonel with a pair of tongs V 
 
 " Strong language, Betteredge ! TMiat was there 
 against the Colonel ? He belonged to your time, 
 not to mine. Tell me what you know about him, 
 and Fll tell you how my father came to be his 
 executor, and more besides. I have made some dis- 
 coveries in London about my uncle Herncastle and 
 his Diamond, which have rather an ugly look to 
 my eyes; and I want you to confirm them. You 
 called him the ^ wicked ColoneF just now. Search 
 your memory, my old fi'iend, and tell me why.'' 
 
 I saw he was in earnest, and I told him. 
 
 Here follows the substance of what I said, written 
 out entirely for your benefit. Pay attention to it, 
 or you will be all abroad, when we get deeper into
 
 58 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 the story. Clear your mind of the eliildren, or the 
 dinner;, or the new bonnet, or what not. Try if 
 you can^t forget politics, horses, prices in the City, 
 and grievances at the club. I hope you won^t take 
 this freedom on my part amiss ; it^s only a way I 
 have of appealing to the gentle reader. Lord ! 
 haven^t I seen you with the greatest authors in 
 your hands, and don^t I know how ready your 
 attention is to wander when it^s a book that asks 
 for it, instead of a person ? 
 
 I spoke, a little way back, of my lady's father, 
 the old lord with the short temper and the long 
 tongue. He had five children in all. Two sons 
 to begin with; then, after a long time, his wife 
 broke out breeding again, and the three young 
 ladies came briskly one after the other, as fast as 
 the nature of things would permit ; my mistress, as 
 before mentioned, being the youngest and best of 
 the three. Of the two sons, the eldest, Arthur, 
 inherited the title and estates. The second, the 
 Honourable John, got a fine fortune left him by a 
 relative, and went into the army. 
 
 It's an ill bird, they say, that fouls its own nest. 
 I look on the noble family of the Herncastles as 
 being my nest ; and I shall take it as a favour 
 if I am not expected to enter into particulars
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 59 
 
 on the subject of the Honourable John. He was, 
 I honestly believe, one of the greatest blackguards 
 that ever lived. I can hardly say more or less for 
 him than that. He went into the army, beginning 
 in the Guards. He had to leave the Guards before 
 he was two-and -twenty — never mind why. They 
 are very sti'ict in the army, and they were too strict 
 for the Honourable John. He went out to India 
 to see whether they were equally strict there, and 
 to try a little active service. In the matter of 
 bravery (to give him his due), he was a mixture of 
 bull-dog and game-cock, with a dash of the savage. 
 He was at the taking of Seringapatam. Soon after- 
 wards he changed into another regiment, and, in 
 course of time, changed again into a third. In the 
 third he got his last^tep as lieutenant-colonel, and, 
 getting that, got also a sunstroke, and came home 
 to England. 
 
 He came back with a character that closed the 
 doors of all his family against him, my lady (then 
 just married) taking the lead, and declaring (with 
 Sir John^s approval, of course) that her brother 
 should never enter any house of hers. There was 
 more than one slur on the Colonel that made 
 people shy of him ; but the blot of the Diamond is 
 all I need mention here. 
 
 It was said he had got possession of his Indian
 
 60 TKi-: MOONSTONE. 
 
 jewel by means wbiclij bold as lie was^ be didn^t 
 dare acknowledge. He never attempted to sell it — 
 not being in need of money, and not (to give bim 
 bis due again) making money an object. He never 
 gave it away ; be never even sbowed it to any living 
 soul. Some said be was afraid of its getting bim 
 into a difficulty witli tbe military autborities ; otbers 
 (very ignorant indeed of tbe real nature of tbe man) 
 said be was afraid, if be sbowed it, of its costing 
 bim bis life. 
 
 Tbere was perbaps a grain of trutb mixed up 
 witb tbis last report. It was false to say tbat be 
 was afraid ; but it was a fact tbat bis life bad been 
 twice tbreatened in India ; and it was firmly be- 
 lieved tbat tbe Moonstone was at tbe bottom of it. 
 Wben be came back to England, and found bimself 
 avoided by everybody, tbe Moonstone was tbougbt 
 to be at tbe bottom of it again. Tbe mystery of 
 tbe Coloners life got in tbe Coloners way, and out- 
 lawed bim, as you may say, among bis own people. 
 Tbe men wouldn^t let bim into tbeir clubs ; tbe 
 women — more tban one — wbom be wanted to 
 marry, refused bim; friends and relations got too 
 near-sigbted to see bim in tbe street. 
 
 Some men in tbis mess would bave tried to set 
 tbemselves rigbt witb tbe world. But to give in, 
 even wben be was wrong, and bad all society against
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 61 
 
 him^ was not the way of the Honourable John. He 
 had kept the Diamond^ in flat defiance of assas- 
 sination^ in India. He kept the Diamond,, in flat 
 defiance of public opinion, in England. There you 
 have the portrait of the man before you, as in a 
 picture : a character that braved everything ; and a 
 face, handsome as it was, that looked possessed by 
 the devil. 
 
 "We heard different rumours about him from time 
 to time. Sometimes they said he was given up to 
 smoking opium, and collecting old books ; some- 
 times he was reported to be trying strange things 
 in chemistry; sometimes he was seen carousing 
 and amusing himself among the lowest people in 
 the lowest slums of London. AnyhoAV, a solitary, 
 vicious, underground life was the life the Colonel 
 led. Once, and once only, after his return to 
 England, I myself saw him, face to face. 
 
 About two years before the time of which I am 
 now writing, and about a year and a half before 
 the time of his death, the Colonel came unex- 
 pectedly to my lady^s house in London. It was 
 the night of Miss RacheFs birthday, the twenty- 
 first of June ; and there was a party in honour of 
 it, as usual. I received a message from the foot- 
 man to say that a gentleman wanted to see me. 
 Going up into the hall, there I found the Colonel,
 
 62 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 wasted, and worn, and old, and shabby, and as 
 wild and as wicked as ever. 
 
 " Go up to my sister,^^ says be ; " and say tbat 
 I have called to wish my niece many happy re- 
 turns of the day/'' 
 
 He had made attempts by letter, more than once 
 already, to be reconciled with my lady, for no other 
 purpose, I am firmly persuaded, than to annoy her. 
 But this was the first time he had actually come to 
 the house. I had it on the tip of my tongue to 
 say that my mistress had a party that night. But 
 the devilish look of him daunted me. I went up- 
 stairs with his message, and left him, by his own 
 desire, waiting in the hall. The servants stood 
 staring at him, at a distance, as if he was a walk- 
 ing engine of destruction, loaded with powder and 
 shot, and likely to go off among them at a moment^s 
 notice. 
 
 My lady had a dash — no more — of the family 
 temper. " Tell Colonel Herncastle,'''' she said, when 
 I gave her her brother's message, "that Miss 
 Verinder is engaged, and that / decline to see him.'^ 
 I tried to plead for a civiller answer than that ; 
 knowing the ColoneFs constitutional superiority to 
 the restraints which govern gentlemen in general. 
 Quite useless 1 The family temper flashed out at 
 me directly. " When I want your advice," says
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 63 
 
 my lady, '' you know that I always ask for it. I 
 don^t ask for it now." I went down-stairs with 
 the message, of which I took the liberty of present- 
 ing a new and amended edition of my own con- 
 triving, as follows : " My lady and Miss Rachel 
 regret that they are engaged, Colonel; and beg to 
 be excused having the honour of seeing you." 
 
 I expected him to break out, even at that polite 
 way of putting it. To my surprise he did nothing 
 of the sort ; he alarmed me by taking the thing 
 with an unnatural quiet. His eyes, of a glittering 
 bright grey, just settled on me for a moment ; and 
 he laughed, not out of himself, like other people, 
 but into himself, in a soft, chuckling, horridly mis- 
 chievous way. '' Thank you, Betteredge," he said. 
 " I shall remember my niece^s birthday." With 
 that, he turned on his heel, and walked out of the 
 house. 
 
 The next birthday came round, and we heard he 
 was ill in bed. Six months afterwards — that is to 
 say, six months before the time I am now writing 
 of — there came a letter from a highly respectable 
 clergyman to my lady. It communicated two 
 wonderful things in the way of family news. First, 
 that the Colonel had forgiven his sister on his 
 death-bed. Second, that he had forgiven everybody 
 else, and had made a most edifying end. I have
 
 64 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 myself (in spite of the bislioj^s and the clergy) an 
 unfeigned respect for the Church ; but I am firmly 
 persuaded^ at the same time_, that the devil re- 
 mained in undisturbed possession of the Honour- 
 able John, and that the last abominable act in the 
 life of that abominable man was (saving your pre- 
 sence) to take the clergyman in ! 
 
 This was the sum-total of what I had to tell Mr. 
 Franklin. I remarked that he listened more and 
 more eagerly the longer I went on. Also_, that the 
 story of the Colonel being sent away from his 
 sister^s door_, on the occasion of his niece^s birthday, 
 seemed to strike Mr. Franklin like a shot that had 
 hit the mark. Though he didn^t acknowledge it, I 
 saw that I had made him uneasy, plainly enough, in 
 his face. 
 
 " You have said your say, Betteredge,^^ he re- 
 marked. ^' Ifs my turn now. Before, however, I 
 tell you what discoveries I have made in London, 
 and how I came to be mixed up in this matter of 
 the Diamond, I want to know one thing. You 
 look, my old friend, as if yon didn^t quite under- 
 stand the object to be answered by this consultation 
 of ours. Do your looks belie you?^"* 
 
 '' No, sir,^' I said. '^ My looks, on this occasion 
 at any rate, tell the truth.^-'
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 65 
 
 ^' In that case/' says Mr. Franklin^ " suppose I 
 put you up to my point of view, before we go any 
 further. I see three very serious questions involved 
 in the Colonels birthday-gift to my cousin Rachel. 
 PoUow me carefully _, Betteredge ; and count me off 
 on your fingers^ if it vrill help you/^ says ^Ir. 
 Franklin, with a certain pleasure in showing how 
 clear-headed he could be, which reminded me won- 
 derfully of old times when he was a boy. '' Ques- 
 tion the first : Was the Coloners Diamond the 
 object of a conspiracy in India ? Question the 
 second : Has the conspiracy folloAved the ColoneFs 
 Diamond to England ? Question the third : Did 
 the Colonel know the conspiracy followed the Dia- 
 mond ; and has he purposely left a legacy of trouble 
 and danger to his sister, through the innocent 
 medium of his sister's child ? That is what I am 
 driving at, Betteredge. Don't let me frighten you." 
 
 It was all very well to say that, but he Jiad 
 frightened me. 
 
 If he was right, here was our quiet English house 
 suddenly invaded by a devilish Indian diamond — 
 bringing after it a conspiracy of living rogues, set 
 loose on us by the vengeance of a dead man. There 
 "was our situation, as revealed to me in Mr. 
 Franklin's last words ! Who ever heard the like 
 of it — in the nineteenth century, mind ; in an age 
 
 Vol. I. F
 
 Q6 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 of progress^ and in a country whicli rejoices in the 
 blessings of the British constitution ? Nobody 
 ever heard the like of it^ and^ consequently^ no- 
 body can be expected to believe it. I shall go on 
 with my story, however, in spite of that. 
 
 When you get a sudden alarm, of the sort that 
 I had got now, nine times out of ten the place you 
 feel it in is your stomach. "WTien you feel it in 
 your stomach, your attention wanders, and you 
 begin to fidget. I fidgeted silently in my place on 
 the sand. Mr. Franklin noticed me, contending 
 with a perturbed stomach, or mind — which you 
 please; they mean the same thing — and, checking 
 himself just as he was starting with his part of the 
 story, said to me sharply, " What do you want ?'' 
 
 What did I want ? I didn't tell him ; but I'll 
 tell you, in confidence. I wanted a whiff of my 
 pipe, and a turn at K-obinson Crusoe.
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 2 ^^a EEPING my private sentiments to myself, 
 ^Sal I respectfully requested Mr. Franklin to go 
 on. Mr. Franklin replied^ " Don't fidget, Better- 
 edge/' and went on. 
 
 Our young gentleman''s first words informed me 
 that ids discoveries, concerning the wicked Colonel 
 and the Diamond, had begun with a visit which he 
 had paid (before he came to us) to the family lawyer, 
 at Hampstead. A chance word dropped by Mr. 
 Franklin, when the two were alone, one day, after 
 dinner, revealed that he had been charged by his father 
 with a birthday present to be taken to Miss Rachel. 
 One thing led to another ; and it ended in the 
 lawyer mentioning what the present really was, 
 and how the friendly connexion between the late 
 Colonel, and Mr. Blake, Senior, had taken its rise. 
 The facts here are really so extraordinary, that I 
 doubt if I can trust my own language to do justice 
 
 F 2
 
 68 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 to them. I prefer trying to report Mr. Franklin^s 
 discoveries^ as nearly as may be^ in Mr. Franklin^s 
 own words. 
 
 " You remember the time^ Betteredge/^ be said, 
 " wben my father w^as trying to prove his title to 
 that unlucky Dukedom ? Well ! that was also the 
 time when my uncle Herncastle returned, from 
 India. My father discovered that his brother-in- 
 law was in possession of certain papers which were 
 likely to be of service to him in his lawsuit. He 
 called on the Colonel, on pretence of welcoming 
 him back to England. The Colonel was not to be 
 deluded in that way. ^You want something/ he 
 said, ' or you would never have compromised your 
 reputation by calling on me.' My father saw that 
 the one chance for him was to show his hand : he 
 admitted, at once, that he wanted the pa2Jers. The 
 Colonel asked for a day to consider his answer. 
 His answer came in the shape of a most extraordi- 
 nary letter, which my friend the lawyer showed me. 
 The Colonel began by saying that he wanted some- 
 thing of my father, and that he begged to propose 
 an exchange of friendly services between them. 
 The fortune of war (that Avas the expression he used) 
 had placed him in possession of one of the largest 
 Diamonds in the world ; and he had reason to 
 believe that neitiier he nor his precious jewel was
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 69 
 
 safe in any house, in any quarter of the globe, 
 whicli tliey occupied together. Under these alarm- 
 ing circumstances, he had determined to place his 
 Diamond in the keeping of another person. Tliat 
 person was not expected to run any risk. He might 
 deposit the precious stone in any place especially 
 guarded and set apart — like a banker^s or jeweller^^ 
 strong-room — for the safe custody of valuables of 
 high price. His main personal responsibility in the 
 matter was to be of the passive kind. He was to 
 undertake — either by himself, or by a trustworthy 
 representative — to receive at a pre-arranged address^ 
 on certain pre-arranged days in every year, a note 
 from the Colonel, simply stating the fact that he 
 was a living man at that date. In the event of the 
 date passing over without the note being received, 
 the Colonel's silence might be taken as a sure token 
 of the ColoneFs death by murder. In that case, 
 and in no other, certain sealed instructions relating 
 to the disposal of the Diamond, and deposited with 
 it, were to be opeoed, and followed implicitly. If 
 my father chose to accept this strange charge, the 
 Coloners papers were at his disposal in return 
 That was the letter.'' 
 
 " What did your father do, sir ?" I asked. 
 
 " Do ?" says Mr. Franklin. '' I'll tell you what 
 he did. He brought the invaluable facultv, called
 
 70 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 common sensC; to bear on the ColonePs letter. 
 The whole thing, he declared^ -^^as simply absurd. 
 Somewhere in his Indian wanderings, the Colonel 
 had picked up with some wretched crystal which he 
 took for a diamond. As for the danger of his being 
 murdered, and the precautions devised to preserve 
 his life and his piece of crystal, this was the nine- 
 teenth century, and any man in his senses had 
 only to apply to the police. The Colonel had been 
 a notorious opium-eater for years past ; and, if the 
 only way of getting at the valuable papers he pos- 
 sessed w^as by accepting a matter of opium as a 
 matter of fact, my father w^as quite willing to take 
 the ridiculous responsibility imposed on him — all 
 the more readily that it involved no trouble to him- 
 self. The Diamond and the sealed instructions 
 went into his banker^s strong-room, and the 
 Colon eFs letters, periodically reporting him a living 
 man, were received and opened by our family lawyer, 
 Mr. Bruff, as my father's representative. No 
 sensible person, in a similar position, could have 
 viewed the matter in any other way. Nothing in 
 this world, Betteredge, is probable unless it appeals 
 to our ow^n trumpery experience ; and we only 
 believe in a romance when we see it in a news- 
 paper/" 
 
 It w^as plain to me from this, that Mr. Franklin
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 71 
 
 thought his father's notion about the Colonel hasty 
 and Avrong. 
 
 '^'^What is your own private opinion about the 
 inatter_, sir?^^ I asked. 
 
 ^^ Let^s finish the story of the Colonel first/^ says 
 Mr. Franklin. " There is a curious want of system, 
 Betteredge, in the English mind; and your question,, 
 my old friend^ is an instance of it. When we are 
 not occupied in making machinery, we are (men- 
 tally speaking) the most slovenly people in the uni- 
 verse.^^ 
 
 "So much/^ I thought to myself, ^' for a foreign 
 education ! He has learned that way of girding at 
 us in France, I suppose. ^^ 
 
 Mr. Franklin took up the lost thread, and went on. 
 
 " My father,''^ he said, " got the papers he wanted, 
 and never saw his brother-in-law again from that 
 time. Year after year, on the pre-arranged days, 
 the pre-arranged letter came from the Colonel, and 
 was opened by Mr. Bruff. I have seen the letters^ 
 in a heap, all of them Avritten in the same brief, 
 business-like form of words : ' Sir, — This is to cer- 
 tify that I am still a living man. Let the Diamond 
 be. John Herncastle.^ That was all he ever 
 wrote, and that came regularly to the day ; until 
 some six or eight months since, when the form of 
 the letter varied for the first time. It ran now : —
 
 I'-Z THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 ' Sir^ — They tell me I am dying. Come to me, 
 and help me to make my will/ Mr. Bruff went, 
 and found him, in the little suburban villa, sur- 
 rounded by its own grounds, in which he had lived 
 alone, ever since he had left India. He had dogs, 
 cats, and birds to keep him company; but no 
 human being near him, except the person who 
 came daily to do the house-work, and the doctor at 
 the bedside. The will was a very simple matter. 
 The Colonel had dissipated the greater part of his 
 fortune in his chemical investigations. His will began 
 and ended in three clauses, which he dictated from 
 his bed, in perfect possession of his faculties. The 
 first clause provided for the safe keeping and sup- 
 port of his animals. The second founded a profes- 
 sorship of experimental chemistry at a northern 
 university. The third bequeathed the Moonstone 
 as a birthday present to his niece, on condition that 
 my father would act as executor. My father at 
 first refused to act. On second thoughts, however, 
 he gave way, partly because he was assured that 
 the executorship would involve him in no trouble ; 
 partly because Mr. Brufi" suggested, in Bachel^s in- 
 terest, that the Diamond might be worth something, 
 after all." 
 
 ^''Did the Colonel give any reason, sir," I in- 
 quired, '' why he left the Diamond to Miss Rachel?"
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 73- 
 
 ^' He not only gave tlie reason — lie had the reason 
 iivritten in his ^^ill/'' said Mr. Franklin. '^ I have 
 got an extract,, which von shall see presently. Don't 
 be slovenly-minded^ Betteredge ! One thing at a 
 time. You have heard about the Coloners Will ; 
 now you must hear what happened after the 
 Coloners death. It was formally necessary to have 
 the Diamond valued^ before the Will could be proved. 
 All the jewellers consulted^ at once confirmed the 
 ColoneFs assertion that he possessed one of the 
 largest diamonds in the world. The question of 
 accurately valuing it presented some serious difficul- 
 ties. Its size made it a phenomenon in the diamond 
 market ; its colour placed it in a category by itself; 
 and, to add to these elements of uncertainty, there 
 was a defect, in the shape of a flaw, in the very 
 heart of the stone. Even with this last serious 
 drawback, however, the lowest of the various esti- 
 mates given was twenty thousand pounds. Con- 
 ceive my father^s astonishment ! He had been 
 within a hair's-brcadth of refusing to act as exe- 
 cutor, and of allowing this magnificent jewel to be lost 
 to the family. The interest he took in the matter 
 now, induced him to open the sealed instructions 
 which had been deposited with the Diamond. ^Ir. 
 Bruff" showed this document to me, with the other 
 papers ; and it suggests (to my mind) a clue to the
 
 74 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 nature of the conspiracy which threatened the 
 ColoneFs life/^ 
 
 " Then you do believe, sir/' I said, " that there 
 TT^s a conspiracy ?'' 
 
 ^^Not possessing my father's excellent common 
 sense/' answered Mr. Franklin, " I believe the 
 Colonel's life was threatened, exactly as the Colonel 
 said. The sealed instructions, as I think, explain 
 how it was that he died, after all, quietly in his 
 bed. In the event of his death by violence (that is 
 to say, ia the absence of the regular letter from 
 him at the appointed date), my father was then 
 directed to send the Moonstone secretly to Amster- 
 dam. It was to be deposited in that city with a 
 famous diamond-cutter, and it was to be cut up 
 into from fom' to six separate stones. The stones 
 were then to be sold for what they would fetch, 
 and the proceeds were to be applied to the founding 
 of that professorship of experimental chemistry, 
 which the Colonel has since endowed by his Will. 
 Now, Betteredge, exert those sharp wits of yours, 
 and observe the conclusion to which the Colonel's 
 instructions point !" 
 
 I instantly exerted my wits. They were of the 
 slovenly English sort; and they consequently muddled 
 it all, until [Mr. Franklin took them in hand, and 
 pointed out what they ought to see.
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 75 
 
 ^' Remark/" says IMr. Franklin^ '^ that the in- 
 tegi'ity of the Diamond^ as a whole stoue^ is here 
 artfully made dependent on the preservation from 
 violence of the Colonel's life. He is not satisfied 
 with saying to the enemies he dreads, ^ Kill me — 
 and you will be no nearer to the Diamond than you 
 are now ; it is where you can't get at it — in the 
 guarded strong-room of a bank.' He says instead, 
 ^ Kill me — and the Diamond will be the Diamond 
 no longer; its identity -^-ill be destroyed.' What 
 does that mean ?" 
 
 Here I had (as I thought) a flash of the wonder- 
 ful foreign brightness. 
 
 " I know/' I said. '' It means lowering the 
 value of the stone^ and cheating the rogues in that 
 way !" 
 
 '• Nothing of the sort/' says Mr. Franklin. "' I 
 have inquired about that. The flawed Diamond, 
 cut up, would actually fetch more than the Diamond 
 as it now is ; for this plain reason — that from four 
 to six perfect brilliants might be cut from it, which 
 would be, collectively, worth more money than the 
 large — but imperfect — single stone. If robbeiy 
 for the pui'pose of gain was at the bottom of the 
 conspiracy, the Colonel's instructions absolutely 
 made the Diamond better worth stealing. More 
 money could have been got for it, and the disposal
 
 76 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 of it in the diamond- market would have been infi- 
 nitely easier^ if it had passed through the hands of 
 the workmen of Amsterdam/^ 
 
 ^' Lord bless us^ sir V I burst out. ^' What was 
 the plot^ then V 
 
 " A plot organized among the Indians who 
 originally owned the jcwel/^ says Mr. Franklin — 
 " a plot with some old Hindoo superstition at the 
 bottom of it. That is my opinion, confirmed by a 
 family paper which I have about me at this 
 moment/^ 
 
 I saw_, novi', why the appearance of the three 
 Indian jugglers at our house had presented itself 
 to Mr. Franklin in the light of a circumstance 
 worth notiug. 
 
 " I don^t want to force my opinion on you/'' Mr. 
 Franklin went on. "^ The idea of certain chosen 
 servants of an old Hindoo superstition devoting 
 themselves, through all difficulties and dangers, to 
 watching the opportunity of recovering their sacred 
 gem, appears to me to be perfectly consistent with 
 everything that we know of the patience of Ori- 
 ental races, and the influence of Oriental religions^ 
 But then I am an imaginative man ; and the- 
 butcher, the baker, and the tax-gatherer, are not 
 the only credible realities in existence to my mind. 
 Let the guess I have made at the truth in this
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 77 
 
 matter go for what it is worthy and let us get on 
 to the only practical question that concerns us. 
 Does the conspiracy against the Moonstone survive 
 the ColoneFs death ? And did the Colonel know 
 it^ when he left the birthday gift to his niece V' 
 
 I began to see my lady and Miss Rachel at the 
 end of it all^ now. Not a word he said escaped me. 
 
 " I was not very willing, when I discovered the 
 story of the Moonstone/^ said Mr. Franklin^ '' to 
 be the means of bringing it here. But Mr. Bruff 
 reminded me that somebody must put my cousin^s 
 legacy into my cousin's hands — and that I might 
 as well do it as anybody else. After taking the 
 Diamond out of the bank, I fancied I was followed 
 in the streets by a shabby^ dark-complexioned man. 
 I went to my father's house to pick up my luggage, 
 and found a letter there^ which unexpectedly de- 
 tained me in London. I went back to the bank 
 with the Diamond, and thought I saw the shabby 
 man again. Taking the Diamond once more out 
 of the bank this morning, I saw the man for the 
 third time, gave him the slip, and started (before 
 he recovered the trace of me) bv the morn in jr 
 instead of the afternoon train. Here I am, with 
 the Diamond safe and sound — and what is the first 
 news that meets me ? I find that three strollino: 
 Indians have been at the house, and that my arrival
 
 78 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 from London,, and something which I am expected 
 to have about me, are two special objects of investi- 
 gation to them when they believe themselves to be 
 alone. I don^t waste time and words on their 
 ponring the ink into the boy^s hand, and telling him 
 to look in it for a man at a distance, and for some- 
 thing in that man^s pocket. The thing (which I 
 have often seen done in the East) is ' hocus-pocns ' 
 in my opinion, as it is in yours. The present 
 question for us to decide is, whether I am wrongly 
 attaching a meaning to a mere accident ? or whether 
 we really have evidence of the Indians being on 
 the track of the Moonstone, the moment it is re- 
 moved from the safe keeping of the bank V 
 
 Neither he nor I seemed to fancy deahng with 
 this part of the inquiry. We looked at each other^ 
 and then we looked at the tide, oozing in smoothly,, 
 higher and higher, over the Shivering Sand. 
 
 ^'' What arc you thinking of ?^^ says Mr. Franklin,, 
 suddenly. 
 
 '^ I was thinking, sir,^' I answered, '^ that I should 
 like to shy the Diamond into the quicksand, and 
 settle the question in that way.^"* 
 
 ^' If you have got the value of the stone in your 
 pocket," answered Mr. Franklin, ^^say so, Betteredge, 
 and in it goes V 
 
 It's curious to note, when vour mind's anxious.
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 79 
 
 how very far in the way of relief a very small joke 
 will go. We found a fund of merriment ^ at the 
 time^ in the notion of making away with ^liss 
 Rachers lawful property ;, and getting Mr. Blake, 
 as executor, into dreadful trouble — though where 
 the merriment was, I am quite at a loss to discover 
 now. 
 
 Mr. Franklin was the first to bring the talk back 
 to the talk^s proper purpose. He took an envelope 
 out of his pocket, opened it, and handed to me the 
 paper inside. 
 
 "Betteredge/'' he said,, ^^we must face the question 
 of the Coloners motive in leading this legacy to 
 his niece, for my aunt^s sake. Bear in mind how 
 Lady Yerinder treated her brother from the time 
 when he returned to England, to the time when he 
 told you he should remember his niece''s birthday. 
 And read that/' 
 
 He gave me the extract from the ColoneFs AVill. 
 I have got it by me while I write these words ; 
 and I copy it, as follows, for your benefit : 
 
 '^ Thirdly, and lastly, I give and bequeath to my 
 niece, Rachel Verinder, daughter and only child of 
 my sister, Julia Yerinder, widow — if her mother, 
 the said Julia Yerinder, shall be living on the said 
 Rachel Yerinder^s next Birthday after my death — 
 the yellow Diamond belonging to me, and known
 
 80 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 in the East by the name of The Moonstone : sub- 
 ject to this condition,, that her mother, the said 
 Julia Verinder, shall be living at the time. And I 
 hereby desire my executor to give my Diamond, 
 either by his own hands or by the hands of some 
 trustworthy representative whom he shall appoint, 
 into the personal possession of my said niece Rachel, 
 on her next birthday after my death, and in the 
 presence, if possible, of my sister, the said Julia 
 Verinder. And I desire that my said sister may 
 be informed, by means of a true copy of this, the 
 third and last clause of my Will, that I give the 
 Diamond to her daughter E-achel, in token of my 
 free forgiveness of the injury which her conduct 
 towards me has been the means of inflicting on my 
 reputation in my lifetime ; and especially in proof 
 that I pardon, as becomes a dying man, the insult 
 oflfered to me as an officer and a gentleman, when 
 her servant, by her orders, closed the door of her 
 house against me, on the occasion of her daughter's 
 birthday/' 
 
 More words followed these, providing, if my lady 
 was dead, or if Miss Rachel was dead, at the time 
 of the testator's decease, for the Diamond being 
 sent to Holland, in accordance with the sealed in- 
 structions originally deposited with it. The pro- 
 ceeds of the sale were, in that case, to be added to
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 81 
 
 the money already left by the Will for the pro- 
 fessorship of cheraistry at the university in the north. 
 
 I handed the paper back to Mr. Franklin^ sorely 
 ti'oubled -ft-hat to say to him. Up to that moment, 
 my own opinion had been (as you know) that the 
 Colonel had died as wickedly as he had lived. I 
 don't say the copy from his Will actually converted 
 me from that opinion : I only say it staggered me. 
 
 " Well/' says Mr. Franklin, " now you have 
 read the Colonel's own statement, what do you say ? 
 In bringing the Moonstone to my aunt's house, 
 am I serving his vengeance blindfold, or am I 
 vindicating him in the character of a penitent and 
 Christian man ?" 
 
 " It seems hard to say, sir," I answered, ^' that 
 he died with a horrid revenge in his heart, and a 
 horrid lie on his lips. God alone knows the truth. 
 Don't ask meJ' 
 
 Mr. Franklin sat twisting and turning the extract 
 from the Will in his fingers, as if he expected to 
 squeeze the truth out of it in that manner. He 
 altered quite remarkably, at the same time. From 
 being brisk and bright, he now became, most unac- 
 countably, a slow, solemn, and pondering young man. 
 
 " This question has two sides," he said. " An 
 Objective side, and a Subjective side. ^Tiich are 
 we to take ?" 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 b2 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 He had had a German education as well as a 
 Irench. One of the two had been in undisturbed 
 possession of him (as I supposed) up to this time. 
 And now (as well as I could make out) the other 
 was taking its place. It is one of my rules in life, 
 never to notice what I don^t understand. I steered 
 a middle course between the Objective side and the 
 Subjective side. In plain English I stared hard, 
 and said nothing. 
 
 " Let^s extract the inner meaning of this/^ says 
 Mr. Franklin. '^^Why did my uncle leave the 
 Diamond to Rachel ? Why didn^t he leave it to 
 my aunt?''" 
 
 " That^s not beyond guessing, sir, at any rate/" 
 I said. '' Colonel Herncastle knew my lady well 
 enough to know that she would have refused to 
 accept any legacy that came to her from him.'' 
 
 " How did he know that Rachel might not refuse 
 to accept it, too ?"" 
 
 " Is there any young lady in existence, su% who 
 could resist the temptation of accepting such a 
 ])irtlidaY present as The Moonstone ?"" 
 
 " That's the Subjective view,"' says Mr. Franklin. 
 
 ^. '*' It does you great credit, Betteredge, to be able to 
 
 take the Subjective view. But there's another mystery 
 
 ■ about the ColoneFs legacy which is not accounted 
 
 for yet. How are we to explain his only giving
 
 THE MOONSTONE. SS 
 
 Rachel her birthday present conditionally on her 
 mother being alive ?^^ 
 
 ^' I don't want to slander a dead man_, sir/' I 
 answered. ^' But if he has purposely left a legacy 
 of trouble and danger to his sister^ by the means 
 of her child;, it must be a legacy made conditional 
 on his sister's being alive to feel the vexation of it." 
 
 ^' Oh ! That's your interpretation of his motive, 
 is it ? The Subjective interpretation again ! Have 
 you ever been in Germany^ Betteredge r" 
 
 ''^No, sir. What's your interpretation, if you 
 please ?" 
 
 " I can see/' says Mr. Franklin, " that the 
 Colonel's object may, quite possibly, have been — > 
 not to benefit his niece, whom he had never, even 
 seen — but to prove to his sister that he had died 
 forgiving her, and to prove it very prettily by means 
 of a present made to her child. There is a totally 
 different explanation from yours, Betteredge, taking 
 its rise in a Subjective- Objective point of -view. 
 Erom all I can see, one interpretation is just as 
 likely to be right as the other." 
 
 Having brought matters to this pleasant and com- 
 forting issue, Mr. Franklin appeared to think that he 
 had completed all that was required of him. He 
 laid down flat on his back on the sand, and asked 
 what was to be done next. 
 
 G 2
 
 84 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 He liacl been so clever, and clear-headed (before 
 lie began to talk the foreign gibberish), and had so 
 completely taken the lead in the business np to the 
 present time, that I was quite unprepared for such 
 a sudden change as he now exhibited in this helpless 
 leaning upon me. It was not till later that I learned 
 — bv assistance of ]Miss Rachel, who was the first 
 to make the discovery — that these puzzling shifts 
 and transformations in !Mr. Franklin were due to 
 the effect on him of his foreign training. At the 
 age when we are all of us most apt to take our 
 colouring, in the form of a reflection from the 
 colouring of other people, he had been sent abroad, 
 and had been passed on, from one nation to another, 
 before there was time for any one colouring more 
 than another to settle itself on him firmly. As a 
 consequence of this, he had come back with so 
 many different sides to his character, all more 
 or less jarring Avitli each other, that he seemed to 
 pass his life in a state of perpetual contradiction 
 with himself. He could be a busy man, and a lazy 
 man ; cloudy in the head, and clear in the head ; a 
 model of determination, and a spectacle of help- 
 lessness, all together. He had his French side, 
 and his German side, and his Italian side — the 
 original English foundation showing through, every 
 now and then, as much as to sav, " Here I am,.
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 85 
 
 sorely transmogrified, as you see, but there's some- 
 thing of me left at the bottom of him still/'' Miss 
 Eachel used to remark that the Italian side of 
 him was uppermost, on those occasions when he 
 unexpectedly gaA'e in^ and asked you in his nice 
 sweet-tempered way to take his own responsibilities 
 on your shoulders. You will do him no injustice, 
 I think, if you conclude that the Italian side of 
 him was uppermost now. 
 
 *"' Isn^t it your business, sir/' I asked, '^ to know 
 Avhat to do next ? Surely it can^t be mine ?" 
 
 Mr. Franklin didn't aj^pear to see the force of 
 my question — not being in a position, at the time, 
 to see anything but the sky over his head. 
 
 " I don't want to alarm my aunt without 
 reason," he said. " And I don't want to leave her 
 without what may be a needful warning. If you 
 were in my place, Betteredge, tell me, in one word, 
 what would you do ?" 
 
 In one word, I told him : " Wait." 
 
 '' With all my heart," says Mr. Franklin. '' How^ 
 long?" 
 
 I proceeded to explain myself. 
 
 " As I understand it, sir," I said, '' somebody 
 is bound to put this plaguy Diamond into Miss 
 Rachel's hands on her birthday — and you may as 
 well do it as another. Very good. This is the
 
 86 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 twenty-fifth of May, and the birthday is on the 
 twenty-first of June. We have got close on four 
 weeks before us. Let^s wait and see what happens 
 in that time ; and let^s warn my lady or not, as the 
 circumstances direct us.^^ 
 
 ^^ Perfect, Better edge, as far as it goes V says 
 Mr. Franklin. " But, between this and the birth- 
 day, what^s to be done with the Diamond ?'' 
 
 " What your father did with it, to be sure, sir \" 
 I answered. ^' Your father put it in the safe 
 keeping of a bank in London. You put it in the 
 safe keeping of the bank at Frizinghall.^^ (Frizing- 
 hall was our nearest town, and the Bank of Eng- 
 land wasn''t safer than the bank there.) " If I 
 were you, sii',^^ I added, ^^ I would ride straight 
 away with it to Frizinghall before the ladies come 
 back.^^ 
 
 The prospect of doing something — and, what is 
 more, of doing that something on a horse — ^brought 
 Mr. Franklin up like lightning from the flat of his 
 back. He sprang to his feet, and pulled me up, 
 without ceremony, on to mine. ^' Betteredge, you 
 are worth your weight in gold,^' he said. ^' Come 
 along, and saddle the best horse in the stables 
 directly V' 
 
 Here (God bless it !) was the original English 
 foundation of him showing through all the foreign
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 87 
 
 varnisli at last ! Here was the Master Franklin 
 I remembered^ coming out again in the good old 
 way at the prospect of a ride_, and reminding me of 
 the good old times ! Saddle a horse for him ? I 
 would have saddled a dozen horses^ if he could only 
 have ridden them all ! 
 
 We went back to the hou^e in a hurry ; we had 
 the fleetest horse in the stables saddled in a hurry ; 
 and Mr. Franklin rattled oflP in a hurry, to lodge 
 the cursed Diamond once more in the strong room 
 of a bank. When I heard the last of his horse's 
 hoofs on the drive, and when I turned about in 
 the yard and found I was alone again, I felt half 
 inclined to ask myself if I hadn't woke up from a 
 dream.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 HILE I was in this bewildered frame of 
 I mind_, sorely needing a little qniet time by 
 myself to put me rigbt again^ my daughter Pene- 
 lope got in my way (just as her late mother used 
 to get in my way on the stairs), and instantly sum- 
 moned me to tell her all that had passed at the 
 conference bet:;v'een Mr. Franklin and me. Under 
 present circumstances, the one thing to be done 
 was to clap the extinguisher upon Penelope^s curi- 
 osity on the spot. I accordingly replied that Mr. 
 Pranklin and I had both talked of foreign politics, 
 till we could talk no longer, and had then mutually 
 fallen asleep in the heat of the sun. Try that sort 
 of answer when your wife or your daughter next 
 worries you with an awkward question at an awkward 
 time, and depend on the natural sweetness of women 
 for kissing and making it up again at the next 
 opportunity.
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 89 
 
 The afternoon wore on^ and my lady and IMiss 
 Eachel came back. 
 
 Needless to say liow astonished tliey were^, wlien 
 tliey heard that Mr. Franklin Blake had arrived^ 
 and had gone off again on horseback. Needless 
 also to say^ that they asked awkward questions 
 directly, and that the '' foreign politics'-' and the 
 "^ falling asleep in the sun" wouldn''t serve a second 
 time over with them. Being at the end of my 
 invention^ I said !Mr. Franklin^s arrival by the 
 early train was entirely attributable to one of ^Ir. 
 Franklin-'s freaks. Being asked^ upon that^ whether 
 his galloping off again on horseback was another 
 of Mr. Franklin^s freaks^ I said^ " Yes, it was /' 
 and slipped out of it — I think very cleverly — in 
 that way. 
 
 Having got over my difficulties with the ladies, 
 I found more difficulties waiting for me when I 
 went back to my own room. In came Penelope — 
 with the natural sweetness of women — to kiss 
 and make it up again ; and — with the natural 
 <;uriosity of women — to ask another question. 
 This time, she only wanted me to tell her what 
 was the matter with our second housemaid, Kosanua 
 Spearman. 
 
 After leaving ^Ir. Franklin and me at the Shiver- 
 ing Sand, Bosanna, it appeared, had returned to the
 
 90 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 house in a very unaccountable state of mind. She 
 had turned (if Penelope was to be believed) all the 
 colours of the rainbow. She had been merry with- 
 out reason^ and sad without reason. In one breath 
 she asked hundreds of questions about Mr. Franklin 
 Blake^and in another breath she had been angry with 
 Penelope for presuming to suppose that a strange 
 gentleman could possess any interest for her. She had 
 been surprised, smiling, and scribbling Mr. Frank- 
 lin^s name inside her workbox. She had been sur- 
 prised again, crying and looking at her deformed 
 shoulder in the glass. Had she and Mr. Franklin 
 known anything of each other before to-day ? 
 Quite impossible ! Had they heard anything 
 of each other ? Impossible again ! I could 
 speak to Mr. Franklin^s astonishment as genuine, 
 when he saw how ihe girl stared at him. Penelope 
 could speak to the girFs inquisitiveness as genuine, 
 when she asked questions about Mr. Franklin. 
 The conference between us, conducted in this way, 
 was tiresome enough, until my daughter suddenly 
 ended it by bursting out with what I thought the most 
 monstrous supposition I had ever heard in my life. 
 " Father V says Penelope, quite seriously, 
 "there's only one explanation of it. Rosanna has 
 fallen in love with Mr. Franklin Blake at first 
 sight V'
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 91 
 
 You have heard of beautiful young ladies falling 
 in love at first sight, and have thought it natural 
 enough. But a housemaid out of a Reformatory _, 
 with a plain face and a deformed shoulder, falling in 
 love, at first sight, with a gentleman who comes on 
 a visit to her mistresses house, match me that, in 
 the way of an absurdity, out of any story book in 
 Christendom, if you can ! I laughed till the tears 
 rolled down my cheeks. Penelope resented my 
 merriment, in rather a strange way. " I never 
 knew you cruel before, father,'^ she said, very 
 gently, and went out. 
 
 My girFs words fell upon me like a sj)lash of 
 cold water. I was savage Avith myself, for feeling 
 uneasy in myself the moment she had spoken them — 
 but so it was. We will change the subject, if you 
 please. I am sorry I drifted into writing about 
 it ; and not without reason, as you Avill see when 
 we have gone on together a little longer. 
 
 The evening came, and the dressing-bell for din- 
 ner rang, before Mr. Fi'anklin returned from Friz- 
 inghall. I took his hot water up to his room my- 
 self, expecting to hear, after this extraordinary 
 delay, that something had happened. To my great 
 disappointment (and no doubt to yours also), nothing 
 had happened. He had not met with the Indians,
 
 92 THE MOO?s STONE. 
 
 -either going or returning. He had deposited the 
 Moonstone in the bank — describing it merely as 
 a valuable of gi-eat price — and lie had got the re- 
 ceipt for it safe in his pocket. I Avent down-stairs, 
 feeling that this "was rather a flat endings, after all 
 our excitement about the Diamond earlier in the 
 day. 
 
 How the meeting between Mr. Franklin and his 
 aunt and cousin went off, is more than I can tell 
 you. 
 
 I would have given something to have waited at 
 table that day. But, in my position in the 
 household, waiting at dinner fexcept on high family 
 festivals) was letting down my dignity in the eyes 
 of the other servants — a thing which my lady con- 
 sidered me quite prone enough to do already, Avithout 
 •seeking occasions for it. The news brought to me 
 from the upper regions, that evening, came from 
 Penelope and the footman. Penelope mentioned 
 that she had never known Miss Rachel so particular 
 about the dressing of her hair, and had never seen her 
 Jook so bright and pretty as she did when she went 
 down to meet Mr. Franklin in tlie drawing-room. 
 The footman^s report was, that the preservation of 
 a respectful composure in the presence of his betters, 
 and the waiting on Mr. Franklin Blake at dinner, 
 were two of the hardest things to reconcile with
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 93- 
 
 each other that had ever tried his training in ser- 
 vice. Later in the evening, vre heard them singing 
 and playing duets, Mr. Franklin piping high. Miss 
 Rachel piping higher, and my lady, on the piano, 
 following them, as it were, over hedge and ditcli^ 
 and seeing them safe through it in a manner most 
 wonderful and pleasant to hear through the open 
 windows, on the terrace at night. Later still, I 
 went to Mr. Franklin in the smoking-room, with 
 the soda-water and brandy, and found that Miss 
 Rachel had put the Diamond clean out of his head. 
 " She^s the most charming girl I have seen since I 
 came back to England V was all I could extract 
 from him, when I endeavoured to lead the conver- 
 sation to more serious things. 
 
 Towards midnight, I went round the house to 
 lock up, accompanied by my second in command 
 (Samuel, the footman), as usual. When all the 
 doors were made fast, except the side door that 
 opened on the terrace, I sent Samuel to berl, and 
 stepped out for a breath of fresh air before I too 
 went to bed in my turn. 
 
 The night was still and close, and the moon Avas 
 at the full in the heavens. It was so silent out of 
 doors, that I heard from time to time, very faint 
 and low, the fall of the sea, as the ground swell 
 heaved it in on tlic sand-bank near the mouth of our
 
 "04 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 little bay. As the house stood, the terrace side 
 was the dark side ; but the broad moonlight showed 
 fair on the gravel walk that ran along the next side 
 to the terrace. Looking this way, after looking up 
 at the sky, I saw the shadow of a person in the 
 moonlight thrown forward from behind the corner 
 of the house. 
 
 Being old and sly, I forbore to call out ; but, 
 being also, unfortunately, old and heavy, my feet 
 tbetrayed me on the gravel. Before I could steal 
 suddenly round the corner, as I had proposed, I 
 heard lighter feet than mine — and more than one 
 pair of them, as I thought — retreating in a hurry. 
 By the time I had got to the corner, the trespassers, 
 whoever they were, had run into the shrubbery at the 
 ■off side of the walk, and were hidden from sight 
 among the thick trees and bushes in that part of 
 the grounds. From the shrubbery, they could easily 
 make their way, over our fence, into the road. If 
 I had been forty years younger, I might have had a 
 chance of catching them before they got clear of 
 our premises. As it was, I went back to set a-going 
 a younger pair of legs than mine. Without 
 disturbing anybody, Samuel and I got a couple of 
 guns, and went all round the house and through the 
 shrubbery. Having made sure that no persons were 
 lurking about any where in our grounds, we turned
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 95 
 
 T)ack. Passing over the Tvalk where I had seen the 
 shadow_, I now noticed,, for the first time, a little 
 bright object, lying on the clean gravel, nnder 
 the light of the moon. Picking the object up, 
 I discovered that it was a small bottle, containing a 
 thick swcct-smelling liquor, as black as ink. 
 
 I said nothing to Samuel. But, remembering 
 what Penelope had told me about the jugglers, and 
 the pouring of the little pool of ink into the palm 
 of the boy^s hand, I instantly suspected that I had 
 disturbed the three Indians, lurking about the 
 house, and bent, in their heathenish way, on dis- 
 covering the whereabouts of the Diamond that 
 night.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 ERE;, for one moment, I find it necessary to 
 ^1 call a halt. 
 
 On summoning np my OTvn recollections — and on 
 getting Penelope to help me, by consulting her 
 journal — I find that ^Ye may pass pretty rapidly 
 over the interval between Mr. Franklin Blake^s 
 arrival and Miss RachePs birthday. For the 
 greater part of that time the days passed, and 
 brought nothing with them worth recording. With 
 your good leave, then, and with Penelope's help, I 
 shall notice certain dates only in this place ; reserv- 
 ing to myself to tell the story day by day, once 
 more, as soon as we get to the time when the busi- 
 ness of the Moonstone became the chief business of 
 everybody in our house. 
 
 This said, we may now go on again — beginning, 
 of course, with the bottle of sweet- smelling ink 
 which I found on the gi'avel walk at night.
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 97 
 
 On the next morning (the morning of the twenty- 
 «ixth) I showed Mr. Franklin this article of jugglery, 
 and told him what I have already told you. His 
 opinion was, not only that the Indians had been 
 lurking about after the Diamond, but also that they 
 were actually foolish enough to believe in their own 
 magic — meaning thereby the making of signs on a 
 boy^s head, and the pouring of ink into a boy^s 
 hand, and then expecting him to see persons and 
 things beyond the reach of human vision. In our 
 country, as well as in the East, Mr. Franklin in- 
 formed me, there are people who practise this cu- 
 rious hocus-pocus (without the ink, however) ; and 
 who call it by a French name, signifying something 
 like brightness of sight. " Depend upon it," says 
 Mr. Franklin, " the Indians took it for granted 
 that we should keep the Diamond here : and they 
 brought their clairvoyant boy to show them the 
 way to it, if they succeeded in getting into the 
 house last night."'' 
 
 " Do you think theyll try again, sir ?" I 
 asked. 
 
 " It depends,"" says Mr. Franklin, " on what the 
 boy can really do. If he can see the Diamond 
 through the iron- safe of the bank at Friz ingh all, 
 we shall be troubled with no more visits from the 
 Indians for the present. If he can"t, we shall have 
 
 VOL. I H
 
 9S THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 another chance of catching them in the shrubben% 
 before many more nights are over our heads/^ 
 
 I waited pretty confidently for that latter chance ; 
 butj strange to relate^ it never came. 
 
 Whether the jugglers heard, in the town_, of 
 Mr. Franklin having been seen at the bank_, and 
 drew their conclusions accordingly ; or whether the 
 boy really did see the Diamond where the Diamond 
 was now lodged (which I^ for one, flatly disbelieve) ; 
 or whether, after all, it was a mere effect of chance, 
 this at any rate is the plain truth — not the ghost of 
 an Indian came near the house again, through the 
 wxeks that passed before Miss Rachel's birthday.. 
 The jugglers remained in and about the town plying 
 their trade; and Mr. Franklin and I remained 
 waiting to see what might happen, and resolute not 
 to put the rogues on their guard by showing our 
 suspicions of them too soon. With this report of 
 the proceedings on either side, ends all that I have 
 to say about the Indians for the present. 
 
 On the twenty-ninth of the month. Miss Rachel 
 and Mr. Franklin hit on a new method of working 
 their way together through the time which might 
 otherwise have hung heavy on their hands. There 
 are reasons for taking particular notice here of 
 the occupation that amused them. You will
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 99 
 
 find it has a bearing on something that is still to 
 come. 
 
 Gentlefolks in general have a very awkward rock 
 ahead in life — the rock ahead of theii' own idleness. 
 Their lives being, for the most part^ passed in look- 
 ing about them for something to do^ it is curious to 
 see — especially when their tastes are of what is 
 called the intellectual sort — how often they drift 
 blindfold into some nasty pui'suit. Nine times 
 out of ten they take to torturing somethings or to 
 spoiling something — and they firmly believe they 
 are improving their minds,, when the j)lain truth is, 
 they are only making a mess in the house. I have 
 seen them (ladies, I am sorry to say, as well as 
 gentlemen) go out, day after day, for example, with 
 empty pill-boxes, and catch newts, and beetles, and 
 spiders, and frogs, and come home and stick pins 
 through the miserable wretches, or cut them up, 
 without a pang of remorse, into little pieces. 
 You see my young master, or my young mistress, 
 poring over one of their spiders' insides with a 
 magnifying-glass ; or you meet one of theii' frogs 
 walking down-stau's without his head — and when 
 yoii wonder what this cruel nastiness means, you are 
 told that it means a taste in my young master or 
 my young mistress for natm'al histoiy. Sometimes, 
 again, you see them occupied for houi-s together in 
 
 H 2
 
 100 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 spoiling a pretty flower with pointed instruments, 
 ont of a stupid curiosity to know what the flower 
 is made of. Is its colour any prettier, or its scent 
 any sweeter, when you do know ? But there ! the 
 poor souls must get through the time, you see — 
 they must get through the time. You dabbled 
 in nasty mud, and made pies, when you were a 
 child ; and 3- ou dabble in nasty science, and dissect 
 spiders, and spoil flowers, when you gi'ow up. In 
 the one case and in the other, the secret of it is, 
 that you have got nothing to think of in your poor 
 empty head, and nothing to do with your poor idle 
 hands. And so it ends in your spoiling canvas with 
 paints, and making a smell in the house ; or in 
 keeping tadpoles in a glass box full of dirty w^ater, 
 and turning everybody's stomach in the house ; or 
 in chipping off bits of stone here, there, and every- 
 where, and dropping gint into all the victuals in 
 the house ; or in staining your fingers in the pur- 
 suit of photography, and doing justice without 
 mercy on everybody's face in the house. It often 
 falls heavy enough, no doubt, on people who are 
 really obliged to get their living, to be forced to 
 work for the clothes that cover them, the roof that 
 shelters them, and the food that keeps them going. 
 But compare the hardest day's work you ever did 
 with the idleness that splits flowers and pokes its
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 101 
 
 way into spiders^ stomaclis^ and thank your stars 
 that your head has got something it must think of, 
 and your hands something that they must do. 
 
 As for Mr. Franklin and Miss Rachel, they tortured 
 nothing, I am glad to say. They simply confined 
 themselves to making a mess; and all they spoilt, 
 to do them justice, was the panelling of a door. 
 
 ^Ir. Franklin^s universal ganius, dabbling in 
 everything, dabbled in what he called " decorative 
 painting."'' He had invented, he informed us, a 
 new mixture to moisten paint with, which he de- 
 scribed as a " vehicle."" "What it was made of, I 
 don^t know. "What it did, I can tell you in two 
 words — it stank. Miss Rachel being wild to try 
 her hand at the new process, Mr. Franklin sent to 
 London for the materials; mixed them up, with 
 accompaniment of a smell which made the very dogs^ 
 sneeze when they came into the room ; put an 
 apron and a bib over Miss RacheFs gown, and set 
 her to work decorating her own little sitting-room 
 — called, for want of English to name it in, her 
 "boudoir/" They began with the inside of the 
 door. Mr. Franklin scraped oft' all the nice varnish 
 with pumice stone, and made what he described as 
 a surface to work on. Miss Rachel then covered 
 the surface, under his directions and with his help, 
 with patterns and devices — griffins, birds, flowers^
 
 102 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 cupids^ and sucli like — copied from designs made 
 ])y a famous Italian painter, whose name escapes 
 me : the onC;, I mean^ -who stocked the world with 
 Virgin Maries^ and had a sweetheart at the baker^s. 
 Viewed as work_, this decoration was slow to do^ and 
 dirty to deal with. But our young lady and gentle- 
 man never seemed to tire of it. When they were 
 not riding, or seeing company^ or taking their 
 meals^ or piping their songs^ there they were with 
 their heads together, as busy as bees^ spoiling the 
 door. Who was the poet vvho said that Satan finds 
 some mischief still for idle hands to do ? If he had 
 occup)ied my place in the family^ and had seen 
 Miss Rachel with her brush_, and !Mr. Franklin with 
 his vehicle^ he could have written nothing truer of 
 either of them than that. 
 
 The next date worthy of notice is Svmday the 
 fourth of June. 
 
 On that evening we^, in the servants^ hall_, debated 
 a domestic question for the first time, which, like 
 the decoration of the door_, has its bearing on some- 
 thing that is still to come. 
 
 Seeing the pleasure which Mr. Franklin and 
 Miss Rachel took in each other''s society _, and 
 noting what a pretty match they were in all per- 
 sonal respects^ we naturally speculated on the chance
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 103 
 
 of their putting tlieir heads together with other 
 objects in view besides the ornamenting of a door. 
 Some of us said there would be a wedding in the 
 house before the summer was over. Others (led by 
 me) admitted it was likely enough [Miss Rachel 
 might be married; but we doubted (for reasons 
 which will presently appear) whether her bridegi'oom 
 would be Mr. Franklin Blake. 
 
 That ]Mr. Franklin was in love, on his side, 
 nobody who saw and heard him could doubt. The 
 difficulty was to fathom Miss Rachel. Let me do 
 myself the honour of making you acquainted with 
 her ; after which, I will leave you to fathom her 
 yourself — if you can. 
 
 My young lady^s eighteenth birthday was the 
 birthday now coming, on the twenty-first of June. 
 If you happen to like dark women (who, I am 
 informed, have gone out of fashion latterly in the 
 gay world), and if you have no particular prejudice 
 in favour of size, I answer for Miss Rachel as one 
 of the prettiest girls your eyes ever looked on. 
 She was small and slim, but all in fine proportion 
 from top to toe. To see her sit down, to see her 
 get up, and specially to see her walk, was enough 
 to satisfy any man in his senses that the graces of 
 her figure (if joii will pardon me the expression) 
 were in her flesh and not in her clothes. Her hair
 
 104 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 Tvas the blackest I ever sa^y. Her eyes matched 
 her hair. Her nose was not quite large enough, I 
 admit. Her mouth and chin were (to quote Mr. 
 Franklin) morsels for the gods ; and her complexion? 
 (on the same undeniable authority) was as warm as 
 the sun itself, with this great advantage over the 
 sun, that it was always in nice order to look at. 
 Add to the foregoing that she carried her head as 
 upright as a dart, in a dashing, spirited, thorough- 
 bred way — that she had a clear voice, with a ring 
 of the right metal in it, and a smile that began 
 very prettily in her eyes before it got to her lips — 
 and there behold the portrait of her, to the best of 
 my painting, as large as life ! 
 
 And what about her disposition next ? Had this 
 charming creature no faults ? She had just as many 
 faults as you have, ma'am — neither more nor less. 
 
 To put it seriously, my dear pretty Miss Eachel, 
 possessing a host of graces and attractions, had one 
 defect, which strict impartiality compels me to 
 acknowledge. She was unlike most other girls of 
 her age, in this — that she had ideas of her own, and 
 was stiff-necked enough to set the fashions them- 
 selves at defiance, if the fashions didn't suit her views. 
 In trifles, this independence of hers was all well 
 enough; but in matters of importance, it carried her 
 (as my lady thought, and as I thought) too far. She-
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 105- 
 
 judgedfor herself, as few women of twice her age judge 
 ill general ; never asked your advice ; never told you 
 beforehand what she was going to do ; never came 
 with secrets and confidences to anybody,, from her- 
 mother downwards. In little things and great^ 
 with people she loved, and people she hated (and she 
 did both with equal heartiness). Miss Rachel always 
 went on a way of her own, sufficient for herself in 
 the joys and sorrows of her life. Over and over 
 again I have heard my lady say, " Rachers best 
 friend and E-acheFs worst enemy are, one and the 
 other — Rachel herself" 
 
 Add one thing more to this, and I have done. 
 
 With all her secresy, and self-Avill, there was not 
 so much as the shadow of anything false in her. I 
 never remember her breaking her word ; I never 
 remember her saying No, and meaning Yes. I 
 can call to mind, in her childhood, more than one 
 occasion when the good little soul took the blame, 
 and suffered the punishment, for some fault com- 
 mitted by a playfellow whom she loved. Nobody 
 ever knew her to confess to it, when the thing was 
 found out, and she was charged with it afterwards. 
 But nobody ever knew her to lie about it, either. 
 She looked you straight in the face, and shook her 
 little saucy head, and said plainly, " I won't tell you V' 
 Punished again for this, she would own to being
 
 106 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 sorry for saying " won't -," but, bread and water 
 notwithstanding, she never told yon. Self-willed 
 — devilish self-willed sometimes — I grant ; but the 
 finest creature, nevertheless, that ever walked the 
 Avays of this lower world. Perhaps you think you 
 see a certain contradiction here? In that case, a 
 word in your ear. Study your wife closely, for 
 the next four-and-twenty hours. If your good lady 
 doesn't exhibit something in the shape of a contra- 
 diction in that time. Heaven help you ! — you have 
 married a monster. 
 
 I have now brought you acquainted with Miss 
 Rachel, which you will find puts us face to face, 
 next, with the question of that young lady's matri- 
 monial views. 
 
 On June the twelfth, an invitation from my 
 mistress w^as sent to a gentleman in London, to 
 come and help to keep Miss Rachel's birthday. 
 This was the fortunate individual on whom I 
 believed her heart to be privately set ! Like Mr. 
 Franklin, he was a cousin of hers. His name was 
 Mr. Godfi-ey Ablewhite. 
 
 My lady's second sister (don't be alarmed ; we are 
 not going very deep into family matters this time) — 
 my lady's second sister, I say, had a disappointment 
 in love; and taking a husband afterwards, on the
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 107 
 
 neck or nothing principle, made what they call a 
 misalliance. There was terrible work in the family 
 when the Hononi-able Caroline insisted on marrying 
 plain Mr. Able white, the banker at Frizinghall. 
 He was very rich and very respectable, and he 
 begot a prodigious large family — all in his favour, 
 so far. But he had presumed to raise himself from 
 a low station in the world — and that was against 
 him. However, Time and the progress of modern 
 enlightenment put things right ; and the misalliance 
 passed muster very well. We are all getting liberal 
 now ; and (provided you can scratch me, if I scratch 
 you) what do I care, in or out of Parliament^ 
 whether you are a Dustman or a Duke ? That^s the 
 modern way of looking at it — and I keep up with 
 the modern way. The Ablewhites lived in a fine 
 house and grounds, a little out of Frizinghall. 
 Very worthy people, and greatly respected in the 
 neighbourhood. We shall not be much troubled 
 with them in these pages — excepting ^Ir. Godfrey, 
 who was Mr. Ablewhite^s second son, and who 
 must take his proper place here, if you please, for 
 Miss RacheFs sake. 
 
 With all his brightness and cleverness and general 
 good quahties, Mr. Franklin''s chance of topping 
 I\Ir. Godfrey in our young lady's estimation was, in 
 my opinion, a very poor chance indeed.
 
 108 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 In the first place, Mr. Godfrey was, in point of 
 size, the finest man by far of the two. He stood 
 over six feet high ; he had a beautiful red and 
 white colour; a smooth round face, shaved as 
 bare as your hand ; and a head of lovely long flaxen 
 hair, falling negligently over the poll of his neck. 
 But Avhy do I try to give you this personal descrip- 
 tion of him ? If you ever subscribed to a Ladies' 
 Charity in London, you know Mr. Godfrey Able- 
 white as well as I do. He was a barrister by pro- 
 fession ; a ladies^ man by temperament ; and a good 
 Samaritan by choice. Female benevolence and 
 female destitution could do nothing without him. 
 Maternal societies for confining poor women ; Mag- 
 dalen societies for rescuing poor women ; strong- 
 minded societies for putting poor women into poor 
 men's places, and leaving the men to shift for them- 
 selves ; — he was A-ice-president, manager, referee to 
 them all. Wherever there was a table with a com- 
 mittee of ladies sitting round it in council, there 
 was Mr. Godfrey at the bottom of the board, keep- 
 ing the temper of the committee, and leading the 
 dear creatures along the thorny ways of business, 
 hat in hand. I do suppose this was the most ac- 
 complished philanthropist (on a small independence) 
 that England ever produced. As a speaker at cha- 
 ritable meetings the like of him for drawing your
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 109 
 
 tears and your money was not easy to find. He 
 was quite a public character. The last time I 
 was in London^ my mistress gave me two treats. 
 She sent me to the theatre to see a dancing woman 
 who was all the rage ; and she sent me to Exeter 
 Hall to hear Mr. Godfrey. The lady did it, with 
 a band of music. The gentleman did it, with a 
 handkerchief and a glass of water. Crowds at the 
 performance with the legs. Ditto at the perform- 
 ance with the tongue. And with all this, the 
 sweetest-tempered person (I allude to Mr. Godfrey) 
 — the simplest and pleasantest and easiest to please 
 — you ever met with. He loved everybody. And 
 everybody loved him. What chance had Mr. Franklin 
 — what chance had anybody of average reputation 
 and capacities — against such a man as this ? 
 
 On the fourteenth, came i\Ir. Godfrey's answer. 
 
 He accepted my mistress's invitation, from the 
 Wednesday of the birthday to the evening of 
 Friday — when his duties to the Ladies^ Charities 
 would oblige him to return to town. He also en- 
 closed a copy of verses on what he elegantly called 
 his cousin^s '^ natal day." Miss Rachel, I was in- 
 formed, joined Mr. Franklin in making fun of the 
 verses at dinner; and Penelope, who was all on 
 Mr. Franklin^s side, asked me, in great triumph.
 
 110 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 ^vliat I thought of that. " Miss Rachel has led 
 you off on a false scent_, my dear/^ I replied ; " but 
 my nose is not so easily mystified. Wait till Mr. 
 Ablewhite^s verses are followed by Mr. Ablewhite 
 himself.'^ 
 
 My daughter replied^ that Mr. Franklin might 
 strike in^ and try his luck^ before the verses were 
 followed by the poet. In favour of this view^ I 
 must acknowledge that Mr. Franklin left no chance 
 untried of winning Miss RacheFs good graces. 
 
 Though one of the most inveterate smokers I 
 ever met with^ he gave up his cigar^ because she 
 said^ one day^ she hated the stale smell of it in his 
 clothes. He slept so badly, after this effort of 
 self-denial, for want of the composing effect of the 
 tobacco to which he was used, and came down 
 morning after morning looking so haggard and 
 worn, that Miss Rachel herself begged him to take 
 to his cigars again. No ! he would take to nothing 
 again that could cause her a moment^s annoyance ; 
 he would fight it out resolutely, and get back his 
 sleep, sooner or later, by main force of patience in 
 waiting for it. Such devotign as this, you may say 
 (as some of them said down- stairs), could never fail 
 of producing the right effect on Miss Rachel — 
 backed up, too, as it was, by the decorating work 
 every day on the door. All very well — but she
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 11] 
 
 had a photograph of Mr. Godfrey in her bed-room ;, 
 represented speaking at a public meeting, with all 
 his hair blown out by the breath of his own 
 eloquence,, and his eyes^ most lovely^ charming the 
 money out of your pockets. What do you say to 
 that ? Every morning — as Penelope herself owned 
 to me — there was the man whom the women couldn^t 
 do without^ looking on, in effigy;, while Miss Rachel 
 was having her hair combed. He would be look- 
 ing on^ in reality^ before long — that was my opinion, 
 of it. 
 
 June the sixteenth brought an event which made 
 Mr. Franklin^s chance look, to my mind, a worse 
 chance than ever. 
 
 A strange gentleman, speaking English with a 
 foreign accent^ came that morning to the house, and 
 asked to see Mr. Franklin Blake on business. The 
 business could not possibly have been connected 
 with the Diamond, for these two reasons — first, that 
 ]Mr. Franklin told me nothing about it ; secondly, 
 that he communicated it (when the gentleman 
 had gone, as I suppose) to my lady. She pro- 
 bably hinted something about it next to her daugh- 
 ter. At any rate. Miss Rachel Avas reported to 
 have said some severe things to Mr. Fi'anklin, at 
 the piano that evening, about the people he had
 
 112 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 lived among, and the principles he had adopted in 
 foreign parts. The next day, for the first time, 
 nothing was done towards the decoration of the 
 door. I suspect some imprudence of Mr. Franklin^s 
 on the Continent — with a woman or a debt at the 
 bottom of it — had followed him to England. But 
 that is all guesswork. In this case, not only Mr. 
 Franklin, but my lady too, for a wonder, left me 
 in the dark. 
 
 On the seventeenth, to all appearance, the cloud 
 passed away again. They returned to the] 
 rating work on the door, and seemed to be 
 friends as ever. If Penelope was to be believed, Mr. 
 Franklin had seized the opportunity of the recon- 
 ciliation to make an offer to Miss Rachel, and had 
 neither been accepted nor refused. My girl was 
 sure (from signs and tokens which I need not 
 trouble you with) that her young mistress had 
 fought Mr. Franklin off by declining to believe that he 
 was in earnest, and had then secretly regretted treat- 
 ing him in that way afterwards. Though Penelope 
 was admitted to more familiarity with her young 
 mistress than maids generally are — for the two had 
 been almost brought up together as children — still 
 I knew ^liss RacheFs reserved character too well 
 to believe that she would show her mind to anybody
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 113' 
 
 in this way. What my daughter told me^ ou the 
 present occasion, was, as I suspected, more what 
 she wished than what she really knew. 
 
 On the nineteentli another event happened. 
 We had the doctor in the house professionally. 
 He was summoned to prescribe for a person whom 
 I have had occasion to present to you in these 
 pages — our second housemaid, Rosanna Spearman. 
 
 This poor girl — who had puzzled me, as you know 
 ah'eady, at the Shivering Sand — puzzled me more 
 *" :"n once again, in the interval time of which I 
 now writing. Penelope^s notion that her fellow- 
 servant was in love with ]Mr. Franklin (which my 
 daughter, by my orders, kept strictly secret) seemed 
 to me just as absurd as ever. But I must own 
 that what I myself saw, and what my daughter saw 
 / also, of our second housemaid^s conduct began to 
 look mysterious, to say the least of it. 
 
 For example, the girl constantly put herself in 
 Mr. Franklin's way — very slyly and quietly, but 
 she did it. He took about as much notice of her 
 as he took of the cat : it never seemed to occur to 
 him to waste a look on Rosanna^s plain face. The 
 poor thing's appetite, never much, fell away dread- 
 fully ; and her eyes in the morning showed plain 
 signs of waking and crying at night. One day 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 Penelope made an awkward discovery, which we 
 hushed up ou the spot. She caught Rosanna at Mr. 
 Franklin^s dressing table, secretly removing a rose 
 which Miss Rachel had given him to wear in his 
 button-hole, and putting another rose like it, of her 
 own picking, in its place. She was, after that, once 
 or twice impudent to me, when I gave her a well- 
 meant general hint to he careful in her conduct ; 
 and, worse still, she was not over-respectful now, 
 on the few occasions when Miss Rachel accident- 
 ally spoke to her. 
 
 My lady noticed the change, and asked me what 
 I thought about it. I tried to screen the girl by 
 answering that I thought she was out of health; 
 and it ended in the doctor being sent for, as already 
 mentioned, on the nineteenth. He said it was her 
 nerves, and doubted if she was fit for service. My 
 lady offered to remove her for change of air to one 
 of our farms, inland. She begged and prayed, Avith 
 the tears in her eyes, to be let to stop ; and, in an 
 evil hour, I advised my lady to try her for a little 
 longer. As the event proved, and as you will soon 
 see, this was the worst advice I could have given. 
 If I could only have looked a little way into the 
 future, I would have taken Rosanna Spearman out 
 •of the house, then and there.. v,'ith my own hand. 
 
 On the twentieth, there came a note from Mr.
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 115 
 
 Godfrey. He had arranged to stop at Frizinghall 
 that night, having occasion to consult his father on 
 business. On the afternoon of the next day, he 
 and his two eldest sisters would ride over to us on 
 horseback, in good time before dinner. An elegant 
 little casket in china accompanied the note, pre- 
 sented to Miss Rachel, with her cousin^s love and 
 best wishes. Mr. Franklin had only given her a 
 plain locket not worth half the money. My daughter 
 Penelope, nevertheless — such is the obstinacy of 
 women — still backed him to win. 
 
 Thanks be to Heaven, we have arrived at the 
 eve of the birthday at last ! You will own, I think, 
 that I have got you over the ground, this rime, 
 without much loitering by the way. Cheer up ! 
 I''ll ease you with another new chapter here — and, 
 what is more, that chapter shall take you straight 
 into the thick of the sturv.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 UNE twenty-first^ the day of the birthday, 
 was cloudy and unsettled at sunrise, but 
 towards noon it cleared up bravely. 
 
 We, in the servants^ hall, began this happy anni- 
 versary, as usual, by offering our little presents to 
 Miss Rachel, with the regular speech delivered 
 annually by me as the chief. I follow the plan 
 adopted by the Queen in opening Parliament — 
 namely, the plan of saying much the same thing 
 regularly every year. Before it is delivered, my 
 speech (like the Queen^s) is looked for as eagerly as 
 if nothing of the kind had ever been heard before. 
 When it is delivered, and turns out not to be the 
 novelty anticipated, though they grumble a little, 
 they look forward hopefully to something newer 
 next year. An easy people to govern, in the Par- 
 liament and in the Kitchen — that's the moral of it. 
 
 After breakfast, INIr. Eranklin and I had a private
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 117 
 
 <'onference on the subject of the Moonstone — the 
 time having now come for removing it from the 
 bank at Frizinghall, and placing it in Miss RacheFs 
 own hands. 
 
 Whether lie had been trying to make love to his 
 cousin again, and had got a rebuff — or whether his 
 broken rest, night after night, was aggravating the 
 queer contradictions and uncertainties in his cha- 
 racter — I don^t know. But certain it is, that Mr. 
 Franklin failed to show himself at his best on the 
 morning of the birthday. He was in twenty dif- 
 ferent minds about the Diamond in as many 
 minutes. For my part, I stuck fast by the plain 
 facts as we knew them. Nothing had happened to 
 justify us in alarming my lady on the subject of the 
 jewel ; and nothing could alter the legal obligation 
 that now lay on ^Ir. Franlvlin ' to put it in his 
 /cousin's possession. That was my ^dew of the 
 matter; and, twist and turn it as he might, he was 
 forced in the end to make it his ^-iew too. We 
 arranged that he was to ride over, after lunch, to 
 Frizinghall, and bring the Diamond back, "«ith Mr. 
 Godfrey and the two young ladies, in all proba- 
 bility, to keep him company on the way home again. 
 
 This settled, our young gentleman went back to 
 Miss Rachel. 
 
 They consumed the whole morning, and part of
 
 118 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 the afternoon^ in the everlasting business of deco- 
 rating the door, Penelope standing by to mix the 
 colours, as directed ; and my lady, as luncheon time 
 drew near, going in and out of the room, with her 
 handkerchief to her nose (for they used a deal of 
 Mr. rranklin''s vehicle that day), and trying vainly 
 to get the two artists away from their work. It 
 was three o'clock before the}^ took oflP their aprons,, 
 and released Penelope (much the worse for the 
 vehicle), and cleaned themselves of their mess. 
 But they had done what they wanted — they had 
 finished the door on the birthday, and proud enough 
 they were of it. The griffins, cupids, and so on_^ 
 were, I must own, most beautiful to behold ; though 
 so many in number, so entangled in flowers and 
 devices, and so topsy-turvy in their actions and 
 attitudes, that you felt them unpleasantly in your 
 head for hours after you had done with the pleasure 
 of looking at them. If I add that Penelope ended 
 her part of the morning^s work by being sick in 
 the back kitchen, it is in no unfriendly spirit 
 towards the vehicle. No ! no ! It left off stinking 
 when it dried ; and if Art requires these sort of 
 sacrifices — though the girl is my own daughter — I 
 say, let Art have them ! 
 
 Mr. Franklin snatched a morsel from the luncheon 
 table, and rode ofi" to Frizinghall — to escort his
 
 THE MOONSTONE. JJV 
 
 cousins, as he told my lady. To fetch the Moon- 
 stone, as was privately known to himself and to me. 
 
 This being one of the high festivals on w^hich I 
 took my place at the side-board, in command of the 
 attendance at table, I had plenty to occupy my 
 mind while Mr. Franklin was away. Having seen 
 to the wine, and reviewed my men and women wha 
 wore to wait at dinner, I retired to collect myself 
 before the company came. A whiflF of — you know 
 what, and a turn at a certain book which I have 
 had occasion to mention in these pages, composed 
 me, body and mind. I was aroused from what I 
 am inclined to think must have been, not a nap, 
 but a reverie, by the clatter of horses^ hoofs outside ; 
 and, going to the door, receivea a cavalcade com- 
 prising Mr. Franklin and his three cousins, escorted 
 by one of old Mr. Ablewhite^s grooms. 
 
 Mr. Godfrey struck mc, strangely enough, as. 
 being like Mr. Franklin in this respect — that he 
 did not seem to be in his customary spirits. He 
 kindly shook hands with me as usual, and was most 
 politely glad to see his old friend Betteredge wearing 
 so well. But there was a sort of cloud over him, 
 which I couldn't at all account for ; and when I 
 asked how he had found his father in health, he 
 answered rather shortly, " Much as usual. ^^ How- 
 ever, the two Miss Ablewhites were cheerful enough
 
 m 
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 for twenty, which more than restored the balance. 
 They were nearly as big as their brother ; spanking, 
 yellow-haired, rosy lasses, overflowing with super- 
 abundant flesh and blood; bursting from head to 
 foot with health and spirits. The legs of the poor 
 horses trembled with carrying them; and when 
 they jumped from their saddles (without waiting to 
 be helped), I declare they bounced on the ground 
 tas if they were made of india-rubber. Everything 
 the ^liss Ablewhites said began with a large O ; 
 everything they did was done with a bang ; and 
 they giggled and screamed, in season and out of 
 season, on the smallest provocation. Bouncers — 
 that^s what I call them. 
 
 Under cover of the noise made by the young 
 iadies, I had an opportunity of saying a private 
 word to Mr. Franklin in the hall. 
 
 " Have you got the Diamond safe, sir?^^ 
 He nodded, and tapped the breast-pocket of his 
 'Coat. 
 
 " Have you seen anything of the Indians ?'^ 
 "Not a glimpse.^'' With that answer, he asked 
 for my lady, and, hearing she was in the small 
 drawing-room, went there straight. The bell rang, 
 before he had been a minute in the room, and Pene- 
 lope was sent to tell Miss K-achel that Mr. Franklin 
 Blake wanted to speak to her.
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 121 
 
 Crossing the hall^ about half an hour afterwards, 
 I was brought to a sudden standstill by an outbreak 
 of screams from the small drawing-room. I can^t 
 ?ay I was at all alarmed; for I recognised in the 
 screams the favourite large O of the Miss Able- 
 whites. However, I went in (on pretence of asking 
 for instructions about the dinner) to discover 
 whether anything serious had really happened. 
 
 There stood Miss Rachel at the table, like a 
 person fascinated, with theColoneFs unlucky Diamond 
 in her hand. There, on either side of her, knelt 
 the two Bouncers, devouring the jewel with theii* 
 eyes, and screaming with exstacy every time it 
 flashed on them in a new light. There, at the 
 /Dpposite side of the table, stood Mr. Godfrey, clap- 
 ping his hands like a large child, and singing out 
 softly, '' Exquisite ! exquisite V^ There sat Mr. 
 Franklin, in a chaii' by the bookcase, tugging at 
 his beard, and looking anxiously towards the window. 
 And there, at the window, stood the object he was 
 -contemplating — my lady, having the extract from 
 the ColoneFs Will in her hand, and keeping her 
 back turned on the whole of the company. 
 
 She faced me, when I asked for my instructions ; 
 and I saw the family frown gathering over her eyes, 
 and the family temper twitching at the corners of 
 her mouth.
 
 122 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 " Come to my room in half an hour/^ she answered. 
 " I shall have something to say to you then/'' 
 
 With those words^ she went ont. It was plain 
 enough that she was posed by the same difficulty 
 which had posed Mr. Franklin and me in our con- 
 ference at the Shivering Sand. Was the legacy of 
 the Moonstone a proof that she had treated her 
 brother with cruel injustice ? or was it a proof that 
 he was worse than the worst she had ever thought 
 of him ? Serious questions those for my lady to 
 determine^ while her daughter, innocent of all 
 knowledge of the ColoneFs character, stood there 
 with the Colonel^s bh-thday gift in her hand. 
 
 Before I could leave the room, in my turn, Miss 
 Kachel, always considerate to the old servant who 
 had been in the house when she was born, stopped 
 me. " Look, Gabriel V^ she said, and flashed the 
 jewel before my eyes in a ray of sunlight that poured 
 through the window. 
 
 Lord bless us ! it was a Diamond ! As large, 
 or nearly, as a plover^s egg ! The light that 
 streamed from it was like the light of the harvest 
 moon. When you looked down into the stone, you 
 looked into a yellow deep that drew your eyes into 
 it so that they saw nothing else. It seemed un- 
 fathomable ; this jewel, that you could hold between 
 vour finger and thumb, seemed unfathomable as the
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 123 
 
 heavens themselves. We set it iii tlie sun, and 
 then shut the light out of the room, and it shone 
 awfully out of the depths of its own brightness_, 
 with a moony gleam^ in the dark. No wonder 
 Miss Rachel was fascinated : no wonder her cousins 
 screamed. The Diamond laid such a hold on me 
 that I burst out with as large an '^ O'^ as the 
 Bouncers themselves. The only one of us who 
 kept his senses was Mr. Godfrey. He put an arm 
 round each of his sister^s waists_, and, looking com- 
 passionately backwards and forwards between the 
 Diamond and me, said, '' Carbon, Betteredge ! mere 
 carbon, my good friend, after all V' 
 
 His object, I suppose, was to instruct me. All 
 he did, however, was to remind me of the dinner. 
 I hobbled off to my army of waiters down- stairs. 
 As I went out, Mr. Godfrey said, ^^ Dear old Bet- 
 teredge, I have the truest regard for him V' He 
 was embracing his sisters, and ogling Miss Rachel, 
 while he honoured me with that testimony of 
 affection. Something like a stock of love to draw 
 on, there ! Mr. Franklin was a perfect savage by 
 comparison with him. 
 
 At the end of half an hour, I presented myself, 
 as directed, in my lady's room. 
 
 What passed between my mistress and me, on 
 this occasion, was, in the main, a repetition of what
 
 1.C4 THE M 00 x\ STONE. 
 
 Jiad passed between Mr. Franklin and me at the 
 Shivering Sand — with this difference, that I took 
 care to keep my own counsel about the jugglers, 
 seeing that nothing had happened to justify me in 
 alarming my lady on this head. When I received 
 my dismissal, I could see that she took the blackest 
 view possible of the ColoneFs motives, and that she 
 was bent on getting the Moonstone out of her 
 daughter's possession at the first opportunity. 
 
 On my way back to my own part of the house, 
 I was encountered by Mr. Franklin. He wanted 
 ,to know if I had seen anything of his cousin, 
 Rachel. I had seen nothing of her. Could I tell 
 him where his cousin Godfrey was ? I didn't 
 know ; but I began to suspect that Cousin Godfrey 
 might not be far away from Cousin Rachel. Mr. 
 Franklin's suspicions apparently took the same turn. 
 He tugged hard at his beard, and went and shut 
 himself up in the library, with a bang of the door 
 that had a world of meaning in it. 
 
 I was interrupted no more in the business of 
 preparing for the birthday dinner till it was time 
 for me to smarten myself up for receiving the com- 
 pany. Just as I had got my white waistcoat on, 
 Penelope presented herself at my toilet, on pretence 
 of brushing what little hair I have got left, and 
 improving the tie of my white cravat. My girl
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 125^ 
 
 was in high spirits, and I saw she had something- 
 to say to me. She gave me a kiss on the top of 
 my bald head_, and whispered, " News for you,, 
 father ! Miss Rachel has refused him.'"' 
 
 "Who's 'him?''' I asked. 
 
 " The ladies'* committee-man, father," says Pene- 
 lope. " A nasty sly fellow ! I hate him for try- 
 ing to supplant Mr. Franklin V 
 
 If I had had breath enough, I should certainly 
 have protested against this indecent way of speaking 
 of an eminent philanthropic character. But my 
 daughter happened to be improving the tie of my 
 cravat at that moment, and the whole strength of 
 her feelings found its way into her fingers. I never 
 was more nearly strangled in my life. 
 
 " I saw him take her away alone into the rose- 
 garden,'-* says Penelope. " i\.nd I waited behind 
 the holly to see how they came back. They had 
 gone out arm-in-arm, both laughing. They came 
 back, walking separate, as grave as grave could be, 
 and looking straight away from each other in a 
 manner which there was no mistaking. I never 
 was more delighted, father, in my life ! There's 
 one woman in the Avorld who can resist Mr. Godfrey 
 Ablewhite, at any rate ; and, if I was a lady, I 
 should be another V 
 
 Here I should have protested again. But my
 
 126 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 daughter had got the hair-brush by this time, and 
 the whole strength of her feelings had passed into 
 that. If you are bald, you will understand how she 
 scarified me. If you are not, skip this bit, and 
 thank God you have got something in the way 
 of a defence between your hair-brush and your head. 
 " Just on the other side of the holly ,''^ Penelope 
 went on, " Mr. Godfrey came to a stand-still. 
 ' You prefer,"* says he, '^ that I should stop here as 
 if nothing had happened?^ Miss Rachel turned 
 on him like lightning. ^ You have accepted my 
 mother^s invitation,'' she said ; ' and you are here to 
 meet her guests. Unless you wish to make a 
 scandal in the house, you wiU. remain, of course V 
 She went on a few steps, and then seemed to relent 
 a little. ' Let us forget what has passed, Godfrey,'' 
 she said, ' and let us remain cousins still/ She 
 gave him her hand. He kissed it, which / should 
 have considered taking a liberty, and then she left 
 him. He waited a little by himself, with his head 
 down, and his heel grinding a hole slowly m the 
 gravel walk ; you never saw a man look more put 
 out in your life. ' Awkward V he said between his 
 teeth, when he looked up, and went on to the 
 house — ' very awkward !^ If that was his opinion 
 of himself, he was quite right. Awkward enough, 
 I^m sure. And the end of it is, father, what I told
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 127 
 
 you all along/^ cries Penelope^ finishing me off 
 with a last scarification_, the hottest of all. " j\Ir. 
 Franklin^s the man V 
 
 I got possession of the hair-brnsh, and opened 
 my lips to administer the reproof which^ you will 
 own^ my daughter's language and conduct richly 
 deserved. 
 
 Before I could say a word,, the crash of carnage- 
 wheels outside struck in, and stopped me. The 
 first of the dinner-company had come. Penelope 
 instantly ran off". I put on my coat, and looked in 
 the glass. INIy head was as red as a lobster ; but, 
 in other respects, I was as nicely dressed for the 
 ceremonies of the evening as a man need be. I 
 got into the hall just in time to announce the two 
 first of the guests. You needn't feel particularly 
 interested about them. Only the philanthropist's 
 father and mother — Mr. and Mrs. Ablewhite.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 NE on the top of tlie other; the rest of the- 
 company followed the Ablewhites, till we 
 had the whole tale of them complete. Including 
 the family^ they were twenty-four in all. It was a 
 noble sight to see, when they were settled in their 
 places round the dinner-table, and the Rector of 
 Frizinghall (with beautiful elocution) rose and said 
 gi'ace. 
 
 There is no need to worry you with a list of the- 
 guests. You will meet none of them a second 
 time — in my part of the story, at any rate — witk 
 the exception of two. 
 
 Those two sat on either side of Miss Rachel, 
 who, as queen of the day, was naturally the great 
 attraction of the party. On this occasion, she Avas 
 more particularly the centre-point towards which 
 everybody's eyes were directed; for (to my lady's 
 secret annoyance) she wore her wonderful birthday
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 129 
 
 present whicli eclipsed all the rest — the ^loonstone. 
 It was without any setting when it had been 
 placed in her hands ; but that universal genius, 
 Mr. Franklin^ had contrived^ with the help of his 
 neat fingers and a little bit of silver wire^. to fix 
 it as a brooch in the bosom of her white dress. 
 Everybody wondered at the prodigious size and 
 beauty of the Diamond, as a matter of course. But 
 the only two of the company who said anything 
 out of the common way about it, were those two 
 guests I have mentioned, who sat by Miss Rachel 
 on her right hand and her left. 
 
 The guest on her left was Mr. Candy, our doctor 
 at Frizinghall. 
 
 This was a pleasant, companionable little man, 
 with the drawback, however, I must own, of being 
 too fond, in season and out of season, of his joke, 
 and of plunging in rather a headlong manner into 
 talk with strangers, without waiting to feel his wav 
 first. In society, he was constantly making mis- 
 takes, and setting people unintentionally bv the 
 cars together. In his medical practice he was a 
 more prudent man; picking up his discretion (as 
 his enemies said) by a kind of instinct, and proving 
 to be generally right where more carefully con- 
 ducted doctors turned out to be wrong. TVTiat he 
 said about the Diamond to Miss Rachel was said, 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 as usual^ by way of a mystification or joke. He 
 gravely entreated her (in the interests of science) 
 to let him take it home and burn it. " We will 
 first heat it^ Miss Rachel/^ says the doctor^ ^^ to such 
 and such a degree; then we will expose it to a 
 current of air ; and, little by little — pufi" ! — we 
 evaporate the Diamond, and spare you a world of 
 anxiety about the safe keeping of a valuable pre- 
 cious stone !'^ My lady, listening with rather a 
 careworn expression on her face, seemed to wish 
 that the doctor had been in earnest, and that he 
 could have found Miss Rachel zealous enough in 
 the cause of science to sacrifice her birthday gift. 
 
 The other guest, who sat on my young lady's 
 right hand, was an eminent public character — being 
 no other than the celebrated Indian traveller, Mr. 
 Mm-thwaite, who at risk of his life, had penetrated 
 in disguise, where no European had ever set foot 
 before. 
 
 This was a long, lean, wiry, brown, silent man. 
 He had a weary look, and a very steady attentive 
 eye. It was rumoured that he was tired of the 
 humdrum life among the people in our parts, and 
 longing to go back and wander off" on the tramp 
 again in the wild places of the East. Except what he 
 said to Miss Kachel about her jewel, I doubt if he 
 spoke six words or drank so much as a single glass
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 131 
 
 of wine, all tlirougli the dinner. The Moonstone 
 was the only object that interested him in the smallest 
 degree. The fame of it seemed to have reached 
 him, in some of those perilous Indian places where 
 his wanderings had lain. After looking at it silently 
 for so long a time that Miss Rachel began to get 
 confused, he said to her in his cool immovable way, 
 " If you ever go to India, Miss Verinder, don't take 
 your nuclei's birthday gift with you. A Hindoo 
 diamond is sometimes part of a Hindoo religion. I 
 know a certain city, and a certain temple in that 
 city, where, di'essed as you are now, yom^ life would 
 not be worth five minutes' purchase.'' Miss Rachel, 
 safe in England, was quite delighted to hear of her 
 danger in India. The Bouncers were more delighted 
 still; they dropped their knives and forks with a 
 crash, and burst out together vehemently, " O ! 
 how interesting !" My lady fidgeted in her chair, 
 and changed the subject. 
 
 As the dinner got on, I became aware, little by 
 little, that this festival was not prospering as other 
 like festivals had prospered before it. 
 
 Looking back at the birthday now, by the light 
 of what happened afterwards, I am half inclined 
 to think that the cursed Diamond must have cast 
 a blight on the whole company. I plied them well 
 
 k2
 
 182 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 witli wine ; and being a privileged character, 
 followed tlie unpopular dishes round the table^ and 
 whispered to the company confidentially^ '' Please 
 to change your mind and try it ; for I know it will 
 do you good/^ Nine times out of ten they changed 
 their minds — out of regard for their old original 
 Betteredge^ they were pleased to say — but all to no 
 purpose. There were gaps of silence in the talk^ as the 
 dinner got on, that made me feel personally uncom- 
 fortable. When they did use their tongues again, 
 they used them innocently, in the most unfortunate 
 manner and to the worst possible purpose. Mr. 
 Candy, the doctor, for instance, said more unlucky 
 things than I ever knew him to say before. Take 
 one sample of the way in which he went on, and 
 you will understand what I had to put up with at 
 the side-board, officiating as I was in the character 
 of a man who had the prosperity of the festival at 
 heart. 
 
 One of our ladies present at dinner was worthy 
 Mrs. Threadgall, widow of the late Professor of that 
 name. Talking of her deceased husband per- 
 petually, this good lady never mentioned to strangers 
 that he was deceased. She thought, I suppose, that 
 every able-bodied adult in England ought to know as 
 much as that. In one of the gaps of silence, some- 
 body mentioned the dry and rather nasty subject of
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 133 
 
 human anatomy ; whereupon good Mrs. Threadgall 
 straiglitway brought in her late husband as usual, 
 without mentioning that he was dead. Anatomy 
 she described as the Professor's favourite recreation 
 in his leisure hours. As ill-luck would have it, 
 Mr. Candy, sitting opposite (who knew nothing of 
 the deceased gentleman), heard her. Being the 
 most polite of men, he seized the opportunity of 
 assisting the Professor^s anatomical amusements on 
 the spot. 
 
 " They have got some remarkably fine skeletons 
 lately at the College of Surgeons,''^ says Mr. Candy, 
 across the table, in a loud cheerful voice. " I 
 strongly recommended the Professor, ma^am, when 
 he next has an hour to spare, to pay them a 
 visit.'' 
 
 You might have heard a pin fall. The company 
 (out of respect to the Professor's memory) all sat 
 speechless. I was behind Mrs. Threadgall at the 
 time, plying her confidentially with a glass of hock. 
 She dropped her head, and said in a very low voice^ 
 " My beloved husband is no more." 
 
 Unlucky Mr. Candy, hearing nothing, and miles 
 away from suspecting the truth, went on across the 
 table louder and politer than ever. 
 
 "The Professor may not be aware," says he, 
 " that the card of a member of the College will
 
 134 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 admit him, on any day but Sunday, between the 
 hours of ten and four/' 
 
 Mrs. Threadgall dropped her head right into her 
 tucker, and, in a lower voice still, repeated the 
 solemn words, '' My beloved husband is no more/' 
 
 I winked hard at Mr. Candy across the table. 
 Miss Rachel touched his arm. My lady looked 
 •unutterable things at him. Quite useless! On 
 he went, with a cordiality that there was no stopping 
 anyhow. '^ I shall be delighted,'' says he, '^ to 
 send the Professor my card, if you will oblige me 
 by mentioning his present address?" 
 
 " His present addi'ess, sir, is the grave" says 
 Mrs. Threadgall, suddenly losing her temper, and 
 speaking with an emphasis and fury that made the 
 glasses ring again. ^' The Professor has been dead 
 these ten years !" 
 
 *^ Oh, good Heavens !" says Mr. Candy. Ex- 
 cepting the Bouncers, who burst out laughing, such 
 a blank now fell on the company, that they might 
 all have been going the way of the Professor, and 
 hailing as he did from the direction of the grave. 
 
 So much for Mr. Candy. The rest of them 
 were nearly as provoking in their different ways as 
 the doctor himself. When they ought to have 
 spoken, they didn't speak ; or when they did speak 
 they were perpetually at cross purposes. Mr.,
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 135 
 
 Godfi-ey, though so eloquent in public, declined to 
 exert himself in private. Whether he was sulky, or 
 "whether he was bashful, after his discomfiture in 
 the rose-garden, I can^t say. He kept all his talk 
 for the private ear of the lady (a member of our 
 family) who sat next to him. She was one of his 
 committee-women — a spiritually-minded person, with 
 a fine show of collar-bone and a pretty taste in 
 champagne ; liked it dry, you understand, and plenty 
 of it. Being close behind these two at the side- 
 board, I can testify, from what I heard pass 
 between them, that the company lost a good deal 
 of very improving conversation, which I caught 
 up while drawing the corks, and carving the 
 mutton, and so forth. What they said about their 
 Charities I didn^t hear. When I had time to listen 
 to them, they had got a long way beyond their 
 women to be confined, and their women to be 
 rescued, and were disputing on serious subjects. 
 Keligion (I understood Mr. Godfrey to say, between 
 the corks and the carving) meant love. And love 
 meant religion. And earth was heaven a little the 
 worse for wear. And heaven was earth, done up 
 again to look like new. Earth had some very 
 objectionable people in it ; but, to make amends for 
 that, all the women in heaven would be members of 
 a prodigious committee that never quarrelled, with
 
 1^56 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 all the men in attendance on them as ministerinj. 
 angels. Beautiful ! beautiful ! But why the mis- 
 (;hief did Mr. Godfrey keep it all to his lady and 
 himself? 
 
 Mr. Franklin again — surely, you will say, Mr. 
 Franklin stirred the company up into making a 
 pleasant evening of it ? 
 
 Nothing of the sort ! He had quite recovered 
 himself, and he was in wonderful force and spirits, 
 Penelope having informed him, I suspect, of Mr. 
 Godfrey's reception in the rose-garden. But, talk 
 as he might, nine times out of ten he pitched on 
 the wrong subject, or he addressed himself to the 
 wrong person ; the end of it being that he offended 
 some, and puzzled all of them. That foreign train- 
 ing of his — those French and German and Italian 
 sides of him, to which I have already alluded — 
 came out, at my lady^s hospitable board, in a most 
 bewildering manner. 
 
 What do you think, for instance, of his discuss- 
 ing the lengths to which a married woman might 
 let her admiration go for a man who was not her 
 husband, and putting it in his clear-headed witty 
 French way to the maiden aunt of the Vicar of 
 Frizinghall ? What do you think, when he shifted 
 to the German side, of his telling the lord of the 
 manor, while that great authority on cattle was
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 137 
 
 quoting Ms experience in the breeding of bulls, that 
 experience, properly understood, counted for nothing, 
 and that the proper way to breed bulls was to look 
 deep into your own mind, evolve out of it the idea 
 of a perfect bull, and produce him ? What do you 
 say, when our county member, growing hot at 
 cheese and salad time, about the spread of democracy 
 in England, burst out as follows : " If we once lose 
 our ancient safeguards, Mr. Blake, I beg to ask you, 
 what have we got left ?^^ — what do you say to Mr, 
 Franklin answering, from the Italian point of view : 
 ^' We have got three things left, sir — Love, Music, 
 and Salad Y' He not only terrified the company 
 with such outbreaks as these, but, when the English 
 side of him tm'ned up in due com'se, he lost his 
 foreign smoothness ; and, getting on the subject of 
 the medical profession, said such downright things 
 in ridicule of doctors, that he actually put good- 
 humoured little Mr. Candy in a rage. 
 
 The dispute between them began in Mr. Franklin 
 being led — I forget how — to acknowledge that he 
 had latterly slept very badly at night. Mr. Candy 
 thereupon told him that his nerves were all out of 
 order, and that he ought to go through a course of 
 medicine immediately. Mr. Franklin replied that 
 a course of medicine, and a course of groping in 
 the dark, meant, in his estimation, one and the
 
 ]38 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 same tiling. Mr. Candy, hitting back smartly, said 
 that Mr. Franklin himself was, constitutionally 
 speaking, groping in the dark after sleep, and that 
 nothing but medicine could help him to find it. 
 Mr. Franklin, keeping the ball up on his side, said 
 he had often heard of the blind leading the blind, 
 and now, for the first time, he knew what it meant. 
 In this way, they kept it going briskly, cut and 
 thrust, till they both of them got hot — Mr. Candy, 
 in particular, so completely losing his self-control, 
 in defence of his profession, that my lady was 
 obliged to interfere, and forbid the dispute to go 
 on. This necessary act of authority put the last 
 extinguisher on the spii'its of the company. The 
 talk spurted up again here and there, for a minute 
 or two at a time ; but there was a miserable lack of 
 life and sparkle in it. The Devil (or the Diamond) 
 possessed that dinner party ; and it was a relief to 
 everybody when my mistress rose, and gave the ladies 
 the signal to leave the gentlemen over their wine. 
 
 I had just ranged the decanters in a row before 
 old Mr. Ablewhite (who represented the master of 
 the house), when there came a sound from the 
 terrace which startled me out of my company 
 manners on the instant. Mr. Franklin and I 
 looked at each other; it was the sound of the
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 139 
 
 Indian drum. As I live by breads here were the 
 jugglers returning to us with the return of the 
 Moonstone to the house ! 
 
 As they rounded the corner of the terrace, and 
 came in sight_, I hobbled out to warn them off. 
 But, as ill-luck would have it, the two Bouncers 
 were beforehand with me. They whizzed out on to 
 the terrace like a couple of skyrockets, wild to see 
 the Indians exhibit their tricks. The other ladies 
 followed; the gentlemen came out on their side. 
 Before you could say, '^ Lord bless us V the 
 rogues were making their salaams ; and the Boun- 
 cers were kissing the pretty little boy. 
 
 Mr. Franklin got on one side of INIiss Rachel, 
 and I put myself behind her. If our suspicions 
 were right, there she stood, innocent of all know- 
 ledge of the truth, showing the Indians the Diamond 
 in the bosom of her dress ! 
 
 I can^t teU you what tricks they performed, or 
 how they did it. AYhat with the vexation about 
 the dinner, and what with the provocation of the 
 rogues coming back just in the nick of time to see 
 the jewel with their own eyes, I own I lost my head. 
 The first thing that I remember noticing was the 
 sudden appearance on the scene of the Indian tra- 
 veller, Mr. Murthwaite. Skirting the half-circle in 
 which the gentlefolks stood or sat, he came quietly
 
 140 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 behind the jugglers, and spoke to them on a sudden 
 in the language of their own country. 
 
 If he had pricked them with a bayonet, I doubt 
 if the Indians could have started and turned on 
 him with a more tigerish quickness than they did, 
 on hearing the first words that passed his lips. 
 The next moment, they were bowing and salaaming 
 to him in their most polite and snaky way. After 
 a few words in the unknown tongue had passed on 
 either side, Mr. Murthwaite withdrew as quietly as 
 he had approached. The chief Indian, who acted 
 as interpreter, thereupon wheeled about again towards 
 the gentlefolks, I noticed that the fellow^s cojffee- 
 coloured face had turned grey since Mr. Murthwaite 
 had spoken to him. He bowed to my lady, and 
 informed her that the exhibition was over. The 
 Bouncers, indescribably disappointed, burst out with 
 a loud " O \" directed against Mr. Murthwaite 
 for stopping the performance. The chief Indian 
 laid his hand humbly on his breast, and said a 
 second time that the juggling was over. The 
 little boy went round with the hat. The ladies 
 withdrew to the drawing-room ; and the gentlemen 
 (excepting Mr. Franklin and Mr. Murthwaite) re- 
 turned to their wine. I and the footman followed 
 the Indians, and saw them safe ofi* the premises. 
 
 Going back by way of the shrubbery, I smelt
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 141 
 
 tobacco^ and found Mr. Franklin and Mr. Murth- 
 waite (the latter smoking a cheroot) walking slowly 
 up and down among the trees. Mr. Franklin 
 beckoned to me to join them. 
 
 " This/"* says Mr. Franklin^ presenting me to 
 the great traveller,, '^ is Gabriel Betteredge^ the old 
 servant and friend of our family of whom I spoke 
 to you just now. Tell him, if you please, what 
 you have just told me.^' 
 
 Mr. Murthwaite took his cheroot out of his mouth, 
 and leaned, in his weary way, against the trunk of 
 a tree. 
 
 " Mr. Betteredge/' he began, ^'^ those three Indians 
 are no more jugglers than you and I are.^' 
 
 Here was a new surprise ! 1 naturally asked the 
 traveller if he had ever met with the Indians before. 
 
 " Never,'' says Mr. Murthwaite ; " but I know 
 what Indian juggling really is. All you have seen 
 to-night is a very bad and clumsy imitation of it. 
 Unless, after long experience, I am utterly mistaken, 
 those men are high-caste Brahmins. I charged 
 them with being disguised, and you saw how it told 
 on them, clever as the Hindoo people are in con- 
 cealing their feelings. There is a mystery about 
 their conduct that I can't explain. They have 
 doubly sacrificed their caste — first, in crossing the 
 sea ; secondly, in disguising themselves as jugglers.
 
 142 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 In the land they live in, that is a tremendous sa- 
 crifice to make. There must be some very serious 
 motive at the bottom of it, and some justification 
 of no ordinary kind to plead for them, in recovery of 
 their caste, when they return to their own country.^' 
 
 I was struck dumb. Mr. Murthwaite went on 
 with his cheroot. Mr. Franklin, after what looked 
 to me like a little private veering about between 
 the • difi'erent sides of his character, broke the 
 silence as follows : 
 
 ^^ I feel some hesitation, Mr. Murthwaite, in 
 troubling you with family matters, in which you 
 can have no interest and which I am not very 
 willing to speak of out of our own circle. But, 
 after what you have said, I feel bound, in the in- 
 terests of Lady A^erinder and her daughter, to tell 
 you something which may possibly put the clue 
 into your hands. I speak to you in confidence ; 
 you will oblige me, I am sui'e, by not forgetting 
 that r' 
 
 With this preface, he told the Indian traveller 
 all that he had told me at the Shivering Sand. 
 Even the immovable Mr. Murthwaite was so inte- 
 rested in what he heard, that he let his cheroot 
 go out. 
 
 ^' Now,^^ says Mr. Franklin, when he had done, 
 " what does your experience say ?"
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 143 
 
 '^ My experience/^ answered tlie traveller, '' says 
 that you liave had more narrow escapes of your life, 
 Mr. Franklin Blake, than I have had of mine ; and 
 that is saying a great dealt '' 
 
 It was Mr. Franklin^s turn to be astonished now. 
 
 " Is it really as serious as that ?^^ he asked. 
 
 '' In my opinion it is,^-* answered Mr. Murth- 
 waite. " I can^t doubt, after what you have told 
 me, that the restoration of the Moonstone to its 
 place on the forehead of the Indian idol, is the 
 motive and the justification of that sacrifice of caste 
 which I alluded to just now. Those men will wait 
 their opportunity with the patience of cats, and 
 will use it with the ferocity of tigers. How you 
 have escaped them I can^t imagine," says the emi- 
 nent traveller, lighting his cheroot again, and staring 
 hard at Mr. Franklin. " You have been carrying 
 the Diamond backwards and forwards, here and in 
 London, and you are still a living man ! Let us 
 try and account for it. It was daylight, both times, 
 I suppose, when you took the jewel out of the 
 bank in London ?" 
 
 " Broad daylight," says Mr. Franklin. 
 
 " And plenty of people in the streets ?" 
 
 " Plenty." 
 
 " You settled, of course, to arrive at Lady A'erin- 
 der^s house at a certain time ? It^s a lonely country
 
 144 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 between this and the station. Did you keep your 
 appointment V* 
 
 '^No. I arrived four hours earlier than my 
 appointment /■* 
 
 " I beg to congratulate you on that proceeding ! 
 When did you take the Diamond to the bank at 
 the town here T' 
 
 " I took it an hour after I had brought it to this 
 house — and three hours before anybody was pre- 
 pared for seeing me in these parts." 
 
 " I beg to congratulate you again ! Did you 
 bring it back here alone ?^ 
 
 " No. I happened to ride back with my cousins 
 and the groom." 
 
 " I beg to congratulate you for the third time ! 
 If you ever feel inclined to travel beyond the 
 civilized limits, Mr. Blake, let me know, and I will 
 go with you. You are a lucky man." 
 
 Here I struck in. This sort of thing didn^t at 
 all square with my English ideas. 
 
 " You don^t really mean to say, sir," I asked, 
 "that they would have taken Mr. Franklin's life, 
 to get their Diamond, if he had given them the 
 chance ?" 
 
 " Do you smoke, Mr. Betteredge ? " says the 
 traveller. 
 
 "Yes. sir."
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 145 
 
 " Do you care much for the ashes left in your 
 pipe^ when you empty it ^^ 
 
 " No, sir/' 
 
 " In the country those men came from, they 
 care just as much about killing a man, as you care 
 about emptying the ashes out of your pipe. If a 
 thousand lives stood between them and the getting 
 back of their Diamond — and if they thought they 
 could destroy those lives without discovery — they 
 would take them all. The sacrifice of caste is a 
 serious thing in India, if you like. The sacrifice 
 of life is nothing at all.^' 
 
 I expressed my opinion, upon this, that they were 
 a set of murdering thieves, ^fr. !Murthwaite ex- 
 pressed his opinion that they were a wonderful 
 people. Mr. Franklin, expressing no opinion at 
 all, brought us back to the matter in hand. 
 
 " They have seen the Moonstone on ^liss Verin- 
 der''s dress,^^ he said. " What is to be done ?'' 
 
 " What your uncle threatened to do,'^ answered 
 Mr. Murthwaite. " Colonel Herncastle understood 
 the people he had to deal with. Send the Diamond 
 to-morrow (under guard of more than one man) to 
 be cut up at Amsterdam. Make half a dozen dia- 
 monds of it, instead of one. There is an end of 
 its sacred identity as The Moonstone — and there is 
 an end of the conspiracy. '^ 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 140 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 Mr. Franklin turned to me. 
 
 " There is no help for it/^ he said. ^^ We must 
 speak to Lady Verinder to-morrow." 
 
 *^ What about to-night, sir?" I asked. '''Sup- 
 pose the Indians come back ?" 
 
 Mr. Murthwaite answered me^ before Mr. Franklin 
 could speak. 
 
 ^' The Indians won^t risk coming back to-night/^ 
 he said. " The direct way is hardly eyer the way 
 they take to anything — let alone a matter like this, 
 in which the slightest mistake might be fatal to 
 their reaching their end." 
 
 " But suppose the rogues are bolder than you 
 think, sir ?" I persisted. 
 
 " In that case," says Mr. Murthwaite, ^' let the 
 dogs loose. Have you got any big dogs in the 
 yard ?" 
 
 " Two, sir. A mastiff and a bloodhound." 
 
 "They will do. In the present emergency^ 
 Mr. Betteredge, the mastiff and the bloodhound 
 have one great merit — they are not likely to be 
 troubled with your scruples about the sanctity of 
 human life." 
 
 The strumming of the piano reached us from 
 the drawmg-room, as he fired that shot at me. He 
 threw away his cheroot, and took Mr. Franklin^s 
 arm, to go back to the ladies. I noticed that the
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 147 
 
 sky was clouding over fast^ as I followed them 
 to the house. Mr. Murthwaite noticed it too. 
 He looked round at me, in his dry, drolling way, 
 and said : 
 
 " The Indians will want their umbrellas, Mr. 
 Betteredge, to-night !" 
 
 It was all very well for him to joke. But I was 
 not an eminent traveller — and my way in this world 
 had not led me into playing ducks and drakes with 
 my own life, among thieves and murderers in the 
 outlandish places of the earth. I went into my 
 own little room, and sat down in my chair in a 
 perspiration, and wondered helplessly what was to 
 be done next. In this anxious frame of mind, 
 other men might have ended by working them- 
 selves up into a fever ; / ended in a different way. 
 I lit my pipe, and took a turn at Robinson Crusoe. 
 
 Before I had been at it five minutes, I came to 
 this amazing bit — page one hundred and sixty-one 
 — as follows : 
 
 "Fear of Danger is ten thousand times more 
 terrifying than Danger itself, when apparent to 
 the Eyes; and we find the Burthen of Anxiety 
 greater, by much, than the Evil which we are 
 anxious about.'^ 
 
 The man who doesn't believe in Robinson Crusoe, 
 after thatj is a man with a screw loose in his 
 
 x2
 
 148 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 understanding, or a man lost in the mist of his own 
 self-conceit ! Argument is thrown away upon him ; 
 and pity is better reserved for some person with a 
 livelier faith. 
 
 I was far on with my second pipe, and still lost 
 in admiration of that wonderful book, when Pene- 
 lope (who had been handing round the tea) came 
 in with her report from the drawing-room. She 
 had left the Bouncers singing a duet — words be- 
 ginning with a large '' O," and music to correspond. 
 She had observed that my lady made mistakes in 
 her game of whist for the first time in our experi- 
 ence of her. She had seen the great traveller 
 asleep in a corner. She had overheard Mr. 
 Franklin sharpening his wits on Mr. Godfrey, at 
 the expense of Ladies' Charities in general; and 
 she had noticed that Mr. Godfrey hit him back 
 again rather more smartly than became a gentleman 
 of his benevolent character. She had detected Miss 
 Rachel, apparently engaged in appeasing Mrs. 
 Threadgall by showing her some photographs, and 
 really occupied in stealing looks at Mr. Franklin, 
 which no intelligent lady^s maid could misinterpret 
 for a single instant. Finally, she had missed Mr. 
 Candy, the doctor, who had mysteriously disappeared 
 from the drawing-room, and had then mysteriously 
 returned, and entered into conversation with Mr.
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 149 
 
 Grodfrey. Upon the whole, things were prospering 
 better than the experience of the dinner gave us 
 any right to expect. If we could only hold oii 
 for another hour, old Father Time would bring 
 up their carriages, and relieve us of them alto- 
 gether. 
 
 Everything wears off in this world; and even 
 the comforting effect of Robinson Crusoe wore off, 
 after Penelope left me. I got fidgety again, and 
 resolved on making a survey of the grounds before 
 the rain came. Instead of taking the footman, 
 whose nose was human, and therefore useless in any 
 emergency, I took the bloodhound with me. His 
 nose for a stranger was to be depended on. We 
 went all round the premises, and out into the road 
 — and returned as wise as we went, having dis- 
 covered no such thing as a lurking human creature 
 anywhere. 
 
 The arrival of the carriages was the signal for 
 the arrival, of the rain. It poured as if it meant 
 to pour all night. With the exception of the 
 doctor, whose gig was waiting for him, the rest of 
 the company went home snugly, under cover, in 
 close carriages. I told Mr. Candy that I was afraid 
 he would get wet through. He told me, in return, 
 that he wondered I had arrived at my time of life, 
 without knowing that a doctor's skin was waterproof.
 
 160 
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 So he drove away in the rain, laughing over his 
 own little joke; and so we got rid of our dinner 
 company. 
 
 The next thing to tell is the story of the 
 night.
 
 Mc^ 
 
 ^^-^^^,^;^^p| 
 
 ^^^^^/Jt^^^^^r^j^^ 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 .HEN the last of the guests had driven away, 
 31 I went back into the inner hall, and found 
 Samuel at the side-table, presiding over the brandy 
 and soda-water. My lady and Miss Rachel came 
 out of the drawing-room^ followed by the two gen- 
 tlemen. Mr. Godfrey had some brandy and soda- 
 water. Mr. Franklin took nothing. He sat down, 
 looking dead tired : the talking on this birthday 
 occasion had, I suppose, been too much for him. 
 
 My lady, turning round to wish them good night, 
 looked hard at the wicked ColonePs legacy shining 
 in her daughter's dress. 
 
 '' Rachel,'^ she asked, ^^ where are you going to 
 put your Diamond to-night ?" 
 
 Miss Rachel was in high good spirits, just in that 
 humour for talking nonsense, and perversely persist- 
 ing in it as if it was sense, which you may sometimes 
 have obsen-ed in young girls, when they are highly
 
 152 thp: moonstone. 
 
 wrought up, at the end of au exciting day. First, 
 she declared she didn^t know where to put the 
 Diamond. Then she said, '^ on her dressing-table, 
 of course, along with her other things.^' Then she 
 remembered that the Diamond might take to shin- 
 ing of itself, with its awful moony light, in the 
 dark — and that would terrify her in the dead of 
 nigrht. Then she bethought herself of an Indian 
 cabinet which stood in her sitting-room; and in- 
 stantly made up her mind to put the Indian diamond 
 in the Indian cabinet, for the purpose of permitting 
 two beautiful native productions to admire each 
 other. Having let her little flow of nonsense run 
 on as far as that point, her mother interposed and 
 stopped her. 
 
 " My dear ! your Indian cabinet has no lock to 
 it,^' says my lady. 
 
 " Good Heavens, mamma !" cried Miss Rachel, 
 '' is this an hotel ? Are there thieves in the house V 
 
 Without taking notice of this fantastic way of 
 talking, my lady wished the gentlemen good night. 
 She next turned to Miss Rachel, and kissed her. 
 ^' Why not let me keep the Diamond for you to- 
 night?*'' she asked. 
 
 Mis Rachel received that proposal as she might, 
 ten years since, have received a proposal to part 
 her fi'om a new doll. My lady saw there was no
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 153 
 
 reasoning with her that night. ^' Come into my 
 room^ Rachelj the first thing to-morrow morning/^ 
 she said. ^' I shall have something to say to you." 
 VV^ith those last words she left ns slowly ; thinking 
 her own thoughts^ and, to all appearance, not best 
 pleased with the way by which they were leading her. 
 
 Miss Rachel was the next to say good-night. 
 She shook hands first with Mr. Godfrey, who was 
 standing at the other end of the hall, looking at 
 a picture. Then she turned back to Mr. Franklin, 
 still sitting weary and silent in a corner. 
 
 What words passed between them I can^t say. But 
 standing near the old oak frame which holds our 
 large looking-glass, I ^Jaw her reflected in it, slyly 
 slipping the locket which Mr. Franklin had given 
 to her, out of the bosom of her dress, and show- 
 ing it to him for a moment, with a smile which 
 certainly meant something out of the common, 
 before she tripped ofi" to bed. This incident stag- 
 gered me a little in the reliance I had previously 
 felt on my own judgment. I began to think that 
 Penelope might be right about the state of her 
 young lady^s aff'ections, after all. 
 
 As soon as Miss Rachel left him eyes to see with, 
 Mr. Franklin noticed me. His variable humour, 
 shifting about everything, had shifted about the 
 Indians already.
 
 154 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 " Betteredge/'' he said, " I^m half inclined to 
 think I took Mr. Murthwaite too seriously, when 
 we had that talk in the shi'ubbery. I wonder 
 whether lie has been trying any of his traveller's 
 tales on us ? Do you really mean to let the dogs 
 loose T' 
 
 '^ Fll relieve them of their collars, sir/' I answered, 
 " and leave them free to take a turn in the night, 
 if they smell a reason for it.'' 
 
 "All right," says ^^Ir. Franklin. "We'll see 
 what is to be done to-morrow. I am not at all 
 disposed to alarm my aunt, Betteredge, without a 
 very pressing reason for it . Good night." 
 
 He looked so worn and pale as he nodded to me, 
 and took his caiulle to go upstairs, that I ventured 
 to advise his having a drop of brandy and water, 
 by way of nightcap. Mr. Godfrey, walking towards 
 us from the other end of the ball, backed me. He 
 pressed Mr. Franklin, in the friendliest manner, to 
 take something, before he went to bed. 
 
 I only note these trifling circumstances, because, 
 after all I had seen and heard, that day, it pleased 
 me to observe that our two gentlemen were on just 
 as good terms as ever. Their warfare of words 
 (heard by Penelope in the drawing-room), and their 
 rivalry for the best place in Miss Bachel's good 
 graces, seemed to have set no serious difference
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 155 
 
 between them. But there ! they were both good- 
 temperedj and both men of the world. And there 
 is certainly this merit in people of station, that they 
 are not nearly so quarrelsome among each other as 
 people of no station at all. 
 
 Mr. Franklin declined the brandy and water, and 
 went upstairs with Mr. Godfrey, their rooms being 
 next door to each other. On the landing, however, 
 either his cousin persuaded him, or he veered about 
 and changed his mind as usual. " Perhaps I may 
 want it in the night,^^ he called down to me. '' Send 
 up some brandy and water into my room.^' 
 
 I sent up Samuel with the brandy and water ; 
 and then went out, and unbuckled the dogs'* col- 
 lars. They both lost their heads with astonishment 
 on being set loose at that time of night, and jumped 
 upon me like a couple of puppies ! However, the 
 rain soon cooled them down again : they lapped a 
 drop of water each, and crept back into their ken- 
 nels. As I went into the house, I noticed signs in 
 the sky which betokened a break in the weather for 
 the better. For the present, it still poured heavily, 
 and the ground was in a perfect sop. 
 
 Samuel and I went all over the house, and shut 
 up as usual. I examined everything myself, and 
 trusted nothing to my deputy on this occasion. 
 All was safe and fast, when I rested my old
 
 156 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 bones iu bed, between midnight and one in the 
 morning. 
 
 The worries of the day had been a little too 
 much for me, I suppose. At any rate, I had a 
 touch of Mr. Franklin^s malady that night. It was 
 sunrise, before I fell off at last into a sleep. All 
 the time I lay awake, the house was as quiet as the 
 grave. Not a sound stirred but the splash of the 
 rain, and the sighing of the wind among the trees 
 as a breeze sprang up with the morning. 
 
 About half-past seven I woke, and opened my 
 window on a fine sunshiny day. The clock had 
 struck eight, and I was just going out to chain up 
 the dogs again, when I heard a sudden whisking of 
 petticoats on the stairs behind me. 
 
 I turned about, and there was Penelope flying 
 down after me like mad. ^' Father V she screamed, 
 ^' come upstairs, for God^s sake ! The Diamond is 
 gone !" 
 
 " Are you out of your mind?" I asked her. 
 
 " Gone V says Penelope. " Gone, nobody knows 
 how ! Come up and see." 
 
 She dragged me after her into our young lady's 
 sitting-room, which opened into her bed-room. 
 There, on the threshold of her bed-room door, 
 stood Miss Rachel, almost as white in the face as
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 157 
 
 the white dressing-gown that clothed her. There 
 also stood the two doors of the India cabinet,, wide 
 open. One of the drawers inside was pulled out as 
 far as it would go. 
 
 " Look V says Penelope. '' I myself saw Miss 
 Rachel put the Diamond into that drawer last 
 night.^^ 
 
 I went to the cabinet. The drawer was empty. 
 
 '^ Is this true, miss ?'' I asked. 
 
 With a look that was not like herself, with a 
 voice that was not like her own, Miss Rachel 
 answered, as my daughter had answered : 
 
 " The Diamond is gone V^ 
 
 Having said those words, she withdrew into her 
 bed-room, and shut and locked the door. 
 
 Before we -knew which way to turn next, my 
 lady came in, hearing my voice in her daughter''? 
 sitting-room, and wondering what had happened. 
 The news of the loss of the Diamond seemed to 
 petrify her. She went straight to Miss RacheFs 
 bed-room, and insisted on being admitted. Miss 
 Rachel let her in. 
 
 The alarm, running through the house like fire, 
 caught the two gentlemen next. 
 
 Mr. Godfrey was the first to come out of 
 his room. All he did when he heard what 
 had happened was to hold up his hands in a
 
 158 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 state of bewilderment, whicli didn^t say mucli 
 for liis natural strength of mind. Mr. Franklin, 
 vfhose clear head I had confidently counted on 
 to ad^dse us, seemed to be as helpless as his 
 cousin when he heard the news in his turn. For a 
 wonder, he had had a good night^s rest at last; 
 and the unaccustomed luxury of sleep had, as he 
 said himself, apparently stupified him. However, 
 when he had swallowed his cup of coffee — which 
 he always took, on the foreign plan, some hours 
 before he ate any breakfast — his brains brightened; 
 the clear-headed side of him turned up, and he 
 took the matter in hand, resolutely and cleverly, 
 much as follows : 
 
 He first sent for the servants, and told them to 
 leave all the lower doors and windows (with the 
 exception of the front door, which I had opened) 
 exactly as they had been left when we locked up 
 overnight. He next proposed to his cousin and to 
 me to make quite sure, before we took any fur- 
 ther steps, that the Diamond had not accidentally 
 dropped somewhere out of sight — say at the back 
 of the cabinet, or down behind the table on which 
 the cabinet stood. Having searched in both places, 
 and found nothing — ^having also questioned Pene- 
 lope, and discovered from her no more than the 
 little she had already told me — Mr. Franklin
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 159 
 
 suggested next extending our inquiries to Miss 
 Rachel,, and sent Penelope to knock at her bed- 
 room door. 
 
 My lady answered the knock, and closed the 
 door behind her. The moment after, we heard it 
 locked inside by Miss Rachel. My mistress came 
 out among us, looking sorely puzzled and distressed. 
 ^' The loss of the Diamond seems to have quite 
 overwhelmed Rachel/^ she said, in reply to Mr. 
 Franklin. ^^ She shrinks, in the strangest manner, 
 from speaking of it, even to me. It is impossible 
 you can see her for the present. ^^ 
 
 Having added to our perplexities by this account 
 of Miss Rachel, my lady, after a little eflPort, re- 
 covered her usual composure, and acted with her 
 usual decision. 
 
 *''■ I suppose there is no help for it ?'' she said, 
 quietly. " I suppose I have no alternative but to 
 send for the police ?^^ 
 
 " And the first thing for the police to do,^^ 
 added ^Ir. Franklin, catching her up, '^ is to lav 
 hands on the Indian jugglers who performed here 
 last night.^' 
 
 My lady and Mr. Godfrey (not knowing what 
 Mr. Franklin and I knew) both started, and both 
 looked surprised. 
 
 '^ I can't stop to explain myself now,'' Mr.
 
 160 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 Franklin went on. ^' I can only tell you that the 
 Indians have certainly stolen the Diamond. Give 
 me a letter of introduction/'' says he, addressing 
 my lady, to one of the magistrates at Frizinghall — 
 merely telling him that I represent your interests 
 and wishes, and let me ride off with it instantlv. 
 Our chance of catching the thieves may depend on 
 our not wasting one unnecessary minute." {Not a 
 bene : Whether it was the French side or the 
 English, the right side of Mr. Franklin seemed to 
 be uppermost now. The only question was, How 
 long would it last ?) 
 
 He put pen, ink, and paper before his aunt, who 
 (as it appeared to me) wrote the letter he wanted a 
 little unwillingly. If it had been possible to over- 
 look such an event as the loss of a jewel worth twenty 
 thousand pounds, I believe — with my Iady\s opinion of 
 her late brother, and her distrust of his birthday-gift 
 — it would have been privately a relief to her to let 
 the thieves get off with the Moonstone scot free. 
 
 I went out with Mr. Franklin to the stables, and 
 took the opportunity of asking him how the Indians 
 (whom I suspected, of course, as shrewdly as he did) 
 could possibly have got into the house. 
 
 " One of them might have slipped into the hall, 
 in the confusion, when the dinner company were 
 going away," says Mr. Franklin. " The fellow may
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 16 I 
 
 have been under the sofa while my aunt and Rachel 
 T\'ere talking about where the Diamond was to l)e 
 put for the night. He would only have to wait till 
 the house was quiet, and there it would be in the 
 cabinet^ to be had for the taking/^ With those 
 words, he called to the groom to open the gate, and 
 galloped off. 
 
 This seemed certainly to be the only rational 
 explanation. But how had the thief contrived to 
 make his escape from the house ? I had found the 
 front door locked and bolted, as I had left it at 
 night, when I went to open it, after getting up. 
 As for the other doors and windows, there they 
 were still, all safe and fast, to speak for themselves. 
 The dogs, too ? Suppose the thief had got away by 
 ■dropping from one of the upper windows, how" had 
 he escaped the dogs? Had he come provided for 
 them with drugged meat ? As the doubt crossed 
 my mind, the dogs themselves came galloping at 
 me round a corner, rolling each other over on the 
 wet grass, in such lively health and spirits that it 
 was with no small difficulty I brought them to 
 reason, and chained them up again. The more I 
 tm'ned it over in my mind, the less satisfactory ^Ir. 
 Franklin^s explanation appeared to be. 
 
 We had om* breakfasts — whatever happens in a 
 house, robbery or murder, it doesn^t matter, you 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 must have yonr breakfast. When we had done,^ 
 my lady sent for me ; and I found myself compelled 
 to tell her all that I had hitherto concealed, relating- 
 to the Indians and their plot. Being a woman of 
 a high courage, she soon got over the first startling 
 effect of what I had to communicate. Her mind 
 seemed to be far more perturbed about her daughter 
 than about the heathen rogues and their conspiracy. 
 " You know how odd Rachel is, and how differently 
 she behaves sometimes from other gii'ls/^ my lady said 
 to me. "But I have never, in all my experience, seen 
 her so strange and so reserved as she is now. The loss 
 of her jewel seems almost to have turned her brain. 
 "Who would have thought that horrible Diamond could 
 have laid such a hold on her in so short a time T^ 
 
 It was certainly strange. Taking toys and 
 trinkets in general, Miss Rachel was nothing like 
 so mad after them as most young girls. Yet 
 there she was, still locked up inconsolably in her bed- 
 room. It is but fair to add that she was not the 
 only one of us in the house who was throAvn out of 
 the regular groove. Mr. Godfrey, for instance — 
 though professionally a sort of consoler-general — 
 seemed to be at a loss where to look for his otvti 
 resources. Having no company to amuse him, and 
 getting no chance of trying what his experience of 
 women in distress could do towards comforting Miss
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 10;^ 
 
 Rachel;, lie wandered hither and thither about the 
 house and gardens in an aimless uneasy way. He 
 was in two different minds about what it became him 
 to do, after the misfortune that had happened to 
 us. Ought he to relieve the family _, in their pre- 
 sent situation, of the responsibility of him as a 
 guest ? or ought he to stay on the chance that even 
 his humble services might be of some use ? He 
 decided ultimately that the last course was perhaps 
 the most customary and considerate course to take, 
 in such a very peculiar case of family distress as 
 this was. Circumstances try the metal a man is 
 really made of. Mr. Godfrey, tried by circum- 
 stances, showed himself of weaker metal than 
 I had thought him to be. As for the women-ser- 
 vants — excepting Rosanna Spearman, who kept by 
 herself — they took to whispering together in corners, 
 and staring at nothing suspiciously, as is the manner 
 of that weakey half of the human family, when any- 
 thing extraordinary happens in a house. I myself 
 acknowledge to have been fidgety and ill-tempered. 
 The cursed Moonstone had turned us all upside 
 down. 
 
 A little before eleven, Mr. Franklin came back. 
 The resolute side of him had, to all appearance, 
 given way, in the interval since his departure, under 
 the stress that had been laid on it. He had left us at 
 
 M 2
 
 iG4 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 a gallop ; he came back to lis at a walk. "When he 
 went away^ he was made of iron. When he re- 
 turned^ he was stuffed with cotton, as limp as limp 
 could be. 
 
 ^' AYell/^ says my lady, *' are the police coming V 
 
 " Yes/' says Mr. Franklin; " they said they would 
 follow me in a fly. Superintendent Seegrave, of 
 your local police force, and two of his men. A 
 mere form ! The case is hopeless. ''' 
 
 '^ What ! have the Indians escaped, sir V I 
 asked. 
 
 " The poor ill-used Indians have been most un- 
 justly put in prison," says Mr. Franklin. " They 
 are as innocent as the babe unborn. My idea 
 that one of them was hidden in the house, has 
 ended, like all the rest of my ideas, in smoke. It's 
 been proved,'' says Mr. Franklin, dwelling with 
 great relish on his own incapacity, " to be simply 
 impossible." 
 
 After astonishing us by announcing this totally 
 new turn in the matter of the Moonstone, our 
 voung gentleman, at his aunt's request, took a seat, 
 and explained himself. 
 
 It appeared that the resolute side of him had 
 held out as far as Frizinghall. He had put the 
 whole case plainly before the magistrate, and the 
 magistrate had at once sent for the police. The
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 1G5 
 
 first inquiries instituted about the Indians showed 
 that they had not so mucli as attempted to leave 
 the town. Further questions addressed to the 
 police, proved that all three had been seen return- 
 ing to Frizinghall with their boy, on the previous 
 night between ten and eleven — which (regard being 
 had to hours and distances) also proved that they 
 had walked straight back, after performing on our 
 teiTaee. Later still, at midnight, the police, having 
 occasion to search the common lodging-house where 
 they lived, had seen them all three again, and their 
 little boy with them as usual. Soon after midnight, 
 I myself had safely shut up the house. Plainer evi- 
 dence than this, in favour of the Indians, there 
 could not well be. The magistrate said there was 
 not even a case of suspicion against them, so far. 
 But, as it was just possible, when the police came 
 to investigate the matter, that discoveries affecting 
 the jugglers might be made, he would contrive, by 
 committing them as rogues and vagabonds, to keep 
 them at our disposal, under lock and key, for a 
 week. They had ignorantly done something (I forget 
 what) in the town, which barely brought them within 
 the operation of the law. Every human institu- 
 tion (Justice included) will stretch a little, if you 
 only pull it the right way. The worthy magistrate 
 was an old friend of mv ladv^s — and the Indians
 
 16G THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 were " committed '' for a week, as soon as the 
 court opened tliat morning. 
 
 Such was ^Ir. Franklin^s narrative of events at 
 Frizinghall. The Indian clue to the mystery of 
 the lost jewel was now, to all appearance, a clue that 
 had broken in our hands. If the jugglers were inno- 
 cent, who, in the name of wonder, had taken the 
 Moonstone out of Miss RacheFs draAver ? 
 
 Ten minutes later, to our infinite relief, Super- 
 intendent Seegrave arrived at the house. He re- 
 ported passing Mr. Franklin on the terrace, sitting 
 in the sun (I suppose with the Italian side of him 
 uppermost) ; and warning the police, as they went 
 by, that the investigation was hopeless, before the 
 investigation had begun. 
 
 For a family in our situation, the superintendent 
 of the Frizinghall police was the most comforting 
 officer you could wish to see. Mr. Seegrave was tall 
 and portly, and military in his manners. He had a 
 fine commanding voice, and a mighty resolute eye, 
 and a grand frock coat which buttoned beautifully 
 up to his leather stock. "Fm the man you want V 
 was written all over his face ; and he ordered his 
 two inferior policemen about with a severity which 
 convinced us all that there was no trifling with him. 
 
 He began by going round the premises, outside 
 and in ; the result of that investigation proving to
 
 THE MOOXSTONE. 167 
 
 him that no thieves had broken in U2X)n ns from 
 outside^ and that tlie robbery, consequentlv, must 
 have been committed by some person in the house, 
 I leave you to imagine the state the servants were 
 in Tvhen this official announcement first reached 
 their ears. The Superintendent decided to begin 
 by examining the boudoir; and^ that done, to ex- 
 amine the servants nexc. At the same time, he 
 posted one of his men on the staii'case which led 
 to the servants^ bedrooms, with instructions to let 
 nobody in the house pass him, till further orders. 
 
 At this latter proceeding, the weaker half of the 
 human family went distracted on the spot. They 
 bounced out of their corners ; whisked up- stairs in 
 a body to [Miss Eachel's room (Rosanna Spearman 
 being carried away among them this time) ; burst in 
 on Superintendent Seegrave ; and all looking equally 
 guilty, summoned him to say which of them he 
 suspected, at once. 
 
 Mr. Superintendent proved equal to the occasion 
 — he looked at them with his resolute eye, and he 
 cowed them with his military voice. 
 
 '^ Xow, then, you women, go down-stairs again, 
 every one of you. I won^t have you here. Look V^ 
 says Mr. Superintendent, suddenly pointing to a 
 little smear of the decorative painting on ^liss 
 Rache?s door — at the outer edge^ just under the
 
 16S THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 lock. " Look Avliat miscliicf the petticoats of some 
 of you have done already. Clear out ! clear out V' 
 Rosanna Spearman, who was nearest to him, and 
 nearest to the little smear on the door, set the 
 example of obedience, and slipped off instantly to 
 her work. The rest folloAved her out. The Super- 
 intendent finished his examination of the room ; 
 and, making nothing of it, asked me who had first 
 discovered the robbery. !My daughter had first 
 discovered it. My daughter was sent for. 
 
 Mr. Superintendent proved to be a little too 
 sharp with Penelope at starting. " Now, young 
 woman, attend to me — and mind you speak the 
 truth.^'' Penelope fired up instantly. " I've never 
 been taught to tell lies, Mr. Policeman ! — and if 
 father can stand there and hear me accused of 
 falsehood and thieving, and my own bedroom shut 
 against me, and my character taken away, w^hich is 
 all a poor girl has left, he^s not the good father 
 I take him for !" A timely word from me put 
 Justice and Penelope on a pleasanter footing 
 together. The questions and answers went swim- 
 mingly; and ended in nothing worth mentioning. 
 My daughter had seen Miss Rachel put the Diamond 
 in the drawer of the cabinet, the last thing at night. 
 She had gone in with Miss RacheFs cup of tea, at 
 eight the next morning, and had found the drawer
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 169 
 
 open and empty. Upon that^ slie had alarmed the 
 house— and there ^as an end of Penelope^s 
 evidence. 
 
 Mr. Superintendent next ashed to see Miss Rachel 
 herself. Penelope mentioned his request through 
 the door. The answer reached us by the same road ; 
 " I have nothing to tell the policeman — I can^t see 
 anybody.''^ Our experienced officer looked equally 
 surprised and oftended^ vrhen he heard that reply. 
 I told him my young lady was ill^ and begged him 
 to wait a little and see her later. AVe thereupon 
 went down-stairs again ; and were met by Mr. God^ 
 frey and Mr. Franklin^ crossing the hall. 
 
 The two gentlemen^ being inmates of the house, 
 were summoned to say if they could throw any 
 light on the matter. Xcither of them knew any- 
 thing about it. Had they heard any suspicious 
 noises during the previous night ? They had heard 
 nothing but the pattering of the rain. Had I^ lying^ 
 awake longer than either of them, heard nothing 
 either ? Nothing ! Released from examination, 
 Mr. Franklin (still sticking to the helpless view of 
 our difficulty) whispered to me : " That man will 
 be of no earthly use to us. Superintendent See- 
 grave is an ass.^' Released in his turn, Mr. Godfrey 
 whispered to me : '' Evidently a most competent 
 person. Betteredge, I have the greatest faith in
 
 170 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 liim !" Many men_, many opinions,, as one of the 
 ancients said^ before my time. 
 
 ^Ir. Superintendent's next proceeding took him 
 hack to the ^' boudoir" again^ \\'ith my daughter and 
 me at his heels. His object was to discover 
 Avhether any of the furnitm-e had been moved^ 
 during the nighty out of its customary place — his 
 previous investigation in the room having, ap- 
 parently, not gone quite far enough to satisfy his 
 mind on this point. 
 
 While we were still poking about among the 
 chairs and tables, the door of the bedroom was 
 suddenly opened. After having denied herself to 
 everybody, Miss K/achel, to our astonishment, walked 
 into the midst of us of her own accord. She took 
 up her garden hat from a chair, and then went 
 straight to Penelope with this question : 
 
 '* Mr. Franklin Blake sent you with a message 
 to me this morning V 
 
 " Yes, miss.'' 
 
 ^^ He wished to speak to me, didn't he ?" 
 
 '^Yes, miss." 
 
 " Where is he now ?" 
 
 Hearing voices on the terrace below, I looked 
 out of window, and saw the two gentlemen walking 
 up and down together. Answering for my daughter, 
 I said, '^ Mr. Franklin is on the terrace, miss."
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 171 
 
 Without another word, vrithout lieediug ]\Ir. 
 Superintendent, who tried to speak to her ; pale 
 as death, and wrapped up strangely in her own 
 thoughts, she left the room, and went down to her 
 cousins on the terrace. 
 
 It showed a want of due respect, it showed a 
 breach of good manners, on my part ; but, for the 
 life of me, I couldn't help looking out of window 
 when Miss Rachel met the gentlemen outside. She 
 went up to ]Mr. Franklin without appearing to 
 notice Mr. Godfrey, who thereupon drew back and 
 left them by themselves. What she said to Mr. 
 Jr'ranklin appeared to be spoken vehemently. It 
 lasted but for a short time ; and (judging by what 
 I saw of his face from the window) seemed to 
 astonish him beyond all power of expression. While 
 they were still together, my lady appeared on the 
 terrace. Miss Rachel saw her — said a few last 
 words to Mr. Franklin — and suddenly went back 
 into the house again, before her mother came up 
 with her. ^ly lady, surprised herself, and noticing 
 Mr. Franklin^s surprise, spoke to him. Mr. 
 Godfrey joined them, and spoke also. Mr. 
 Franklin walked away a little, between the two, 
 telling them what had happened, I suppose ; for 
 they both stopped short, after taking a few steps, 
 like persons struck with amazement. I had just
 
 172 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 seen as much as this^ when the door of the sitting- 
 room was opened violently. Miss Rachel walked 
 swiftly through to her bedroom^ wild and angry, 
 with fierce eyes and flaming cheeks. Mr. Super- 
 intendent once more attempted to question her. 
 She turned round on him at her bedroom door. " I 
 have not sent for you V she cried out, vehemently. 
 "I don^t want you. My Diamond is lost. Neither 
 you nor anybody will ever find it !'^ AYith those 
 w^ords she went in, and locked the door in our faces. 
 Penelope, standing nearest to it, heard her burst 
 out crying the moment she was alone again. 
 
 In a rage, one moment ; in tears, the next ! 
 What did it mean ? 
 
 I told the Superintendent it meant that Miss 
 Rachel's temper w^as upset by the loss of her jewel. 
 Being anxious for the honour of the family, it dis- 
 tressed me to see my young lady forget herself — 
 even wdth a police-officer — and I made the best 
 excuse I could, accordingly. In my own private 
 mind, I was more puzzled by Miss Rachel's extra- 
 ordinary language and conduct than words can tell. 
 Taking what she had said at her bedroom door as a 
 guide to guess by, I could only conclude that she 
 was mortally offended by our sending for the police, 
 and that Mr. Franklin's astonishment on the terrace
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 173 
 
 was caused by her having expressed herself to him 
 (as the person chiefly instrumental in fetching the 
 police) to that effect. If this guess Avas rights why 
 — having lost her Diamond — should she object to 
 the presence in the house of the very people whose 
 business it was to recover it for her ? And how, in 
 Heaven^s name, could slie know that the Moonstone 
 would never be found again ? 
 
 As things stood, at present, no answer to those 
 questions was to be hoped for from anybody in the 
 house. Mr. Franklin appeared to think it a point 
 of honour to forbear repeating to a servant — even to 
 so old a servant as I Avas — what !Miss Rachel had 
 said to him on the terrace. Mr. Godfrey, who, as 
 a gentleman and a relative, had been probably 
 admitted into Mr. Franklin^s confidence, respected 
 that confidence as he was bound to do. My lady, 
 who was also in the secret no doubt, and who alone 
 had access to Miss Rachel, owned openly that she 
 could make nothing of her. " You madden me, 
 when you talk of the Diamond V^ All her mother^s 
 influence failed to extract from her a word more 
 than that. 
 
 Here we Avere, then, at a dead-lock about Miss 
 Rachel — and at a dead-lock about the Moonstone. 
 In the first case, my lady was powerless to help us.
 
 174 , THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 In the second (as you shall presently judge), Mr. 
 Seegrave was fast approaching the condition of a 
 superintendent at his wits^ end. 
 
 Having ferreted about all over the " boudoir/' 
 without making any discoveries among the furni- 
 ture^ our experienced officer applied to me to know, 
 whether the servants in general were or were not 
 acquainted with the place in which the Diamond 
 had been put for the night. 
 
 " I knew where it was put, sir/"* I said, " to 
 begin with. Samuel, the footman, knew also^ — for 
 he was present in the hall, when they were talking 
 about where the Diamond was to be kept that night. 
 My daughter knew, as she has already told you. 
 She or Samuel may have mentioned the thing to 
 the other servants — or the other servants may have 
 heard the talk for themselves, through the side-door of 
 the hall, which might have been open to the back 
 staircase. For all I can tell, everybody in the house 
 may have known where the jewel was, last night.'' 
 
 My answer presenting rather a wide field for 
 Mr. Superintendent's suspicions to range over, he 
 tried to narrow it by asking about the servants' 
 characters next. 
 
 I thought directly of Rosanna Spearman. But 
 it was neither my place nor my wish to direct 
 suspicion against a poor girl, whose honesty had
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 175 
 
 been above all doubt as long as I had known her. 
 The matron at the Reformatory had reported her to 
 my lady as a sincerely penitent and thoroughly 
 trustworthy girl. It was the Superintendent's 
 business to discover reason for suspecting her first 
 — and then^ and not till then, it would be my duty 
 to tell him how she came into my lady's service. 
 " All our people have excellent characters/' I said. 
 " And all have deserved the trust their mistress has 
 placed in them." After that, there was but one 
 thing left for Mr. Seegrave to do — namely, to set to 
 work, and tackle the servants'* characters himself. 
 
 One after another, they were examined. One 
 after another, they proved to have nothing to say — 
 and said it (so far as the women were concerned) at 
 gi'eat length, and with a veiy angry sense of the 
 embargo laid on theii' bedrooms. The rest of them 
 being sent back to theu' places down-stairs, Pene- 
 lope was then summoned, and examined separately 
 a second time. 
 
 My daughter's little outbreak of temper in the 
 " boudoir," and her readiness to think herself sus- 
 pected, appeared to have produced an unfavourable 
 impression on Superintendent Seegrave. It seemed 
 also to dwell a little on his mind, that she had 
 been the last person who saw the Diamond at 
 night. When the second questioning was over, my
 
 176 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 §irl came back to mc in a frenzj^ There was no 
 doubt of it any longer — the police-officer had almost 
 as good as told her she was the thief! I could 
 scarcely believe him (taking Mr. Franklin^s view) to 
 be quite such an ass as that. But^ though he said 
 nothing, the eye with which he looked at my 
 daughter was not a very pleasant eye to see. I 
 laughed it off with poor Penelope, as something too 
 ridiculous to be treated seriously — which it certainly 
 was. Secretly, I am afraid I was foolish enough to 
 be angry too. It was a little trying — it was, indeed. 
 My girl sat down in a corner, with her apron over 
 her head, quite broken-hearted. Foolish of her, 
 you will say : ' she might have waited till he openly 
 accused her. Well, being a man of just and equal 
 temper, I admit that. Still Mr. Superintendent 
 might have remembered — never mind what he might 
 have remembered. The devil take him ! 
 
 The next and last step in the investigation 
 brought matters, as they say, to a crisis. The 
 oflBcer had an interview (at which I v,as present) 
 with my lady. After informing her that the Diamond 
 must have been taken by somebody in the house, he 
 requested permission for himself and his men to 
 search the servants' rooms and boxes on the spot. 
 My good mistress, like the generous high-bred 
 woman she was, refused to let us be treated like
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 177 
 
 thieves. " I will never consent to make such a 
 return as tliat/^ she saicl^ " for all I oAve to the 
 faithful servants who are employed in my house/^ 
 
 Mr. Superintendent made his bow^ with a look in 
 my direction, which said plainly, " ^^ hy employ me, 
 if you are to tie mv hands in this wav V As head of 
 the servants, I felt directly that we were bound, in 
 justice to all parties, not to profit by our mistress's 
 generosity. " We gratefully thank your ladyship,'^ 
 I said ; " but we ask permission to do what is right 
 in this matter, by giving np our keys. When 
 Gabriel Betteredge sets the example,'^ says I, 
 stopping Superintendent Seegrave at the door, '' the 
 rest of the servants will follow, I promise you. 
 There are my keys, to begin Avith V My lady took 
 me by the hand, and thanked me with the tears in her 
 eyes. Lord ! what would I not have given, at that 
 moment, for the privilege of knocking Superinten- 
 dent Seegrave down ! 
 
 As I had promised for them, the other servants 
 followed my lead, sorely against the grain, of course, 
 but all taking the view that I took. The women 
 were a sight to see, while the police-officers were 
 rummaging among their things. The cook looked as 
 if she could grill Mr. Superintendent alive on a 
 furnace, and the other women looked as if they 
 could eat him when he was done. 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 The search over, and no Diamond or sign of 
 a Diamond being found, of course, anywhere, Super- 
 intendent Scegrave retired to my little room to 
 consider with himself what he was to do next. He 
 and his men had now been hours in the house, and 
 had not advanced us one inch towards a discovery 
 of how the Moonstone had been taken, or of whom 
 we were to suspect as the thief. 
 
 While the police-officer was still pondering in 
 solitude, I was sent for to see jNIr. Franklin in the 
 library. To my unutterable astonishment, just as 
 my hand was on the door, it was suddenly opened 
 from the inside, and out walked Ptosanna Spearman ! 
 
 After the library had been swept and cleaned in 
 the morning, neither first nor second housemaid 
 had any business in that room at any later period 
 of the day. I stopped Rosanna Spearman, and 
 charged her with a breach of domestic discipline on 
 the spot. 
 
 ^' What might you want in the library at this 
 time of day ?'^ I inquired. 
 
 '' Mr. Franklin Blake dropped one of his rings 
 iip-stairs,^^ says Rosanna; " and I have been into the 
 library to give it to him." The girFs face was all 
 in a flush as she made me that answer ; and she 
 -walked away with a toss of her head and a look of
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 179 
 
 self-importance wliicli I was quite at a loss to 
 account for. The proceedings in the house had 
 doubtless upset all the women-servants more or 
 less ; but none of them had gone clean out of their 
 natural characters^ as Rosanna, to all appearance, 
 had now gone out of hers. 
 
 I found Mr. Franklin writing at the library- table. 
 He asked for a conveyance to the railway station 
 the moment I entered the room. The first sound 
 of his voice informed me that we now had the 
 resolute side of him uppermost once more. The 
 man made of cotton had disappeared; and the man 
 made of iron sat before me again. 
 
 ^*' Going to London, sir Y' I asked. 
 
 " Going to telegraph to London/'' says ^Ir. 
 Franklin. " I have convinced my aunt that we 
 must have a cleverer head than Superintendent 
 Seegrave^s to help us ; and I have got her permis- 
 sion to despatch a telegram to my father. He 
 knows the Chief Commissioner of Police, and the 
 Commissioner can lay his hand on the right man to 
 solve the mystery of the Diamond. Talking of 
 mysteries, by-the-bye,^^ says Mr. Franklin, di'oppiug 
 his voice, " I have another word to say to you 
 before you go to the stables. Don't breathe a word 
 of it to anybody as yet ; but either Rosanna Spear- 
 man's head is not quite right, or I am afraid she 
 
 N 2
 
 ISO THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 knows more about the IMoonstone than she ought 
 to know/' 
 
 I can hardly tell -whether I was more startled or 
 distressed at hearing him say that. If I had been 
 younger^ I might have confessed as much to Mr. 
 Franklin. But when you arc old^ you acquire one 
 excellent habit. In cases Avhere you don't see your 
 way clearly, you hold your tongue. 
 
 " She came in here with a ring I dropped in my 
 bedroom/' Mr. Franklin went on. "When I had 
 thanked her^ of course I expected her to go. In- 
 stead of that, she stood opposite to me at the 
 table, looking at me in the oddest manner — half 
 frightened, and half familiar — I couldn't make it 
 out. *" This is a strange thing about the Diamond, 
 sir/ she said, in a curiously sudden, headlong way. 
 I said, ^ Yes, it was,' and wondered what was coming^ 
 next. Upon my honour, Bctteredge, I think she 
 must be wrong in the head ! She said, ^ They will 
 never find the Diamond, sir, will they ? No ! nor 
 the. person who took it — I'll answer for that.' She 
 actually nodded and smiled at me ! Before I could 
 ask her what she meant, we heard your step out- 
 side. I suppose she was afraid of your catching 
 her here. At any rate, she changed colour, and 
 left the room. What on earth does it mean?" 
 
 I could not bring myself to tell him the girl'a
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 181 
 
 story, even then. It tvouIcI liavc been almost as 
 good as telling liim that she was the thief. Be- 
 sides, even if I had made a clean breast of it, 
 and even supposing she was the thief, the reason 
 "why she should let out her secret to Mr. Franklin, 
 of all the people in the world, would have been 
 still as far to seek as ever. 
 
 " I can^t bear the idea of getting the poor girl 
 into a scrape, merely because she has a flighty 
 way with her, and talks very strangely,^^ Mr. 
 Franklin went on. '' And yet if she had said to 
 the Superintendent what she said to me, fool as he 
 
 is, Pm afraid " He stopped there, and left the 
 
 rest unspoken. 
 
 ^'' The best way, sir,"*"* I said, ^' will be for me to 
 say two words privately to my mistress about it at 
 the first opportunity. ^ly lady has a very friendly 
 interest in Rosanna ; and the girl may only have 
 been forward and foolish, after all. AVhen there^s 
 a mess of any kind in a house, sir, the women - 
 servants like to look at the gloomy side — it gives 
 the poor wretches a kind of importance in their 
 own eyes. If there's anybody iU, trust the women 
 for prophesying that the person will die. If it's a 
 jewel lost, trust them for prophesying that it Avill 
 never be found again." 
 
 This view (which, I am bound to say, I thought
 
 182 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 a probable view myself, on reflection) seemed to 
 relieve Mr. Franklin mightily : he folded up his 
 telegram^ and dismissed the subject. On my way 
 to the stables, to order the pony-chaise, I looked in 
 at the servants^ hall, where they were at dinner. 
 Hosanna Spearman was not among them. On 
 inquiry, I found that she had been suddenly taken 
 ill, and had gone up-stairs to her own room to lie 
 down. 
 
 " Curious ! She looked well enough when I saw 
 her last,^^ I remarked. 
 
 Penelope followed me out. " DonH talk in that 
 way before the rest of them, father,^' she said. 
 " lou only make them harder on Rosanna than ever. 
 The poor thing is breaking her heart about Mr. 
 Franklin Blake.'' 
 
 Here was another view of the girl's conduct. If 
 it was possible for Penelope to be right, the ex- 
 planation of Rosanna's strange language and be- 
 haviour might have been all in this — that she 
 didn't care what she said, so long as she could sur- 
 prise Mr. Franklin into speaking to her. Granting 
 that to be the right reading of the riddle, it ac- 
 counted, perhaps, for her flighty self-conceited 
 manner when she passed me in the hall. Though 
 he had onlj^ said three words, still she had carried 
 her point, and Mr. Franklin had spoken to her.
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 183" 
 
 I saw the pony harnessed myself. In the in- 
 fernal network of mysteries and uncertainties that 
 now surrounded us^ I declare it was a relief ta 
 observe how well the buckles and straps under- 
 stood each other ! When you had seen the pony 
 backed into the shafts of the chaise^ you had seen 
 something there was no doubt about. And that^ 
 let me tell you, was becoming a treat of the rarest 
 kind in our household. 
 
 Going round with the chaise to the front door^ 
 I found not only Mr. Franklin, but Mr. Godfrey 
 and Superintendent Seegrave also waiting for me 
 on the steps. 
 
 Mr. Superintendent's reflections (after failing ta 
 find the Diamond in the servants' rooms or boxes) 
 had led him, it appeared, to an entirely new con- 
 clusion. Still sticking to his first text, namely, 
 that somebody in the house had stolen the jewel, 
 our experienced officer was now of opinion that the 
 thief (he was wise enough not to name poor Pene- 
 lope, whatever he might privately think of her !) 
 had been acting in concert with the Indians ; and 
 he accordingly proposed shifting his inquiries to 
 the jugglers in the prison at Frizinghall. Hearing 
 of this new move, Mr. Franklin had volunteered to 
 take the Superintendent back to the town, from 
 which he could telegraph to London as easily as.
 
 184 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 from our station. Mr. Godfrey ;, still devoutly be- 
 lieving in Mr. Seegrave^ and greatly interested in 
 witnessing the examination of the Indians, had 
 begged leave to accompany the officer to Frizinghall. 
 One of the two inferior policemen was to be left at 
 the house, in case anything happened. The other 
 was to go back with the Superintendent to the 
 town. So the four places in the pony-chaise were 
 just filled. 
 
 Before he took the reins to drive off, Mr. 
 Franklin walked me away a few steps out of 
 hearing of the others. 
 
 " I will wait to telegraph to London/^ he said, 
 " till I see what comes of our examination of the 
 Indians. My own conviction is, that this muddle- 
 headed local police-officer is as much in the dark as 
 ever, and is simply trying to gain time. The idea of 
 any of the servants being in league with the Indians 
 is a preposterous absurdity, in my opinion. Keep 
 about the house, Betteredge, till I come back, and 
 try what you can make of Bosanna Spearman. I 
 don^t ask you to do anything degrading to your 
 own self-respect, or anything cruel towards the girl. 
 I only ask you to exercise your observation more 
 carefully than usual. We will make as light of it 
 as we can before my aunt — but this is a more im- 
 portant matter than you may suppose/''
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 185 
 
 " It's a matter of twenty thousand pounds, sir/^ 
 I said, thinking of the value of the Diamond. 
 
 " It's a matter of quieting RacheFs mind/'' 
 answered !Mr. Franklin gravely. " I am very un- 
 easy about her.'^ 
 
 He left me suddenly, as if he desired to cut short 
 any further talk between us. I thought I under- 
 stood why. Further talk might have let me into 
 the secret of what Miss Rachel had said to him on 
 the terrace. 
 
 So they drove away to Frizinghall. I was ready 
 enough, in the girl's own interest, to have a little 
 talk with Rosanna in private. But the needful 
 opportunity failed to present itself. She only came 
 down-stairs again at tea-time. When she did appear, 
 she was flighty and excited, had what they call an 
 hysterical attack, took a dose of sal-volatile by my 
 lady^s order, and was sent back to her bed. 
 
 The day wore on to its end drearily and mise- 
 rably enough, I can tell you. IMiss Rachel still 
 kept her room, declaring that she was too ill to 
 come down to dinner that day. My lady was in 
 such low spirits about her daughter, that I could 
 not bring myself to make her additionally anxious, 
 hy reporting what Rosanna Spearman had said to 
 Mr. Franklin. Penelope persisted in believing that 
 she was to be forthwith tried, sentenced, and trans-
 
 186 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 ported for theft. The other women took to their 
 Bibles and hymn-books_, and looked as sour as ver- 
 juice over their reading — a result, which I have 
 observed, in my sphere of life, to follow generally 
 on the performance of acts of piety at unaccustomed 
 periods of the day. As for me, I hadn^t even 
 heart enough to open my Robinson Crusoe. I went 
 out into the yard, and, being hard up for a little 
 cheerful society, set my chair by the kennels, and 
 talked to the dogs. 
 
 Half an hour before dinner-time, the two gentle- 
 men came back from Frizinghall, having arranged 
 with Superintendent Seegrave that he was to re- 
 turn to us the next day. They had called on Mr. 
 Murthwaite, the Indian traveller, at his present 
 residence, near the town. At Mr. Franklin^s re- 
 quest, he had kindly given them the benefit of his 
 knowledge of the language, in dealing with those 
 two, out of the three Indians, who knew nothing of 
 English. The examination, conducted carefully, 
 and at great length, had ended in nothing; not 
 the shadow of a reason being discovered for sus- 
 pecting the jugglers of having tampered with any 
 of our servants. On reaching that conclusion, 
 .Mr. Franklin had sent his telegi^aphic message to 
 London, and there the matter now rested till to- 
 morrow came.
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 187 
 
 So much for the history of the day that followed 
 the birthday. Xot a glimmer of light had broken 
 in on us, so far. A day or two after, however, the 
 darkness lifted a little. How, and with what 
 result, you shall presently see.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 HE Thursday night passed^ and nothing 
 happened. With the Friday morning came 
 two pieces of news. 
 
 Item the first : The baker's man declared he had 
 met Rosanna Spearman^ on the previous afternoon, 
 with a thick veil on, walking towards Frizinghall 
 "by the footpath way over the moor. It seemed 
 strange that anybody should be mistaken about 
 Rosanna_, whose shoulder marked her out pretty 
 plainly, poor thing — but mistaken the man must 
 Lave been; for Rosanna, as you know, had been 
 all the Thursday afternoon ill up-stairs in her 
 Toom. 
 
 Item the second came through the postman. 
 Worthy Mr. Candy had said one more of his many 
 unlucky things, when he drove off in the rain on 
 the birthday night, and told me that a doctor^s 
 skin was waterproof. In spite of his skin, the wet
 
 THE MOONSTONE. IS^ 
 
 had got tlirougli liim. He had caught a chill that 
 night, and T^•as now down with a fever. The last 
 accounts, brought by the postman, represented him 
 to be light-headed — talking nonsense as glibly, poor 
 man, in his delirium as he often talked it in his 
 sober sense. AYe were all sorry for the little 
 doctor ; but Mr. Franklin appeared to regret his 
 illness, chiefly on ]Miss RacheFs account. From 
 what he said to my lady, while I was in the room 
 at breakfast-time, he appeared to think that Miss 
 Rachel — if the suspense about the ^Moonstone was 
 not soon set at rest — might stand in urgent need of 
 the best medical advice at our disposal. 
 
 Breakfast had not been over long, when a tele- 
 gram from Mr. Blake, the elder, arrived, in answer 
 to his son. It informed us that he had laid hands 
 (by help of his friend, the Commissioner) on the 
 right man to help us. The name of him was 
 Sergeant Cuff; and the arrival of him from London 
 might be expected by the morning train. 
 
 At reading the name of the new police-officer, 
 Mr. Franklin gave a start. It seems that he had 
 heard some curious anecdotes about Sergeant Cufl:', 
 from his father's lawyer, during his stay in London. 
 " I begin to hope we are seeing the end of our 
 anxieties already,'' he said. '' If half the stories I 
 have heard are true, when it comes to unravelling
 
 190 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 a mystery, there isn^t the equal in England of 
 Sergeant CufF'/^ 
 
 We all got excited and impatient as the time 
 drew near for the appearance of this renowned and 
 capable character. Superintendent Seegrave, re- 
 turning to us at his appointed time_, and hearing 
 that the Sergeant was expected, instantly shut him- 
 self up in a room, with pen, ink, and paper, to 
 make notes of the Report which would be certainly 
 expected from him. I should have liked to have 
 gone to the station myself, to fetch the Sergeant. 
 But my lady^s carriage and horses were not to be 
 thought of, even for the celebrated Cuff; and the 
 pony-chaise was required later for Mr. Godfrey. 
 He deeply regretted being obliged to leave his aunt 
 at such an anxious time ; and he kindly put off the 
 hour of his departure till as late as the last train, 
 for the purpose of hearing what the clever London 
 police-officer thought of the case. But on Friday 
 night he must be in town, ha^-ing a Ladies' Charity, 
 in difficulties, waiting to consult him on Saturday 
 morning. 
 
 When the time came for the Sergeant's arrival, 
 I went down to the gate to look out for him. 
 
 A fly from the railway drove up as I reached the 
 lodge ; and out got a grizzled, elderly man, so 
 miserably lean that he looked as if he had not got
 
 ) 
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 191 
 
 an ounce of flesli on his bones in any part of him. 
 He was dressed all in decent black, witli a -white 
 cravat round his neck. His face was as sharp as 
 a hatchet, and the skin of it was as yellow and dry 
 and withered as an autumn leaf. His eyes, of a 
 steely light grey, had a very disconcerting trick, 
 when they encountered your eyes, of looking as if 
 they expected something more from you than you 
 were aware of yourself. His walk was soft ; his 
 voice was melancholy ; his long lanky fingers were 
 hooked like claws. He might have been a parson, 
 or an undertaker — or anything else you like, except 
 what he really was. A more complete opposite to 
 Superintendent Seegrave than Sergeant Cuff, and 
 a less comforting officer to look at, for a family in 
 distress, I defy you to discover, search where you 
 may. 
 
 " Is this Lady Verinder^s ?" he asked. 
 
 '' Yes, sir/' 
 
 " I am Sergeant Cuff.'' 
 
 " This way, sir, if you please."" 
 
 On our road to the house, I mentioned my name 
 and position in the family, to satisfy him that he 
 might speak to me about the business on which my 
 lady was to employ him. Not a word did he say 
 about the business, however, for all that. He 
 admired the grounds, and remarked that he felt the
 
 192 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 sea air very brisk and refreshing. I privately 
 wondered;, on my side, liow the celebrated CufF had 
 got his reputation. We reached the house, in the 
 temper of two strange dogs, conpled up together for 
 the first time in their lives by the same chain. 
 
 Asking for my lady, and hearing that she was in 
 one of the conservatories, we went round to the 
 gardens at the back, and sent a servant to seek her. 
 While we were waiting. Sergeant Cuff looked through 
 the evergreen arch on our left, spied out our rosery, 
 and walked straight in, with the first appearance of 
 anything like interest that he had shown yet. To 
 the gardener^s astonishment, and to my disgust, this 
 celebrated policeman proved to be quite a mine of 
 learning on the trumpery subject of rose-gardens. 
 
 " Ah, you've got the right exposure here to the 
 south and sou'-west,^'' says the Sergeant, with a 
 wag of his grizzled head, and a streak of pleasure in 
 his melancholy voice. " This is the shape for a 
 rosery — nothing like a circle set in a square. Yes, 
 yes; with walks between all the beds. But they 
 oughtn't to be gravel walks like these. Grass, Mr. 
 Gardener — grass walks between your roses ; gravel's 
 too hard for them. That's a sweet pretty bed of 
 white roses and blush roses. They always mix 
 well together, don't they ? Here's the white musk 
 rose, Mr. Bettered ge — our old English rose holding
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 193 
 
 up its head along with the best and the newest of 
 them. Pretty dear \" says the Sergeant, fondling 
 the Musk Rose with his lanky fingers, and speaking 
 to it as if he was speaking to a child. 
 
 This was a nice sort of man to recover Miss 
 Rachel's Diamond, and to find out the thief who 
 stole it ! 
 
 '' You seem to be fond of roses, Sergeant ?'' I 
 remarked. 
 
 " I haYen''t much time to be fond of anything,^' 
 says Sergeant Cufi^. " But, when I have a moment's 
 fondness to bestow, most times, Mr. Betteredge, the 
 roses get it. I began my life among them in my 
 father's nursery garden, and I shall end my life 
 among them, if I can. Yes. One of these days 
 (please God) I shall retire from catching thieves, 
 and try my hand at growing roses. There will be 
 grass walks, Mr. Gardener, between my beds," says 
 the Sergeant, on whose mind the gravel paths of 
 our rosery seemed to dwell unpleasantly. 
 
 ^' It seems an odd taste, sir," I ventured to say, 
 *' for a man in your line of life." 
 
 ^' If you will look about you (which most people 
 won't do)," says Sergeant Cufi", '' you will see that 
 the nature of a man's tastes is, most times, as 
 opposite as possible to the nature of a man's business. 
 Show me any two things more opposite one from 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 194 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 the other than a rose and a thief; and Fll correct 
 my tastes accordingly — if it isn^t too late at my 
 time of life. You find the damask rose a goodish 
 stock for most of the tender sorts_, don't you, Mr. 
 Gardener ? Ah ! I thought so. Here's a lady 
 coming. Is it Lady Verinder ?'' 
 
 He had seen her before either I or the gardener 
 had seen her — though we knew which way to look, 
 and he didn^t. I began to think him rather a quicker 
 man than he appeared to be at first sight. 
 
 The Sergeant's appearance, or the Sergeant's 
 errand — one or both — seemed to cause my lady 
 some little embarrassment. She was, for the first 
 time in all my experience of her, at a loss what to 
 say at an interview with a stranger. Sergeant Cufi" 
 put her at her ease directly. He asked if any other 
 person had been employed about the robbery before 
 we sent for him ; and hearing that another person 
 had been called in, and was nov/ in the house, 
 begged leave to speak to him before anything else 
 was done. 
 
 My lady led the way back. Before he followed 
 her, the Sergeant relieved his mind on the subject 
 of the gravel walks by a parting word to the gar- 
 dener. ^' Get her ladyship to try grass," he said, with 
 -a sour look at the paths.. '^ No gravel ! no gravel V 
 
 Why Superintendent Seegrave should have ap-
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 195 
 
 peared to be several sizes smaller tlian life_, on 
 being presented to Sergeant Cuff; I can't under- 
 take to explain. I can only state the fact. They 
 retii'ed together; and remained a weary long time 
 shut up from all mortal intrusion. When they 
 came out^ Mr. Superintendent was excited, and Mr. 
 Sergeant was yawning. 
 
 " The Sergeant wishes to see ^liss Yerinder's 
 sitting-room/^ says Mr. Seegrave, addressing me 
 with great pomp and eagerness. " The Sergeant 
 may have some questions to ask. Attend the Ser- 
 geant; if you please V' 
 
 While I was being ordered about in this way^ I 
 looked at the great Cuff. The great Cuff, on his 
 sidC; looked at Superintendent Seegrave in that 
 quietly expecting way which I have already noticed. 
 I can^t affirm that he was on the watch for his 
 brother-officer^s speedy appearance in the character 
 of an Ass — I can only say that I strongly 
 suspected it. 
 
 I led the way up-stairs. The Sergeant went 
 softly all over the Indian cabinet and all round the 
 ^' boudoir -" asking questions (occasionally only of 
 Mr. Superintendent, and continually of me), the 
 drift of which I believe to have been equally unin- 
 telligible to both of us. In due time, his course 
 brought him to the door, and put him face to face 
 
 o2
 
 196 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 ■with the decorative painting that you know of. 
 He laid one lean inquiring finger on the small 
 smear^ just under the lock^ which Superintendent 
 Seegrave had already noticed, when he reproved the 
 women-servants for all crowding together into the 
 room. 
 
 ^^ That's a pity/' says Sergeant Cuff. "How 
 did it happen ?" 
 
 He put the question to me. I answered that 
 the women-servants had crowded into the room on 
 the previous morning, and that some of their petti- 
 coats had done the mischief. " Superintendent See- 
 grave ordered them out^ sir/' I added^ " before they 
 did any more harm." 
 
 " Right !" says Mr. Superintendent in his military 
 wav. '' I ordered them out. The petticoats did it. 
 Sergeant — the petticoats did it." 
 
 ^' Did you notice which petticoat did it ?" asked 
 Sergeant Cuff, still addressing himself, not to his 
 brother-oflficer, but to me. 
 
 " Iso, sir." 
 
 He turned to Superintendent Seegrave upon that, 
 and said, "You noticed, I suppose?" 
 
 Mr. Superintendent looked a little taken aback ; 
 but he made the best of it. " I can't charge my 
 memory, Sergeant," he said, " a mere trifle — a 
 mere trifle."
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 197 
 
 Sergeant Cuff looked at Mr. Seegrave as lie had 
 looked at the gravel walks in the roserv^ and gave 
 us_, in his melancholy way, the first taste of his 
 quahty which we had had yet. 
 
 ^'' I made a private inquiry last week, Mr. Super- 
 intendent/^ he said. ^' At one end of the inquiry 
 there was a murder, and at the other end there was 
 a spot of ink on a tablecloth that nobody could 
 account for. In all my experience along the dir- 
 tiest ways of this dirty little world, I have never 
 met with such a thing as a trifle yet. Before we 
 go a step further in this business we must see the 
 petticoat that made the smear, and we must know 
 for certain when that paint was wet.^"* 
 
 Mr. Superintendent — taking his set-down rather 
 sulkily — asked if he should summon the women. 
 Serjeant Cuff, after considering a minute, sighed^ 
 and shook his head. 
 
 " Xo," he said, '' we^U take the matter of the 
 paint first. It's a question of Yes or No with 
 the paint — which is short. It's a question of petti- 
 coats with the women — which is long. What 
 o'clock was it when the servants were in this room 
 yesterday morning ? Eleven o'clock — eh ? Is 
 there anybody in the house who knows whether 
 that paint was wet or dry, at eleven yesterday 
 morninsT ?"
 
 193 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 " Her ladyship^s nephew^ Mr. Franklin Blake, 
 knows/^ I said. 
 
 *' Is the gentleman in the liouse ?" 
 
 Mr. Franklin was as close at hand as could be 
 — ^waiting for his first chance of being introduced 
 to the great Cuff. In half a minute he was in the 
 room, and was giving his evidence as follows : 
 
 " That door, Sergeant/'' he said, " has been 
 painted by Miss Yerinder, under my inspection, 
 with my help, and in a vehicle of my own composi- 
 tion. The vehicle dries whatever colours may be 
 used with it, in twelve hours.''^ 
 
 " Do you remember when the smeared bit was 
 done, sir ?" asked the Sergeant. 
 
 '^Perfectly,'' answered Mr. Franklin. ^^ That 
 was the last morsel of the door to be finished. We 
 wanted to get it done, on Wednesday last — and I 
 myself completed it by three in the afternoon, or 
 soon after/'' 
 
 ^^ To-day is Friday,^^ said Sergeant Cufi^, addressing 
 himself to Superintendent Seegrave. " Let us reckon 
 back, sir. At three on the Wednesday afternoon, 
 that bit of the painting was completed. The vehicle 
 dried it in twelve hours — that is to say, dried it by 
 three o^clock on Thursday morning. At eleven on 
 Thursday morning you held your inquiry here. 
 Take three from eleven, and eight remains. That
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 199^ 
 
 paint had been eight hours dry, Mr. Superintendent, 
 when you supposed that the women-servants' petti- 
 coats smeared it.'' 
 
 First knock-down blow for Mr. Seegrave ! If he 
 had not suspected poor Penelope, I should have- 
 pitied him. 
 
 Having settled the question of the paint. Sergeant 
 Cuff, from that moment, gave his brother-officer up 
 as a bad job — and addressed himself to Mr. Franklin, 
 as the more promising assistant of the two. 
 
 " It's quite on the cards, sir," he said, ^' that you 
 have put the clue into our hands." 
 
 As the words passed his lips;, the bedroom door 
 opened, and Miss Rachel came out among us. 
 suddenly. 
 
 She addressed herself to the Sergeant, without 
 appearing to notice (or to heed) that he was a per- 
 fect stranger to her. 
 
 ^^Did you say," she asked, pointing to Mr. 
 Fr^i^din, ^^ that he had put the clue into your 
 hands ?" 
 
 (" This is Miss Verinder," I wliispered, behind 
 the Sergeant.) 
 
 " That gentleman, miss," says the Sergeant — 
 with his steely-grey eyes carefully studying my 
 young lady's face — ^^ has possibly put the clue into 
 our hands."
 
 200 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 She turned for one moment, and tried to look 
 at Mr. Franklin. I say, tried, for she sud^ienly 
 looked away again before their eyes met. There 
 seemed to be some strange disturbance in her mind. 
 She coloured up_, and then she turned pale again. 
 With the paleness, there came a new look into her 
 face — a look which it startled me to see. 
 
 " Having answered your question, miss," says the 
 Sergeant, " I beg leave to make an inquiry in my 
 turn. There is a smear on the painting of your 
 door, here. Do you happen to know when it was 
 done ? or who did it ?^'' 
 
 Instead of making any reply, Miss Kachel went 
 on with her questions, as if he had not spoken, or 
 as if she had not heard him. 
 
 '^ Are you another police-officer ?" she asked. 
 
 " I am Sergeant Cuff, miss, of the Detective 
 Police.^' 
 
 ^^ Do you think a young lady's advice worth 
 having ?" 
 
 ^^ I shall be glad to hear it, miss.'' 
 
 " Do your duty by yourself — and don't allow 
 Mr. Franklin Blake to help you !" 
 
 She said those words so spitefully, so savagely, 
 with such an extraordinary outbreak of ill-will to- 
 wards Mr. Franklin, in her voice and in her look, 
 that — though I had known her from a baby, though.
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 201 
 
 I loved and honoured her next to my lady herself 
 — I was ashamed of Miss Rachel for the first time 
 in my life. 
 
 Sergeant Cuff^s immovable eyes never stirred from 
 off her face. " Thank you, miss/-* he said. " Do 
 you happen to know anything about the smear? 
 Might you have done it by accident yourself?" 
 
 " I know nothing about the smear.''"' 
 
 With that answer, she turned away, and shut 
 herself up again in her bedroom. This time, I 
 heard her — as Penelope had heard her before — ^burst 
 out crying as soon as she was alone again. 
 
 I couldn"'t bring myself to look at the Sergeant 
 — I looked at Mr. Franklin, who stood nearest to 
 me. He seemed to be even more sorely distressed 
 at what had passed than I was. 
 
 " I told you I was uneasy about her," he said. 
 '''And now you see why." 
 
 *^ Miss Verinder appears to be a little out of 
 temper about the loss of her Diamond," remarked 
 the Sergeant. " It's a valuable jewel. Natural 
 enough ! natural enough !" 
 
 Here was the excuse that I had made for her 
 (when she forgot herself before Superintendent 
 Seegrave, on the previous day) being made for her 
 over again, by a man who couldn't have had my 
 interest in making it — for he was a perfect stranger !
 
 202 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 A kind of cold slmdder ran tliroiigli me_, which I 
 couldn''t account for at the time. I know^ now, 
 that I must have got my first suspicion, at that 
 moment, of a new light (and a horrid light) having 
 suddenly fallen on the case, in the mind of Sergeant 
 Cuff — purely and entirely in consequence of wdiat 
 he had seen in !Miss Rachel, and heard from Miss 
 Rachel, at that first interview between them. 
 
 '^ A young lady^s tongue is a privileged member, 
 sir," says the Sergeant to Mr. Franklin. '^ Let us 
 forget what has passed, and go straight on with this 
 business. Thanks to you, we know when the paint 
 was dry. The next thing to discover is when the 
 paint was last seen without that smear. You have 
 got a head on your shoulders — and you understand 
 what I mean.-'-' 
 
 Mr. Franklin composed himself, and came back 
 with an effort from Miss Rachel to the matter in 
 hand. 
 
 " I think I do understand,'' he said. '' The 
 more we narrow the question of time, the more we 
 also narrow the field of inquiry.'' 
 
 " That's it sir," said the Sergeant. " Did you 
 notice your work here, on the Wednesday afternoon, 
 after you had done it?" 
 
 Mr. Fi-anklin shook his head, and answered, " I 
 can't say I did."
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 203 
 
 "Did you?" inquired Sergeant Cuff, turning to me. 
 
 " I can^t say I did either, sir/^ 
 
 "Who "was the last person in the room, the last 
 thing on Wednesday night V 
 
 " Miss Rachel, I suppose, sir/'' 
 
 Mr. Franklin struck in there, " Or possibly your 
 daughter, Betteredge.^' He turned to Sergeant 
 Cuff, and explained that my daughter Tras IMiss 
 Verinder''s maid. 
 
 " Mr. Bettcredge, ask your daughter to step up. 
 Stop V says the Sergeant, taking me away to the 
 ■windoTT, out of earshot. " Your Superintendent 
 here/'' he Avent on, in a Tvhisper, " has made a 
 pretty full report to me of the manner in which he 
 has managed this case. Among other things, he 
 has, by his own confession, set the servants^ backs 
 up. It\s very important to smooth them down 
 again. Tell your daughter, and tell the rest of 
 them, these two things, with my compliments : First, 
 that I have no evidence before me, yet, that the 
 Diamond has been stolen ; I only know that the 
 Diamond has been lost. Second, that my business 
 here with the servants is simply to ask them to lay 
 their heads together and help me to find it.^'' 
 
 My experience of the women-servants, when 
 Superintendent Seegrave laid his embargo on their 
 rooms, came in handy here.
 
 S04 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 " May I make so bold; Sergeant^ as to tell tlie 
 women a third thing ?'' I asked. " Are they free 
 (with your compliments) to fidget up and down- 
 stairS; and whisk in and out of their bedrooms, if 
 the fit takes them ?'^ 
 
 " Perfectly free/''' says the Sergeant. 
 
 " That will smooth them down, sir/"* I remarked, 
 ^' from the cook to the scullion.'''' 
 
 " Go, and do it at once, Mr. Betteredge.''' 
 
 I did it in less than five minutes. There was 
 •only one difficulty when I came to the bit about 
 the bedrooms. It took a pretty stiff exertion of 
 my authority, as chief, to prevent the whole of 
 the female household from following me and 
 Penelope up-stairs, in the character of volunteer 
 witnesses in a burning fever of anxiety to help 
 Sergeant Cuff. 
 
 The Sergeant seemed to approve of Penelope. He 
 became a trifle "less dreary ; and he looked much as 
 he had looked when he noticed the white musk rose 
 in the flower-garden. Here is my daughter's evidence, 
 as drawn off from her by the Sergeant. She gave 
 it, I think, very prettily — but, there ! she is my 
 child all over : nothing of her mother in her ; 
 Lord bless you, nothing of her mother in her ! 
 
 Penelope examined : Took a lively interest in the 
 painting on the door, having helped to mix the
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 205 
 
 colours. Noticed the bit of -o'ork under tlie lock,. 
 because it was tbe last bit done. Had seen it, 
 some hours afterwards, without a smear. Had left 
 it, as late as twelve at night, without a smear. 
 Had, at that hour, wished her young lady good 
 night in the bedroom ; had heard the clock strike 
 in the " boudoir /" had her hand at the time on 
 the handle of the painted door ; knew the paint was 
 wet (having helped to mix the colours, as aforesaid) ; 
 took particular pains not to touch it ; could swear 
 that she held up the skirts of her dress, and that 
 there was no smear on the 2:)aint then ; could not 
 swear that her dress mightn^t have touched it acci- 
 dentally in going out ; remembered the dress she 
 had on, because it was new, a present from Miss 
 Rachel; her father remembered, and could speak 
 to it, too ; could, and would, and did fetch it ; dress^ 
 recognised by her father as the di'css she wore that 
 night ; skirts examined, a long job from the size of 
 them ; not the ghost of a paint-stain discovered any- 
 where. End of Penelope^s evidence — and very 
 pretty and convincing, too. Signed, Gabriel Bet- 
 teredge. 
 
 The Sergeant^s next proceeding was to question 
 me about any large dogs in the house who might 
 have got into the room, and done the mischief with 
 a whisk of their tails. Hearing that this was im-
 
 206 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 possible, lie next sent for a magnifying-glass, and 
 tried liow the smear looked,, seen that way. No 
 skin- mark (as of a human hand) printed off on the 
 paint. All the signs visible — signs -which told that 
 the paint had been smeared by some loose article of 
 somebody^s dress touching it in going by. That 
 somebody (putting together Penelope^s evidence 
 and 'Mv. Franklin's evidence) must have been in 
 the room, and done the mischief, between mid- 
 night and three o'clock on the Thursday morning. 
 
 Having brought his investigation to this point. 
 Sergeant Cuff discovered that such a person as 
 Superintendent Seegrave was still left in the room, 
 upon which he summed up the proceedings for his 
 brother-officer's benefit, as follows : 
 
 " This trifle of yours, Mr. Superintendent,^' says 
 the Sergeant, pointing to the place on the door, 
 ^' has gro^vn a little in importance since you noticed 
 it last. At the present stage of the inquiry there 
 are, as I take it, three discoveries to make, starting 
 from that smear. Find out (first) whether there is 
 any article of dress in this house with the smear of 
 the paint on it. Find out (second) who that dress 
 belongs to. Find out (third) how the person can 
 account for having been in this room, and smeared 
 the paint, between midnight and three in the morn- 
 ing. If the person can't satisfy you, you haven't
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 207 
 
 far to look for the hand that has got the Diamond. 
 FU work this by myself, if you please, and detain 
 you no longer from your regular business in the 
 town. You have got one of your men here, I 
 see. Leave him here at my disposal, in case 
 I want him — and allow me to wish you good 
 morning.^^ 
 
 Superintendent Seegrave^s respect for the Ser- 
 geant was great ; but his respect for himself was 
 greater still. Hit hard by the celebrated Cuff, he 
 hit back smartly, to the best of his ability, on 
 leading the room. 
 
 '^ I have abstained from expressing any opinion, 
 so far," says Mr. Superintendent, with his military 
 voice still in good working order. " I have now 
 only one remark to offer, on leaving this case 
 in your hands. There is such a thing, Sergeant, 
 as making a mountain out of a molehill. Good 
 morning." 
 
 ^' There is also such a thing as making nothing 
 out of a molehill, in consequence of your head being 
 too high to see it." Having returned his brother- 
 officer^s compliment in those terms. Sergeant Cuff 
 wheeled about, and walked away to the window by 
 himself 
 
 Mr. Franklin and I waited to see what was 
 coming next. The Sergeant stood at the window
 
 208 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 ■with liis hands in his pockets, looking out, and whist- 
 ling the tune of the Last E-ose of Summer softly to 
 himself. Later in the proceedings, I discovered that 
 he only forgot his manners so far as to whistle, 
 when his mind was hard at work, seeing its way 
 inch by inch to its own private ends, on which 
 occasions The Last Rose of Summer evidently helped 
 and encouraged him. I suppose it fitted in some- 
 how with his character. It reminded him, you see, 
 of his favourite roses, and, as he whistled it, it was 
 the most melancholy tune going. 
 
 Turning from the window, after a minute or two, 
 the Sergeant walked into the middle of the room, 
 and stopped there, deep in thought, with his eyes 
 on Miss RacheFs bed-room door. After a little he 
 roused himself, nodded his head, as much as to say, 
 " That will do V and, addressing me, asked for ten 
 minutes' conversation with my mistress, at her 
 ladyship's earliest convenience. 
 
 Leaving the room with this message, I heard 
 Mr. Franklin ask the Sergeant a question, and 
 stopped to hear the answer also at the threshold of 
 the door. 
 
 " Can you guess yet,'' inquired Mr. Franklin, 
 ^' who has stolen the Diamond ?" 
 
 ^' Nobody has stolen the Diamond" answered 
 Sergeant Cuff.
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 209 
 
 We both started at that extraordinary view of 
 the case^ and both earnestly begged him to tell us 
 what he meant. 
 
 ^' Wait a little/-' said the Sergeant. " The pieces 
 of the puzzle are not all put together yet.''^ 
 
 TOL. I.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 FOUND my lady in her own sitting-room. 
 She started and looked annoyed when I 
 mentioned that Sergeant Cuff wished to speak to her. 
 
 ^' Must I see him Y^ she asked. ^^ Can^t you 
 represent me^ Gabriel T' 
 
 I felt at a loss to understand this, and showed it 
 plainly, I suppose, in my face. My lady was so 
 good as to explain herself. 
 
 " I am afraid my nerves are a little shaken,-*^ she 
 said. " There is something in that police-officer 
 from London which I recoil from — I don^t know 
 why. I have a presentiment that he is bringing 
 trouble and misery with him into the house. Very 
 foolish, and very unlike me — but so it is."*' 
 
 I hardly knew what to say to this. The more / 
 saw of Sergeant Cuff, the better I liked him. My 
 lady rallied a little after having opened her heart to
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 211 
 
 me — being, naturally^ a Tvoman of a high courage, 
 as I have already told you. 
 
 " If I must see him, I must/^ she said. ^' But 
 I can^t prevail on myself to see him alone. Bring 
 him in, Gabriel, and stay here as long as he stays/^ 
 
 This was the first attack of the megrims that I 
 remembered in my mistress since the time when she 
 was a young girl. I went back to the '^ boudoii'/"* 
 Mr. Franklin strolled out into the garden, and 
 joined Mr. Godfrey, whose time for departure was 
 now drawing near. Sergeant Cuff and I went 
 straight to my mistresses room. 
 
 I declare my lady turned a shade paler at the 
 sight of him ! She commanded herself, however, 
 in other respects, and asked the Sergeant if he 
 had any objection to my being present. She was 
 so good as to add, that I was her trusted ad^dser, 
 as well as her old servant, and that in anvthin"- 
 which related to the household I was the person 
 whom it might be most profitable to consult. The 
 Sergeant politely answered that he would take mv 
 presence as a favoui', having something to say about 
 the servants in general, and ha'ving found my ex- 
 perience in that quarter already of some use to him . 
 My lady pointed to two chairs, and we set in for 
 our conference immediately. 
 
 '^ I have already formed an opinion on this case,^^ 
 
 p2
 
 212 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 says Sergeant CuflT, " which I beg your ladyship^s 
 permission to keep to myself for the present. My 
 business now is to mention what I have discovered 
 up-stairs in Miss Verinder^s sitting -room_, and what 
 I have decided (with your ladyship^s leave) on doing 
 next/' 
 
 He then went into the matter of the smear on 
 the paint, and stated the conclusions he drew from 
 it — ^just as he had stated them (only with greater 
 respect of language) to Superintendent Seegrave. 
 " One thing/' he said^ in conclusion, ^' is certain. 
 The Diamond is missing out of the drawer in the 
 cabinet. Another thing is next to certain. The 
 marks from the smear on the door must be on some 
 article of dress belonging to somebody in this house. 
 We must discover that article of dress before we 
 go a step further.-" 
 
 "And that discovery/' remarked my mistress, 
 " implies, I presume, the discovery of the thief ?■" 
 
 ^' I beg your ladyship's pardon — I don't say the 
 Diamond is stolen. I only say, at present, that the 
 Diamond is missing. The discovery of the stained 
 dress may lead the way to finding it." 
 
 Her ladyship looked at me. " Do you under- 
 stand this ?" she said. 
 
 " Sergeant Cuff understands it, my lady/' I 
 answered.
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 213 
 
 " How do you propose to discover the stained 
 dress ?^'' inquired my mistress^ addressing herself 
 once more to the Sergeant. ^' My good servants^, 
 who have been with me for years, have, I am ashamed 
 to say, had their boxes and rooms searched already 
 by the other officer. I can^t and won^'t permit 
 them to be insulted in that way a second time V 
 
 (There was a mistress to serve ! There was a 
 woman in ten thousand, if you like !) 
 
 '' That is the very point I was about to put to 
 your ladyship,^' said the Sergeant. " The other 
 officer has done a world of harm to this inquiry, by 
 letting the servants see that he suspected them. If 
 I give them cause to think themselves suspected a 
 second time, there^s no knowing what obstacles they 
 may not throw in my way — the women especially. 
 At the same time, their boxes must be searched 
 again — for this plain reason, that the first in- 
 vestigation only looked for the Diamond, and 
 that the second investigation must look for the 
 stained dress. I quite agree with you, my lady, 
 that the servants^ feelings ought to be consulted. 
 But I am equally clear that the servants^ wardrobes 
 ought to be searched.'^ 
 
 This looked very like a dead- lock. My lady said 
 so, in choicer language than mine. 
 
 ^^ I have got a plan to meet the difficulty,""
 
 214 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 said Sergeant Cuflf, " if your ladyship T^dll consent 
 to it. I propose explaining the case to the 
 servants/^ 
 
 "The women will think themselves suspected 
 directly/'' I said^ interrupting him. 
 
 ^' The women won^t, Mr. Betteredge/'' answered 
 the Sergeant_, '^ if I can tell them I am going to 
 examine the wardrobes of everybody — from her 
 ladyship downwards — who slept in the house on 
 Wednesday night. It^s a mere formality/'' he 
 addedj with a side look at my mistress ; " but the 
 servants wiU accept it as even dealing between 
 them and their betters ; and^ instead of hindering 
 the investigation,, they will make a point of honour 
 of assisting it.''^ 
 
 I saw the truth of that. My lady^, after her 
 first surprise was over^ saw the truth of it also. 
 
 " You are certain the investigation is necessary V' 
 she said. 
 
 *"' It''s the shortest v>-ay that I can see^ my lady, 
 to the end we have in view.''^ 
 
 My mistress rose to ring the bell for her maid. 
 " You shall speak to the servants/'' she said^ " with 
 the keys of my wardrobe in your hand." 
 
 Sergeant Cuff stopped her by a very unexpected 
 question. 
 
 " Hadn^t we better make sure first/' he asked.
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 215 
 
 " that the other ladies and gentlemen in ihe house 
 will consent, too V' 
 
 " The only other lady in the house is ]\Iiss 
 Verinder/'' answered my mistress, with a look of 
 surprise. " The only gentlemen are my nephews, 
 Mr. Blake and Mr. Ablewhite. There is not the 
 least fear of a refusal from any of the three.^^ 
 
 I reminded my lady here that Mr. Godfrey was 
 going away. As I said the words, Mr. Godfrey 
 himself knocked at the door to say good-bye, and 
 was followed in by Mr. Franklin, who was going 
 with him to the station. !My lady explained the 
 difiSculty. Mr. Godfrey settled it directly. He 
 called to Samuel, through the window, to take his 
 portmanteau up-staii's again, and he then put the 
 key himself into Sergeant Cuff^s hand. " ^ly lug- 
 gage can follow me to London,''^ he said, ^' when 
 the inquiry is over.''^ The Sergeant received the 
 key with a becoming apology. ^' I am soriy to put 
 you to any inconvenience, sir, for a mere formality; 
 but the example of their betters will do wonders in 
 reconciling the sers'ants to this inquiry.-'^ ^Mr. 
 'Godfrey, after taking leave of my lady, in a most 
 sympathising manner, left a farewell message for 
 Miss Rachel, the terms of which made it clear to 
 my mind that he had not taken No for an answer, 
 and that he meant to put the marriage question to
 
 216 THE M00^' STONE. 
 
 her once more^ at the next opportunity. Mr. 
 Franklin, on following his cousin out, informed the 
 Sergeant that all his clothes -were open to exami- 
 nation, and that nothing he possessed was kept 
 under lock and key. Sergeant Cuff made his best 
 acknowledgments. His views, you will observe, 
 had been met with the utmost readiness by my 
 lady, by Mr. Godfrey, and by Mr. Franklin. There 
 was only Miss Rachel now wanting to follow their 
 lead, before we called the servants together, and 
 began the search for the stained dress. 
 
 My lady^s unaccountable objection to the Ser- 
 geant seemed to make our conference more distaste- 
 ful to her than ever, as soon as we were left alone 
 again. " If I send you down Miss A^erinder's keys,^"* 
 she said to him, " I presume I shall have done all 
 you want of me for the present V 
 
 '^1 beg your ladyship^s pardon,^' said Sergeant 
 Cuff. ^' Before we begin, I should like, if con- 
 venient, to have the washing-book. The stained 
 article of dress may be an article of linen. If the 
 search leads to nothing, I want to be able to 
 account next for all the linen in the house, and for 
 all the linen sent to the wash. If there is an 
 article missing, there will be at least a presumption 
 that it has got the paint -stain on it, and that it has
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 217 
 
 been purposely made away with, yesterday or to- 
 day, by the person owning it. Superintendent 
 Seegrave/"' added the Sergeant, turning to me, 
 " pointed the attention of the women-servants to 
 the smear, when they all crowded into the room 
 on Tliursday morning. That may turn out, j\Tr. 
 Betteredge, 'to have been one more of Superin- 
 tendent Seegrave^s many mistakes.^" 
 
 My lady desii'ed me to ring the bell, and order 
 the washing-book. She remained with us until it 
 was produced, in case Sergeant Cuff had any further 
 request to make of her after looking at it. 
 
 The washing -book was brought in by Rosanna 
 Spearman. The girl had come down to breakfast 
 that morning miserably pale and haggard, but 
 sufficiently recovered from her illness of the pre- 
 vious day to do her usual work. Sergeant Cuff 
 looked attentively at our second housemaid — at her 
 face, when she came in; at her crooked shoulder, 
 when she went out. 
 
 " Have you anything more to say to me T^ 
 asked my lady, still as eager as ever to be out of 
 the Sergeant's society. 
 
 The great Cuff opened the washing-book, under- 
 stood it perfectly in half a minute, and shut it up 
 again. " I venture to trouble your ladyship with
 
 218 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 one last question/'' lie said. '' Has tlie young 
 "woman who brought us this book been in your 
 employment as long as the other servants ?'"' 
 
 ^^ ^Yhy do you ask T' said my lady. 
 
 '^ The last time I saw her/^ answered the Ser- 
 geant, '' she was in prison for theft. ''^ 
 
 After that, there was no help for it, but to tell 
 him the truth. My mistress dwelt strongly on 
 E-osanna^s good conduct in her service, and on 
 the high opinion entertained of her by the matron 
 at the Reformatory. " You donH suspect her, 
 I hope?" my lady added, in conclusion, very 
 •earnestly. 
 
 '' I have already told your ladyship that I don''t 
 suspect any person in the house of thieving, up to 
 the present time.'''' 
 
 After that answer, my lady rose to go up-stairs, 
 and ask for Miss Rachel''s keys. The Sergeant 
 was beforehand with me in opening the door for 
 her. He made a very low bow. My lady shud- 
 dered as she passed him. 
 
 We waited, and waited, and no keys appeared. 
 Sergeant Cuff made no remark to me. He turned 
 his melancholy face to the window; he put his 
 lanky hands into his pockets ; and he whistled The 
 Last Rose of Summer softly to himself. 
 
 At last, Samuel came in, not with the keys, but
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 219 
 
 with a morsel of paper for me. I got at my spec- 
 taclesj with some fumbling and difficulty, feeling 
 the Sergeant^s dismal eyes fixed on me all the 
 time. There were two or three lines on the paper, 
 written in pencil by my lady. They informed me 
 that Miss Hachel flatly refused to have her ward- 
 robe examined. Asked for her reasons, she had 
 burst out crying. Asked again, she had said : ^^ I 
 won-'t, because I wonH. I must yield to force if you 
 use it, but I will yield to nothing else.^" I under- 
 stood my lady^s disinclination to face Sergeant Cuff 
 with such an answer from her daughter as that. 
 If I had not been too old for the amiable weak- 
 nesses of youth, I believe I should have blushed 
 at the notion of facing him myself. 
 
 " Any news of [Miss Yerinder^s keys T' asked the 
 Sergeant. 
 
 ^^ My young lady refuses to have her wardrobe 
 examined.^' 
 
 " 2VI1 V' said the Sergeant. 
 
 His voice was not quite in such a perfect state 
 of discipline as his face. "When he said " Ah V he 
 said it in the tone of a man who had heard some- 
 thing which he expected to hear. He half angered 
 and half frightened me — why, I couldn't tell, but 
 he did it. 
 
 " Must the search be given up ?" I asked.
 
 220 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 ^^ Yes/^ said tlie Sergeant, ^^ the search must be 
 given up, because your young lady refuses to sub- 
 mit to it like the rest. We must examine all the 
 wardrobes in the house or none. Send Mr. Able- 
 AThite^s portmanteau to London by the next train, 
 and retui'n the washing-book, with my compliments 
 and thanks, to the young woman who brought 
 it in.'' 
 
 He laid the washing-book on the table, and, 
 taking out his penknife, began to trim his nails. 
 
 "You don't seem to be much disappointed," I 
 said. 
 
 '^No,'' said Sergeant Cuff; '^ I'm not much dis- 
 appointed." 
 
 I tried to make him explain himself. 
 
 " "VYhy should Miss Rachel put an obstacle in 
 your way ?" I inquired. ^^ Isn't it her interest to 
 help you ?" 
 
 '' Wait a little, Mr. Betteredge — wait a little." 
 
 Cleverer heads than mine might have seen his 
 drift. Or a person less fond of Miss Rachel than 
 I was, might have seen his drift. My lady's horror 
 of him might (as I have since thought) have meant 
 that she saw his drift (as the scripture says) " in 
 a glass darkly." I didn't see it yet — that's all I 
 know. 
 
 " What's to be done next ?" I asked.
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 22 L 
 
 Sergeant Cuff finished the nail on whicli he was 
 then at work^ looked at it for a moment with a 
 melancholy interest, and put up his pen-knife. 
 
 " Come out into the garden/^ he said, ^' and let's 
 have a look at the roses/' 
 
 
 :'^x-^ ^^^
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 HE nearest ^ay to the garder)^ on going 
 out of my lady^s sitting-room_, was by the 
 shrubbery path^ which you already know of. For 
 the sake of your better understanding of what is 
 now to come, I may add to this, that the shrub- 
 bery path was Mr. Franklin^s favourite walk. When 
 he was out in the grounds, and when we failed to 
 find him anywhere eke, we generally found him 
 here. 
 
 I am afraid I must own that I am rather an 
 obstinate old man. The more firmly Sergeant Cuff 
 kept his thoughts shut up from me, the more firmly 
 I persisted in trying to look in at them. As we 
 turned into the shrubbery path, I attempted to cir- 
 cumvent him in another way. 
 
 ^^ As things are now,^^ I said, " if I was in your 
 place, I should be at my wits^ end."'' 
 
 ^' If you were in my place," answered the Ser-
 
 THE MOONSTONE. '2'2S 
 
 geaiit_, '"'■ you would have formed an opinion — and, 
 as things are now, any doubt you might previously 
 have felt about your own conclusions would be 
 completely set at rest. Never mind, for the present 
 what those conclusions are, ^Ir. Betteredge. I 
 haven''t brought you out here to draw me like a 
 badger ; I have brought you out here to ask for 
 some information. You might have given it to me 
 no doubt, in the house, instead of out of it. But 
 doors and listeners have a knack of getting together 
 and, in my line of life^ we cultivate a healthy taste 
 for the open air.^^ 
 
 Who was to circumvent this man ? I gave in — 
 and waited as patiently as I could to hear what wa 
 coming next. 
 
 " We won''t enter into your young lady's 
 motives,'''' the Sergeant went on ; " we will 
 only say ifs a pity she declines to assist me, be- 
 cause, by so doing, she makes this investigation 
 more difficult than it might otherwise have been. 
 We must now try to solve the myster}^ of the smear 
 on the door — which, you may take my word for it, 
 means the mystery of the Diamond also — in some 
 other way. I have decided to see the servants, 
 and to search their thoughts and actions, Mr. 
 Betteredge, instead of searching their wardrobes. 
 Before I begin, however, I want to ask you a ques-
 
 224 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 tion or tTvo. You are an observant man — did you 
 notice anything strange in any of the servants 
 (making due allowance, of course, for fright and 
 fluster), after the loss of the Diamond was found 
 out ? Any particular quarrel among them ? Any 
 one of them not in his or her usual spirits ? Unex- 
 pectedly out of temper, for instance ? or unex- 
 pectly taken ill ?'' 
 
 I had just time to think of Rosanna Spearman's 
 sudden illness at yesterday's dinner — but not time 
 to make any answer — when I saw Sergeant Cuff'^s 
 eyes suddenly turn aside towards the shrubbery; 
 and I heard him say softly to himself, '' Hullo/'' 
 
 '' What's the matter ?" I asked. 
 
 ^' A touch of the rheumatics in my back," said 
 the Sergeant, in a loud voice, as if he wanted some 
 third person to hear us. " We shall have a change 
 in the weather before long." 
 
 A few steps further brought us to the corner of 
 the house. Turning off sharp to the right, we en- 
 tered on the terrace, and went down, by the steps 
 in the middle, into the garden below. Sergeant 
 Cuff stopped there, in the open space, where we 
 could see round us on every side. 
 
 " About that young person, Rosanna Spearman?" 
 he said. '^ It isn't very likely, w^ith her personal 
 appearance, that she has got a lover. But, for the
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 225 
 
 girFs own sake, I must ask you at once whether 
 she has provided herself with a sweetheart, poor 
 wretch, like the rest of them V 
 
 What on earth did he mean, under present cir- 
 cumstances, by putting such a question to me as 
 that ? I stared at him, instead of answering him. 
 
 " I saw Rosanna Spearman hiding in the shrub- 
 bery as we went by,''"' said the Sergeant. 
 
 '' When you said ' Hullo ' V 
 
 ^' Yes — when I said, ^ Hullo V If there^s a sweet- 
 heart in the case, the hiding doesn^t much matter. 
 If there isn''t — as things are in this house — the 
 hiding is a highly suspicious circumstance, and it 
 will be my painful duty to act on it accordingly.-'^ 
 
 What, in God^s name, was I to say to him ? I 
 knew the shrubbery was ]Mr. Franklin^s favourite 
 walk ; I knew he would most likely turn that way 
 when he came back from the station ; I knew that 
 Penelope had over and over again caught her fellow- 
 servant hanging about there, and had always 
 declared to me that Eosanna''s object was to attract 
 ^Ir. Franklin^s attention. If my daughter was 
 right, she might well have been lying in wait for 
 ^Ir. Franklin^s return when the Sergeant noticed 
 her. I was put between the two difficulties of 
 mentioning Penelope's fanciful notion as if it was 
 mine, or of leaving an unfortunate creature to suffer 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 "226 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 the consequences,, tlie- very serious consequences^ of 
 exciting the suspicion of Sergeant Cuff. Out of 
 pure pity for the girl — on my soul and my charac- 
 ter, out of pure pity for the girl — I gave the Ser- 
 geant the necessary explanations^ and told him that 
 Rosanna had been mad enough to set her heart on 
 Mr. Franklin Blake. 
 
 Sergeant Cuff never laughed. On the few oc- 
 casions when anything amused him, he curled up a 
 little at the corners of the lips, nothing more. He 
 curled up novr. 
 
 '^ Hadn't you better say she's mad enough to be 
 an ugly girl and only a servant ?'' he asked. " The 
 falling in love with a gentleman of Mr. Franklin 
 Blake's manners and appearance doesn't seem to me 
 to be the maddest part of her conduct by any 
 means. However, I'm glad the thing is cleared upi 
 it relieves one's mind to have things cleared up. 
 Yes, I'll keep it a secret, Mr. Betteredge. I like 
 to be tender to human infirmity — though I don't 
 get many chances of exercising that virtue in my 
 line of life. You think Mr. Franklin Blake hasn't 
 got a suspicion of the girl's fancy for him ? Ah ! he 
 would have found it out fast enough if she had 
 been nice-looking. The ugly women have a bad 
 time of it in this world; let's hope it will be made 
 up to them in another. You have got a nice
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 227 
 
 garden here, and a well-kept lawn. See for yourself 
 how much better the flowers look with grass about 
 them instead of gravel. No_, thank you. I won^t 
 take a rose. It goes to my heart to break them off 
 the stem. Just as it goes to your heart, you know, 
 when there^s something wrong in the servants^ 
 hall. Did you notice anything you couldn^t account 
 for in any of the servants when the loss of the 
 Diamond was first found out ?'^ 
 
 I had got on very fairly well with Sergeant Cuff 
 so far. But the slyness with which he slipped in that 
 last question put me on my guard. In plain English, 
 I didn-'t at all relish the notion of helping his inquiries, 
 when those inquiries took him (in the capacity of 
 snake in the grass) among my fellow- servants. 
 
 " I noticed nothing/^ I said, " except that we all 
 lost our heads together, myself included." 
 
 " Oh,''^ says the Sergeant, " that^s all you have 
 to tell me, is it ?" 
 
 I answered, with (as I flattered myself) an un- 
 moved countenance, '^ That is all.^' 
 
 Sergeant Cuff''s dismal eyes looked me hard in 
 the face. 
 
 " Mr. Betteredge," he said, " have you any ob- 
 jection to oblige me by shaking hands ? I have 
 taken an extraordinary Idiing to you.''^ 
 
 (Why he should have chosen the exact moment
 
 22S THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 when I was deceiving liim to give me that proof of 
 his good opinion^ is beyond all comprehension ! I 
 felt a little prond — I really did feel a little prond of 
 having been one too many at last for the celebrated 
 Cuff!) 
 
 "We went back to the house; the Sergeant re- 
 questing that I would give him a room to himself, 
 and then send in tlie servants (the indoor servants 
 only)^ one after another^ in the order of their rank, 
 from first to last. 
 
 I showed Sergeant Cuff into my own room^ and 
 then called the servants together in the hall. 
 Rosanna Spearman appeared among them, much as 
 usual. She was as quick in her way as the Sergeant 
 in his, and I suspect she had heard what he said to 
 me about the servants in general, just before he dis- 
 covered her. There she was, at any rate, looking 
 as if she had never heard of such a place as the 
 shrubbery in her life. 
 
 I sent them in, one by one, as desired. The 
 cook was the first to enter the Court of Justice, 
 otherwise my room. She remained but a short 
 time. Report, on coming out : " Sergeant Cuff is 
 depressed in his spirits ; but Sergeant Cuff is a 
 perfect gentleman.''' My lady's own maid followed. 
 Remained much longer. Report, on coming out : 
 ^' If Sergeant Cuff doesn't believe a respectable
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 22D 
 
 womarij he might keep his opiuiou to himself, at 
 any rate V' Penelope M-ent next. Remained only 
 a moment or two. Keport^ on coming out : '' Ser- 
 geant Cuff is much to be pitied. He must have 
 been crossed in love,, father^ when he was a young 
 man.^' The first housemaid followed Penelope. 
 Remained^ like my lady's maid_, a long time. Re- 
 port^ on coming out : " I didn't enter her ladyship's 
 service^ Mr. Betteredge_, to be doubted to my face- 
 by a low police-officer V' Rosanna Spearman went 
 next. Remained longer than any of them. Na 
 report on coming out — dead silence^ and lips as 
 pale as ashes. Samuel^ the footman^ followed 
 Rosanna. Remained a minute or two. Report^ 
 on coming out : '' AYlioever blacks Sergeant Cuff's 
 boots ought to be ashamed of himself.'' Xancy, 
 the kitchenmaid^ went last. Remained a minute or 
 two. Report^ on coming out : " Sergeant Cuff has 
 a heart ; he doesn't cut jokes_, INIr. Betteredge^ with 
 a poor liard-Y\'orking girl.'-' 
 
 Going into the Court of Justice,, Avhen it was all 
 over, to hear if there were any further commands 
 for me^ I found the Sergeant at his old trick — 
 looking out of window^ and Avhistling The Last 
 Rose of Summer to himself. 
 
 " Any discoveries^ sir ?" I inquired. 
 
 *^K Rosanna Spearman asks leave to go out/-* said
 
 230 Tin: moonstone. 
 
 the Sergeant^ '^ let the poor thing go ; but let me 
 know first/'' 
 
 I might as well have held my tongue about 
 Rosanna and Mr. Franklin ! It was plain enough ; 
 the unfortunate girl had fallen under Sergeant 
 Cuff^s suspicions^ in spite of all I could do to pre- 
 vent it. 
 
 " I hope you don^t think Ilosanna is concerned 
 in the loss of the Diamond ?^^ I ventm-ed to say. 
 
 The corners of the Sergeant^s melancholy mouth 
 curled up^ and he looked hard in my face, just as 
 he had looked in the garden. 
 
 " I think I had better not tell you, Mr. Better- 
 edge/^ he said. '' You might lose your head, you 
 know, for the second time.^' 
 
 I began to doubt whether I had been one too 
 many for the celebrated Cuff, after all ! It was 
 rather a relief to me that we were interrupted here 
 by a knock at the door, and a message from the 
 cook. Ilosanna Spearman had asked to go out, for 
 the usual reason, that her head Avas bad, and she 
 wanted a breath of fresh air. At a sign from the 
 Sergeant, I said, Yes. "Which is the servants' 
 way out T' he asked, when the messenger had gone. 
 I showed him the servants' way out. " Lock the 
 door of your room," says the Sergeant ; " and if 
 anybody asks for me, say Fm in there, composing
 
 THE MOONSTONE. '2'd\. 
 
 my mind/^ He curled up again at the corners of 
 the lips^ and disappeared. 
 
 Left alone_, under those circumstances,, a devour- 
 ing curiosity pushed me on to make some discoveries 
 for myself. 
 
 It was plain that Sergeant Cuff's suspicions of 
 Bosanna had been roused by something that he had 
 found out at his examination of the servants in my 
 Toom. Now^ the only tvro servants (excepting 
 Hosanna herself) who had remained under examin- 
 ation for any length of time^ were my lady^s own 
 maid and the first housemaid^ those two being also 
 the women who had taken the lead in persecuting 
 their unfortunate fellow- servant from the first. 
 Reaching these conclusions, I looked in on them, 
 casually as it might be, in the servants'' hall, and, 
 finding tea going forward, instantly invited myself 
 to that meal. (For, noia bene, a drop of tea is to 
 a woman^s tongue what a drop of oil is to a wast- 
 ing lamp.) 
 
 My reliance on the tea-pot, as an ally, did not 
 go unrewarded. In less than half an hour I knew 
 as much as the Sergeant himself 
 
 My lady's maid and the housemaid had, it ap- 
 peared, neither of them believed in Rosauna's ill- 
 ness of the previous day. These two devils — I ask 
 youi' pardon ; but how else can you describe a couple
 
 232 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 of spiteful womcu ? — had stole u up-stairs_, at in- 
 tervals during- the Thursday afternoon ; had tried 
 B/Osanna^s door^ and found it locked ; had knocked, 
 and not been answered ; had listened^ and not heard 
 a sound inside. When the giii had come down to 
 tea, and had been sent up, still out of sorts, to bed 
 again, the two devils aforesaid had tried her door 
 once more, and found it locked ; had looked at the 
 keyhole^ and found it stopped np ; had seen a light 
 under the door at midnight, and had heard the 
 crackling of a fire (a fire in a servant^s bed -room 
 in the month of June !) at four in the morning. 
 All this they had told Sergeant Cuff", who, in retm-n 
 for their anxiety to enlighten him, had eyed them 
 with sour and suspicious looks, and had shown them 
 plainly that he didn^t believe either one or the 
 other. Hence, the unfavourable reports of him 
 which these two women had brought out with them 
 from the examination. Hence, also (mthout reckon- 
 ing the influence of the tea-pot), their readiness 
 to let their tongues run to any length on the 
 subject of the Sergeant^s ungracious beha™m' to 
 them. 
 
 Having had some experience of the great Cuff's 
 roundabout ways, and having last seen him evi- 
 dently bent on following Rosanna privately when 
 she went out for her walk, it seemed clear to mc
 
 THE MOOXSTONE. 233 
 
 that he had thought it unadvisable to let the lady^s 
 maid and the housemaid know how materially they 
 had helped him. They were just the sort of 
 women/ if he had treated their evidence as trust- 
 worthy^ to have been puffed up by it^ and to have 
 said or done something which would have put 
 Rosanna Spearman on her guard. 
 
 I walked out in the fine summer afternooUj very 
 sorry for the poor girl^ and very uneasy in my 
 mind at the turn things had taken. Drifting 
 towards the shrubbery, some time later, there I 
 met Mr. Franklin. After returning from seeing 
 his cousin off at the station, he had been with my 
 lady, holding a long conversation with her. She 
 had told him of Miss RachePs unaccountable refusal 
 to let her wardrobe be examined ; and had put him 
 in such low spirits about my young lady, that he 
 seemed to shrink fi'om speaking on the subject. 
 The family temper appeared in his face that evening, 
 for the first time in my experience of him. 
 
 '' Wei], Betteredge,^'' he said, " how does the 
 atmosphere of mystery and suspicion in which we 
 are all living now, agree with you ? Do you re- 
 member that morning when I first came here with 
 the Moonstone ? I wish to God we had thrown it 
 into the quicksand V 
 
 After breaking out in that way, he abstained from
 
 234 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 speaking again until he liad composed himself. We 
 walked silently^ side by side^ for a minute or two^ 
 and then he asked me what had become of Sergeant 
 Cuff. It was impossible to put Mr. Franklin off 
 with the excuse of the Sergeant being in my room^ 
 composing his mind. I told him exactly what had 
 happened^ mentioning particularly what my lady^s 
 maid and the housemaid had said about Rosanna 
 Spearman. 
 
 Mr. Franklin's clear head saw the turn the 
 Sergeant's suspicions had taken, in the twinkling 
 of an eye. 
 
 " Didn^t you tell me this morning," he said, 
 ^' that one of the tradespeople declared he had met 
 Rosanna yesterday, on the foot-way to Frizinghall, 
 when we supposed her to be ill in her room?""* 
 
 ^^Yes, sir." 
 
 " If my aunt^s maid and the other woman have 
 spoken the truth, you may depend upon it the 
 tradesman did meet her. The girl's attack of ill- 
 ness was a blind to deceive us. She had some 
 guilty reason for going to the town secretly. The 
 paint-stained dress is a dress of hers ; and the fire 
 heard crackling in her room at four in the morning 
 was a fire lit to destroy it. Rosanna Spearman has 
 stolen the Diamond. ITl go in directly, and tell 
 my aunt the turn things have taken."
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 235 
 
 " Not just yet_, if you please, sir/^ said a melan- 
 choly voice behind us. 
 
 We both turned about, and found ourselves face 
 to face with Sergeant Cuff. 
 
 " Why not just yet H" asked Mr. Franklin. 
 
 " Because, sir, if you tell her ladyship, her lady- 
 ship will tell Miss Verinder.''^ 
 
 ^^ Suppose she does. What then ?" Mr. Franklin 
 said those words with a sudden heat and vehemence, 
 as if the Sergeant had mortally offended him. 
 
 " Do you think if s wise, sir,''"' said Sergeant Cuif, 
 quietly, " to put such a question as that to me — at 
 such a time as this ?^^ 
 
 There was a moment^s silence between them : 
 Mr. Franklin walked close up to the Sergeant. The 
 two looked each other straight in the face. Mr. 
 Franklin spoke first ; dropping his voice as suddenly 
 as he had raised it. 
 
 " I suppose you know, Mr. Cuff','"' he said, '' that 
 you are treading on delicate ground ?^^ 
 
 " It isn^t the first time, by a good many hun- 
 dreds, that I find myself treading on delicate 
 , ground,^ ^ answered the other, as immovable as ever. 
 
 " I am to understand that you forbid me to tell 
 my aunt what has happened ?" 
 
 " You are to understand, if you please, sir, that 
 I throw up the case, if you tell Lady Verinder, or
 
 236 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 tell anybody^ what lias happened^ until I give you 
 leave." 
 
 That settled it. Mr. Franklin had no choice but 
 to submit. He turned aAvay in anger — and left us- 
 
 I had stood there listening to them, all in a 
 tremble ; not knowing whom to suspect, or what to 
 think next. In the midst of my confusion, two things, 
 however, were plain to me. First, that my young 
 lady was, in some unaccountable manner, at the 
 bottom of the sharp speeches that had passed 
 between them. Second, that they thoroughly 
 understood each other, without having previously 
 exchanged a word of explanation on either side. 
 
 " Mr. Betteredge,^-' says the Sergeant, " you have 
 done a very foolish thing in my absence. You 
 have done a little detective business on your own 
 account. For the future, perhaps you will be so 
 obliging as to do your detective business along 
 with me.^^ 
 
 He took me by the arm, and walked me away 
 with him along the road by which he had come. 
 I dare say I had deserved his reproof — but I was 
 not going to help him to set traps for Rosanna 
 Spearman, for all that. Thief or no thief, legal or 
 not legal, I don^t care — I pitied her. 
 
 '' AYhat do you want of me T' I asked, shaking 
 him off, and stopping short.
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 237 
 
 ^^ Only a little information about the country- 
 round here/^ said the Sergeant. 
 
 I couldn^t well object to improve Sergeant Cuff 
 in his geography. 
 
 " Is there any path, in that direction, leading 
 to the sea-beach from this house T^ asked the 
 Sergeant. He pointed,, as he spoke, to the fir- 
 plantation which led to the Shivering Sand. 
 
 " Yes/^ I said, " there is a path.^^ 
 
 '' Show it to me.'' 
 
 Side by side, in the grey of the summer evening. 
 Sergeant Cuff and I set forth for the Shivering 
 Sand.
 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 HE Sergeant remained silent^ thinking his 
 own thoughts^ till we entered the plantation 
 of firs w^hicli led to the quicksand. There he 
 roused himself, like a man wdiose mind was made 
 up^ and spoke to me again. 
 
 " Mr. Betteredge/^ he said; '' as you have 
 honoured me by taking an oar in my boat, and as 
 you may, I think, be of some assistance to me 
 before the evening is out, I see no use in our 
 mystifying one another any longer, and I propose 
 to set you an example of plain-speaking on my 
 side. You are determined to give me no informa- 
 tion to the prejudice of Rosanna Spearman, because 
 she has been a good girl to you, and because you 
 pity her heartily. Those humane considerations 
 do you a world of credit, but they happen in this 
 instance to be humane considerations clean thrown 
 away. Rosanna Spearman is not in the slightest
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 239 
 
 danger of getting into trouble — no^ not if I fix her 
 Avith being concerned in the disappearance of the 
 Diamond, on evidence which is as plain as the nose 
 on your face V' 
 
 ^' Do YOU mean that mv lady won''t prosecute ?" 
 I asked. 
 
 " I mean that your lady can^t prosecute/^ said 
 the Sergeant. " Rosanna Spearman is simply an 
 instrument in the hands of another person, and 
 Rosanna Spearman will be held harmless for that 
 other person^s sake.''^ 
 
 He spoke like a man in earnest — there was no 
 denying that. Still, I felt something stirring un- 
 easily against him in my mind. ^' Can^t you give 
 that other person a name ?'^ I said. 
 
 '' Can't you, Mr. Betteredge ?" 
 
 '^ No.'' 
 
 Sergeant Cuff stood stock still, and surveyed me 
 with a look of melancholy interest. 
 
 " It's always a pleasm-e to me to be tender to- 
 wards human infirmity," he said. ^^ I feel particu- 
 larly tender at the present moment, Mr. Better- 
 edge, towards you. And you, with the same 
 excellent motive, feel particularly tender towards 
 Rosanna Spearman, don't you ? Do you happen 
 to know whether she has had a new outfit of linen 
 lately ?"
 
 240 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 ^Miat he meant by slipping in this extraordinary 
 question unawares, I was at a total loss to imagine. 
 Seeing no possible injur}^ to Rosanna if I owned 
 the truth, I answered that the girl had come to us 
 rather sparely provided with linen, and that my 
 lady, in recompense for her good conduct (I laid a 
 stress on her good conduct), had given her a new 
 outfit not a fortnight since. 
 
 '' This is a miserable world,''^ says the Sergeant. 
 " Human life, Mr. Betteredge, is a sort of target — 
 misfortune is always firing at it, and always hitting 
 the mark. But for that outfit, we should have dis- 
 covered a new nightgown or petticoat among 
 Kosanna^s things, and have nailed her in that way. 
 You^re not at a loss to follow me, are you? You 
 have examined the servants yourself, and you know 
 what discoveries two of them made outside Rosanna^s 
 door. Surely you know what the girl was about 
 yesterday, after she was taken ill ? You can^t 
 guess ? Oh dear me, it^s as plain as that strip of 
 light there, at the end of the trees. At eleven, on 
 Thursday morning. Superintendent Seegrave (who 
 is a mass of human infirmity) j^oints out to all the 
 women servants the smear on the door. Rosanna 
 has her own reasons for suspecting her own things ; 
 she takes the first opportunity of getting to her 
 room, finds the paint-stain on her night gown, or
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 241 
 
 petticoat^ or what not^ sliams ill, and slips aAvay to 
 the town_, gets the materials for making a new 
 petticoat or nightgo^yn_, makes it alone in her room 
 on the Thursday night, lights a fire (not to destroy 
 it ; two of her fellow-servants are prying outside 
 her door, and she knows better than to make a 
 smell of burning, and to have a lot of tinder to get 
 rid of) — lights a fire, I say, to dry and iron the substi- 
 tute diTss after -OTinging it out, keeps the stained di'ess 
 hidden (probably on her), and is at this moment 
 occupied in making away with it, in some con- 
 venient place, on that lonely bit of beach ahead of 
 us. I have traced her this cveniuir to vour fishinji,- 
 village, and to one particular cottage, which we may 
 possibly have to A'isit, before we go back. She 
 stopped in the cottage for some time, and she came 
 out ^dth (as I believe) something hidden under her 
 cloak. A cloak (on a woman''s back) is an cm])leni 
 of charity — it covers a multitude of sins. I saw her 
 set off northwards along the coast, after leaving the 
 cottage. Is yom- sea-shore here considered a fine 
 specimen of marine landscape, Mr. Betteredge ?^^ 
 
 I answered, '' Yes,''^ as shortly as might be. 
 
 " Tastes differ,^^ says Sergeant Cuff. " Looking 
 at it from my point of view, I never saw a marine 
 landscape that I admired less. If you happen to 
 be following another person along your sea-coast, 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 and if that person happens to look round, there 
 isn''t a scrap of cover to hide yon anywhere. I had 
 to choose between taking Rosanna in custody on 
 'suspicion, or leaving her, for the time being, with 
 her little game in her own hands. For reasons, 
 Vhich I won^t trouble you with, I decided on 
 'making any sacrifice rather than give the alarm as 
 soon as to-night to a certain person who shall be 
 nameless between us. I came back to the house 
 to ask you to take me to the north- end of the beach 
 by another way. Sand — in respect of its printing 
 off people^s footsteps — is one of the best detective 
 'officers I know. If we don^t meet with Rosanna 
 Spearman by coming round on her this way, the 
 sand may tell us what she has been at, if the light 
 only lasts long enough. Here is the sand. If you 
 will excuse my suggesting it — suppose you hold 
 your tongue, and let me go first ?'' 
 
 If there is such a thing known at the doctor's 
 shop as a detective-fever j that disease had now got fast 
 hold of your humble servant. Sergeant Cuff went 
 •on between the hillocks of sand, down to the beach. 
 I followed him (with my heart in my mouth) ; and 
 waited at a little distance for what was to happen 
 next. 
 
 As it turned out, I found myself standing nearly 
 in the same place where Rosanna Spearman and I
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 243 
 
 liad been talking together when Mr. Franklin 
 suddenly appeared before us^ on arriving at our 
 house from London. While my eyes were watching 
 the Sergeant^ my mind wandered away in spite of 
 me to what had passed^ on that former occasion^ 
 between Rosanna and me. I declare I almost felt 
 the poor thing slip her hand again into mine^ and 
 _give it a little grateful squeeze to thank me for 
 speaking kindly to her. I declare I almost heard 
 her voice telling me again that the Shivering Sand 
 seemed to draw her to it against her own will, 
 whenever she went out — almost saw her face brighten 
 again, as it brightened when she first set eyes upon 
 Mr. Franklin coming briskly out on us from among 
 the hillocks. My spirits fell lower and lower as I 
 thought of these things — and the view of the lone- 
 some little bay, when I looked about to rouse my- 
 self, only served to make me feel more uneasy still. 
 The last of the evening light was fading away; and 
 over all the desolate place there hung a still and 
 awful calm. The heave of the main ocean on the 
 great sand-bank out in the bay, was a heave that 
 made no sound. The inner sea lay lost and dim, 
 without a breath of wind to stir it. Patches of 
 nasty ooze floated, yellow- white, on the dead surface 
 of the water. Scum and slime shone faintly in 
 certain places, where the last of the light still 
 
 R 2
 
 244 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 caught tliem on the two great spits of rock jutting 
 outj north and souths into the sea. It was now the 
 time of the turn of the tide : and even as I stood 
 there waitings the broad brown face of the quick- 
 sand began to dimple and quiver — the only moving 
 thing in all the horrid place. 
 
 I saw the Sergeant start as the shiver of the 
 sand caught his eye. After looking at it for a 
 minute or so^ he turned and came back to me. 
 
 " A treacherous place^ Mr. Betteredge/'' he said ; 
 " and no signs of Rosanna Spearman anywhere on 
 the beach^ look where you may.'''' 
 
 He took me down lower on the shore^ and I saw 
 for myself that his footsteps and mine were the 
 only footsteps printed off on the sand. 
 
 '• How does the fishing village bear^ standing 
 where we are now?^' asked Sergeant Cuff. 
 
 " Cobb^s Hole/^ I answered (that being the name 
 of the place)^ "bears as near as may be^ due 
 south.'' 
 
 " I saw the girl this evening, walking northward 
 along the shore, from Cobb's Hole/' said the Ser- 
 geant. " Consequently, she must have been walking 
 towards this place. Is Cobb's Hole on the other 
 side of that point of land there ? And can we get 
 to it — now it's low water — by the beach ?" 
 
 I answered,, " Yes," to both those questions.
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 245 
 
 " If you^ll excuse my suggesting it, we^U step 
 out briskly/^ said the Sergeant. " I T\-ant to find the 
 place where she left the shore^ before it gets dark." 
 
 We had T\'alked, I should say, a couple of hun- 
 dred yards towards Cobb^s Hole, when Sergeant Cuff 
 suddenly went down on his knees on the beach, to 
 all appearance seized with a sudden fi-enzy for saying 
 his prayers. 
 
 " There^s something to be said for your marine 
 landscape here, after all," remarked the Sergeant. 
 '' Here are a woman's footsteps, Mr. Betteredge ! Let 
 us call them Rosanna's footsteps, until we find 
 evidence to the contrary that we can't resist. Very 
 confused footsteps, you will please to observe — 
 purposely confused, I should say. Ah, poor soul, 
 she understands the detective virtues of sand as 
 well as I do ! But hasn't she been in rather too 
 great a hurry to tread out the marks thoroughly ? 
 I think she has. Here's one footstep going from 
 Cobb's Hole; and here is another going back to it. 
 Isn't that the toe of her shoe pointing straight to 
 the water's edge ? x\nd don't I see two heel-marks 
 further down the beach, close at the water's edge 
 also ? I don't want to hurt yoiu* feelings, but I'm 
 afi'aid Rosanna is sly. It looks as if she had 
 determined to get to that place you and I have just 
 .come from, without leaving anv marks on the sand
 
 24G THE :\tOONSTG>NE.. 
 
 to trace lier by. Shall we say that she walked' 
 through the water from this point till she got ta 
 that ledge of roclcs behind ns^ and came back the 
 same way, and then took to the beach again where 
 those two heel-marks are still left. Yes^ we^ll say 
 that. It seems to fit in with my notion that she 
 had something nnder her cloak^ when she left the 
 cottage. No ! not something to destroy — for, in 
 that case, where would have been the need of all- 
 these precautions to prevent my tracing the place 
 at which her walk ended ? Something to hide is, 
 I think, the better gness of the two. Perhaps, if we 
 go on to the cottage, we may find out what that 
 something is T^ 
 
 At this proposal, my detective fever suddenly 
 cooled. '^ You don''t want me,''"' I said. " What 
 good can I do V 
 
 ' ' The longer I know you, Mr. Betteredge,'''' said 
 the Sergeant, " the more Adrtues I discover. Modesty 
 — oh dear me, how rare modesty is in this world 1 
 and how much of that rarity you possess ! If I 
 go alone to the cottage, the people^s tongues will 
 be tied at the first question I put to them. If I 
 go with you, I go introduced by a justly respected 
 neighbour, and a flow of conversation is the 
 necessary result. It strikes- me in that ligKt ; 
 how does it strike vou?"
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 2^7 
 
 Not having an answer of tlie needful smartness 
 as ready as I conld have wished, I tried to gain 
 time by asking him what cottage he wanted to go to. 
 
 On the Sergeant describing the place, I recog-. 
 nised it as a cottage inhabited by a fisherman 
 named Yolland, with his wife and two grown-np, 
 children, a son and a daughter. If you will look 
 back, you will find that, in first presenting E-osanna 
 Spearman to your notice, I have described her as 
 occasionally varying her walk to the Shivering 
 Sand, by a visit to some friends of hers at Cobb^s 
 Hole. Those friends were the Yollands — respect- 
 able, worthy people, a credit to the neighbourhood. 
 Rosanna^s acquaintance with them had begun by 
 means of the daughter^ who was afflicted with a 
 mis-shapen foot, and who was known in our parts 
 by the name of Limping Lucy. The two deformed 
 girls had, I suppose, a kind of fellow-feeling for 
 each other. Any way, the Yollands and Rosanna 
 always appeared to get on together, at the few 
 chances they had of meeting, in a pleasant and 
 friendly manner. The fact of Sergeant Cuff having 
 traced the girl to their cottage, set the matter of 
 my helping his inquiries in quite a new light. 
 Rosanna had merely gone where she wiis in the 
 habit of going ; and to show that she had been in 
 company with the fisherman and his family was as.
 
 248 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 good as to prove that she had been innocently oc- 
 jcupied^ so far, at any rate. It would be doing the 
 girl a service, therefore, instead of an injury, if I 
 allo\yed myself to be convinced by Sergeant CufF^s 
 logic. I professed myself convinced by it accord- 
 ingly. 
 
 We went on to CobVs Hole, seeing the footsteps 
 /on the sand, as long as the light lasted. 
 
 On. reaching the cottage, the fisherman and his son 
 proved to be out in the boat ; and Limping Lucy, 
 always Aveak and weary, w^as resting on her bed 
 up-stairs. Good Mrs. Yolland received us alone in 
 her kitchen. When she heard that Sergeant Cuff 
 was a celebrated character in London, she clapped 
 a bottle of Dutch gin and a couple of clean pipes 
 on the table, and stared as if she could never see 
 enough of him. 
 
 I sat quiet in a corner, w^aiting to hear how the 
 Sergeant would find his w^ay to the subject of 
 Rosanna Spearman. His usual roundabout manner 
 of going to work proved, on this occasion, to be 
 more roundabout than ever. How he managed it 
 is more than I could tell at the time, and more than 
 I can tell now. But this is certain, he began with 
 the Royal Family, the Primitive Methodists, and 
 the price of fish ; and he got from that (in his dis- 
 mal, underground way) to the loss of the Moon-
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 249 
 
 stone^ the spitefulness of our first liousemaid, and 
 the hard beha^-iour of the women-servants gene- 
 Tally towards Rosanna Spearman. Having reached 
 •his subject in this fashion, he described himself as 
 making his inquiries about the lost Diamond^ 
 partly with a view to find it^ and partly for the pur- 
 pose of clearing Rosanna from the unjust suspicions 
 of her enemies in the house. In about a quarter 
 of an hour from the time when we entered the 
 kitchen, good Mrs. Yolland was persuaded that she 
 was talking to Rosanna^s best friend, and was press- 
 ing Sergeant Cuff to comfort his stomach and re- 
 vive his spirits out of the Dutch bottle. 
 
 Being firmly persuaded that the Sergeant was 
 Avasting his breath to no purpose on IMrs. Yolland^ 
 I sat enjoying the talk between them_, much as I 
 ■have satj in my time, enjoying a stage play. The 
 great Cuff showed a wonderful patience ; trying his 
 luck drearily this way and that way, and tiring shot 
 after shot, as it were, at random, on the chance of hit- 
 ting the mark. Everything to Rosanna^s credit, 
 nothing to Rosanna^s prejudice — that was how it 
 ended, try as he might ; with Mrs. Yolland talking 
 nineteen to the dozen, and placing the most entire 
 confidence in him. His last eff'ort was made, 
 when we had looked at our watches, and had got 
 on otir legs pre\4ous to taking leaA'C.
 
 250 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 '' I shall now Avisli you good night, ma'am/' says 
 the Sergeant. '^ And I shall only say, at parting, 
 that Rosanna Spearman has a sincere ^yell-"wisher 
 in myself, your obedient servant. But, oh dear 
 me ! she will never get on in her present place ; 
 and my advice to her is — ^leave it/' 
 
 ^^ Bless your heart alive ! she is going to leave 
 it!" cries Mrs. Yolland. (Nota Bene — I translate 
 Mrs. Yolland out of the Yorkshire language into 
 the English language. AYhen I tell you that the 
 all-accomplished Cuff was every now and then puz- 
 zled to understand her until I helped him, you will 
 draw your own conclusions as to what your state of 
 mind would be if I reported her in her native 
 tongue.) 
 
 Rosanna Spearman going to leave us ! I pricked 
 up my ears at that. It seemed strange, to say the 
 least of it, that she should have given no warning, 
 in the first place, to my lady or to me. A certain 
 doubt came up in my mind whether Sergeant Cuff's- 
 last random shot might not have hit the mark. I 
 began to question whether my share in the pro- 
 ceedings was quite as harmless a one as I had 
 thought it. It might be all in the way of the 
 Sergeant's business to mystify an honest woman by 
 wrapping her round in a network of lies ; but it 
 was my duty to have remembered, as a good Pro-
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 251 
 
 testant, that the father of lies is the Devil — and 
 that mischief aud the Devil are never far apart. 
 Beginning to smell mischief in the air, I tried to- 
 take Sergeant Cuff out. He sat down again in- 
 stantly^ and asked for a little drop of comfort out 
 of the Dutch bottle. Mrs. YoUand sat down oppo- 
 site to him, and gave him his nip. I went on to 
 the door, excessively uncomfortable, and said I 
 thought I must bid them good night — and yet I 
 didn^t go. 
 
 " So she means to leave V^ says the Sergeants. 
 " What is she to do when she does leave ? Sad, 
 sad ! The poor creature has got no friends in the 
 world, except you and me.^^ 
 
 " Ah, but she has though V^ says Mrs. Yolland. 
 " She came in here, as I told you, this evening ; 
 and, after sitting and talking a little with my girl 
 Lucy and me, she asked to go upstairs by her- 
 self into Lucy^s room. It's the only room in our 
 place where there^s pen and ink. ^ I want to write 
 a letter to a friend,'' she says, ^ and I can't do it for 
 the prying and peeping of the servants up at the 
 house.' Who the letter was written to I can't 
 tell you : it must have been a mortal long one, 
 judging by the time she stopped up- stairs over it. 
 I offered her a postage-stamp when she came down. 
 She hadn't got the letter in her hand, and she
 
 252 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 didn^t accept the stamp. A little close^ poor soul 
 (as YOU know)^ about herself and her doings. But 
 a friend she has got somewhere,, I can tell you ; and to 
 that friend, you may depend upon it, she will go." 
 
 " Soon T' asked the Sergeant. 
 
 " As soon as she can/^ says Mrs. Yolland. 
 
 Here I stepped in again from the door. As chief 
 of my lady^s establishment, I couldn^t allow this 
 sort of loose talk about a servant of ours going, or 
 not going, to proceed any longer in my presence, 
 without noticing it. 
 
 " You must be mistaken about Rosanna Spear- 
 man,^^ I said. " If she had been going to leave 
 her present situation, she would have mentioned it, 
 in the first place, to me." 
 
 " Mistaken T' cries Mrs. Yolland. '^ Why, only 
 an hour ago she bought some things she wanted 
 for travelling — of my own self, Mr. Betteredge, in 
 this very room. And that reminds me," says the 
 wearisome woman, suddenly beginning to feel in 
 her pocket, '' of something I have got it on my mind 
 to say about Rosanna and her money. Are you 
 either of you likely to see her when you go back 
 to the house ?" 
 
 '^ ril take a message to the poor thing, with the 
 greatest pleasure," answered Sergeant Cuff, before 
 I could put in a word edgewise.
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 25S- 
 
 Mrs. Yolland produced out of her pocket a few 
 shilliugs aud sixpences, and counted them out with 
 a most particular and exasperating carefulness in 
 the palm of her hand. She offered the money to 
 the Sergeant, looking mighty loth to part with it 
 all the while. 
 
 ^^ Might I ask you to give this back to Rosanna,. 
 with my love and respects V says Mrs. Yolland. 
 " She insisted on paying me for the one or two things 
 she took a fancy to this evening — and money^s 
 welcome enough in our house, I don't deny it. 
 Still, I''m not easy in my mind about taking the 
 poor thing^s little savings. And to tell you the 
 truth, I don^t think my man would like to hear 
 that I had taken Rosanna Spearman's money, when 
 he comes back to-morrow morning from his work. 
 Please say she's heartily welcome to the things she 
 bought of me — as a gift. And don't leave the 
 money on the table," says Mrs. Yolland, putting it 
 down suddenly before the Sergeant, as if it burnt 
 her fingers — '^ don't, there's a good man ! For 
 times are hard, and flesh is weak ; and I miyht feel 
 tempted to put it back in my pocket again." 
 
 " Come along !" I said, "" I can't wait any longer ; 
 I must go back to the house." 
 
 '^ I'll follow you directly," says Sergeant Cuff. 
 
 For the second time, I went to the door ; and.
 
 254 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 for the second time^ try as I mighty I couldn''t 
 •cross the threshold. 
 
 " It^s a delicate matter, ma^am," I heard the 
 Sergeant say, " giving money back. You charged 
 her cheap for the things, Fm sure V 
 
 " Cheap V says Mrs. YoUand. " Come and 
 judge for yourself''^ 
 
 She took up the candle and led the Sergeant to 
 a corner of the kitchen. For the life of me, I 
 couldnH help following them. Shaken down in 
 the corner was a heap of odds and ends (mostly old 
 metal), which the fisherman had picked up at 
 different times from wrecked ships, and which he 
 hadn^t found a market for yet, to his own mind. 
 Mrs. Y'olland dived into this rubbish, and brought 
 up an old japanned tin case, with a cover to it, and 
 a hasp to hang it up by — the sort of thing they 
 use, on board ship, for keeping their maps and 
 charts, and such-like, from the wet. 
 
 ^' There \" says she. " When Rosanna came in 
 this evening, she bought the fellow to that. ' It 
 will just do,' she says, ' to put my cuffs and collars in, 
 and keep them from being crumpled in my box.' 
 One and niuepence, Mr. Cuff. As I live by bread, 
 not a halfpenny more !"" 
 
 "Dirt cheap !" says the Sergeant, with a heavy sigh. 
 
 He weighed the case in his hand. I thought I
 
 THE MOONSTONE. '20 
 
 heard a note or two of The Last Rose of Summer 
 as lie looked at it. There was no doubt now ! He 
 had made another discovery to the prejudice of 
 Rosanna Spearman^ in the place of all others 
 where I thought her character was safest, and all 
 through me ! I leave you to imagine what I felt, 
 and how sincerely I repented having been the 
 medium of introduction between Mrs. Yolland and 
 Sergeant Cuff. 
 
 " That will do," I said. '' We really must go." 
 Without paying the least attention to me, Mrs. 
 Yolland took another dive into the rubbish, and 
 came up out of it, this time, with a dog-chain. 
 
 '' Weigh it in your hand, sir," she said to the 
 Sergeant. " We had three of these ; and Rosanna 
 has taken two of them. ' What can you want, my 
 dear, with a couple of dog's chains ?' says I. ' If 
 I join them together thevll go round my box nicely,^ 
 says she. ' Ropers cheapest,^ says I. * Chain^s 
 surest,^ says she. ' Who ever heard of a box corded 
 with chain ?^ says I. '^ Oh, Mrs. Yolland, don^t 
 make objections!'' says she; ''let me have my 
 chains [' A strange girl, ]\Ir. Cuff — good as gold, 
 and kinder than a sister to my Lucy — but always a 
 little strange. There ! I humoured her. Three 
 and sixpence. On the word of an honest woman, 
 three and sixpence, Mr. Cuff I"
 
 256 THE moonsto:ne. 
 
 ^^ Eacli ?" says the Sergeant. 
 
 " Both together V says Mrs. YoUand. " Three 
 and sixpence for the two.^^ 
 
 " Given away, ma^am/'' says the Sergeant, 
 shaking his head. " Clean given away V 
 
 " There^s the money/^ says Mrs. Yolland, getting 
 back sideways to the little heap of silver on the 
 table, as if it drew her in spite of herself. " The 
 tin case and the dog chains were all she bought^ 
 and all she took away. One and ninepence and 
 three and sixpence — total, five and three. "With 
 my love and respects — and I can^t find it in my 
 conscience to take a poor girFs savings, when she 
 may want them herself.^"* 
 
 " I can^t find it in my conscience, ma^am, to give 
 the money back,^' says Sergeant Cuff. " You have 
 as good as made her a present of the things — you 
 have indeed.'''' 
 
 '"'' Is that your sincere opinion, sir ?" says Mrs. 
 Y^olland, brightening up wonderfully. 
 
 " There can't be a doubt about it,'' answered the 
 Sergeant. ''Ask Mr. Betteredge." 
 
 It was no use asking me. All they got out of 
 me was, " Good night." 
 
 '' Bother the money V sa\s Mrs. YoUand. With 
 those words, she appeared to lose all command over 
 herself; and, making a sudden snatch at the heap
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 257 
 
 of silvei';, X3ut it back^ liolus-bolus_, in her pocket. 
 " It upsets one's temper^ it does^ to see it lying 
 thcre^ and nobody taking it/' cries this unreason- 
 able woman, sitting down with a thump, and looking 
 at Sergeant Cuff, as much as to say, '^ It's in my 
 pocket again now — get it out if you can !" 
 
 This time, I not only went to the door^, but went 
 fairly out on the road back. Explain it how you 
 may, I felt as if one or both of them had mortally 
 offended me. Before I had taken three steps down 
 the village, I heard the Sergeant behind me. 
 
 " Thank you for your introduction, Mr. Better- 
 edge," he said. " I am indebted to the fisherman's 
 wife for an entirely new sensation. Mrs. YoUand 
 has puzzled me." 
 
 It was on the tip of my tongue to have given 
 him a sharp answer, for no better reason than this 
 — that I was out of temper with him, because I was 
 out of temper with myself. But when he owned 
 to being puzzled, a comforting doubt crossed my 
 mind whether any great harm had been done after 
 all. I waited in discreet silence to hear more. 
 
 ^' Yes," says the Sergeant, as if he was actually 
 reading my thoughts in the dark. ^' Instead of put- 
 ting me on the scent, it may console you to know, 
 Mr. Betteredge (with your interest in Rosanna), 
 that you have been the means of throwing me off. 
 
 VOL. I. S
 
 :j'ub THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 "What the girl has done;, to-night, is clear enough, 
 of course. She has joined the two chains, and has 
 fastened them to the hasp in the tin case. She has 
 sunk the case, in the water or in the quicksand. 
 She has made the loose end of the chain fast to 
 «ome place under the rocks, known only to herself. 
 And she will leave the case secure at its anchorage 
 till the present proceedings have come to an end ; 
 after which she can privately pull it up again out of 
 its hiding-place, at her own leisure and convenience. 
 All perfectly plain, so far. But,^"* says the Sergeant, 
 with the first tone of impatience in his voice that I 
 had heard yet, ^^ the mystery is — what the devil 
 has she hidden in the tin case ?" 
 
 I thought to myself, '' The Moonstone V But 
 I only said to Sergeant Cuff, " Can^t you guess ?" 
 
 " It^s not the Diamond,'^ says the Sergeant. 
 *' The whole experience of my life is at fault, if 
 P/Osanna Spearman has got the Diamond. ^^ 
 
 On hearing those words, the infernal detective- 
 fever hegan, I suppose, to burn in me again. At 
 any rate, I forgot myself in the interest of guessing 
 this new riddle. I said rashly, " The stained dress V 
 
 Sergeant Cuff stopped short in the dark, and laid 
 his hand on my arm. 
 
 " Is anything thrown into that quicksand of yours, 
 ever thrown up on the surface again V he asked.
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 259 
 
 " Never/^ I answered. '' Light or heavy, what- 
 ever goes into the Shivering Sand is sucked down, 
 and seen no more/' 
 
 '^ Does Rosanna Spearman know that V 
 
 ^' She knows it as well as I do/' 
 
 ^' Then/^ says the Sergeant, " what on earth has 
 she got to do but to tie up a bit of stone in the 
 stained dress, and throw it into the quicksand ? 
 There isn't the shadow of a reason why she should 
 have hidden it — and yet she must have hidden it. 
 Query/' says the Sergeant, walking on again, " is 
 the paint-stained dress a petticoat or a nightgown ? 
 or is it something else which there is a reason for 
 preserving at any risk ? Mr. Betteredge, if nothing 
 occurs to prevent it, I must go to Frizinghall to- 
 mon'ow, and discover what she bought in the town, 
 when she privately got the materials for making 
 the substitute dress. It's a risk to leave the house, 
 as things are now — but it's a worse risk still to stii' 
 another step in this matter in the dark. Excuse 
 my being a little out of temper ; I'm degraded in 
 my own estimation — I have let Rosanna Spearman 
 puzzle me." 
 
 When we got back, the servants were at supper. 
 The first person we saw in the outer yard was the 
 policeman whom Superintendent Seegrave had left 
 at the Sergeant's disposal. The Sergeant asked if 
 
 s2
 
 260 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 Rosanna Spearman had returned. Yes. When ? 
 Nearly an hour since. What had she done ? She 
 had gone up-stairs to take off her bonnet and cloak 
 — and she was now at supper quietly -with the rest. 
 
 Without making any remark^ Sergeant Cuff 
 Avalked on, sinking lower and lower in bis own esti- 
 mation, to the back of the house. Missing the 
 entrance in the dark, he went on (in spite of my 
 calling to him) till he was stopped by a wicket-gate 
 which led into the garden. When I joined him to 
 bring him back by the right way, I found that he 
 was looking up attentively at one particular window, 
 on the bedroom floor, at the back of the house. 
 
 Looking up, in my turn, I discovered that the 
 object of his contemplation was the window of Miss 
 RacheFs room, and that lights were passing back- 
 wards and forwards there as if something unusual 
 was going on. 
 
 '^ Isn^t that Miss Yerinder^s room V asked Ser- 
 geant Cuff. 
 
 I replied that it was, and incited him to go in 
 with me to supper. The Sergeant remained in his 
 place, and said something about enjoying the smell 
 of the garden at night. I left him to his enjoy- 
 ment. Just as I was turning in at the door, I heard 
 The Last Rose of Summer at the wicket-gate. Ser- 
 geant Cuff had made another discovery ! And my
 
 THE MOONSTONE. :261 
 
 young lady^s ■wiudow was at the bottom of it this 
 time ! 
 
 The latter reflection took me back again to the Ser- 
 geant, with a polite intimation that I could not find 
 it in my heart to leave him by himself. " Is there 
 anything you don^t understand up there V I added, 
 pointing to Miss RacheFs window. 
 
 Judging by his voice, Sergeant Cuff had suddenly 
 risen again to the right place in his own estimation. 
 "You are great people for betting in Yorkshire, are 
 you not ?■'■' he asked. 
 
 " Well ?^'' I said. *^ Suppose we are r"*' 
 
 " If I was a Yorkshireman/^ proceeded the Ser- 
 geant, taking my arm, '' I would lay you an even 
 sovereign, Mr. Betteredge, that your young lady has 
 siiddenly resolved to leave the house. If I won on 
 that event, I should offer to lay another sovereign, 
 that the idea has occiuTed to her within the last hour.''^ 
 
 The first of the Sergeant^s guesses startled me. 
 The second mixed itself up somehow in my head 
 with the report we had heard firom the policeman, 
 that Rosanna Spearman had returned from the 
 sands witliin the last hour. The two together had 
 ^ curious effect on me as we went in to supper. I 
 shook off Sergeant Cuff^s arm, and, forgetting my 
 manners, pushed by him through the door to make 
 any own inquiries for myself.
 
 262 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 Samuel, the footman, was the first person I met 
 in the passage. 
 
 " Her ladyship is waiting to see you and Ser- 
 geant Cuff/^ he said, before I could put any questions 
 to him. 
 
 " How long has she been waiting ?'' asked the 
 Sergeant^ s voice behind me. 
 
 " For the last hour, sir.^"* 
 
 There it was again ! Rosanna had come back ; 
 Miss Rachel had taken some resolution out of the 
 common ; and my lady had been waiting to see the 
 Sergeant — all within the last hour ! It was not 
 pleasant to find these very different persons and 
 things linking themselves together in this way. I 
 went on up-stairs, without looking at Sergeant Cuff, 
 or speaking to him. My hand took a sudden fit 
 of trembling as I lifted it to knock at my mistress''s 
 door. 
 
 " I shouldn^t be surprised," whispered the Ser- 
 geant over my shoulder, " if a scandal was to burst 
 up in the house to-night. Don^t be alarmed ! I 
 have put the muzzle on worse family dilfficuJties 
 than this, in my time." 
 
 As he said the words, I heard my mistress's voice 
 calling to us to come in.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 yjE found my lady with no liglit in the room 
 but the reading-lamp. The shade Tras 
 screwed down so as to overshadow her face. Instead 
 of looking up at us in her usual straightforward way, 
 she sat close at the table, and kept her eyes fixed 
 obstinately on an open book. 
 
 '^ Officer/' she said, '' is it important to the 
 inquiry you are conducting^ to know beforehand if 
 any person now in this house wishes to leave it V 
 
 " Most important;, my lady." 
 
 " I have to tell you_, then^ that Miss Verindei 
 proposes going to stay with her aunt, Mrs. Able»- 
 white, of Frizinghall. She has arranged to leava 
 us the first thing to-morrow morning." 
 
 Sergeant Cufi^ looked at me. I made a step for- 
 ward to speak to my mistress — and, feeling my 
 heart fail me (if I must own it), took a step back 
 again, and said nothing.
 
 2G4 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 " ]May I ask your ladyship when Miss Verinder 
 informed you that she was going to her aunt^s V 
 inquired the Sergeant. 
 
 " About an hour since/^ answered my mistress. 
 
 Sergeant CufF looked at me once more. They 
 say old people's hearts are not very easily moved. 
 My heart couldn't have thumped much harder than 
 it did now, if I had been five-and-twenty again ! 
 
 " I have no claim, my lady/-* says the Sergeant, 
 " to control Miss Verinder's actions. All I can ask 
 jOM to do is to put off her departure, if possible, 
 till later in the day. I must go to Frizinghall 
 myself to-morrow morning — and I shall be back by 
 two o'clock, if not before. If Miss Verinder can 
 be kept here till that time, I should wish to say two 
 words to her — unexpectedly — before she goes."" 
 
 My lady directed me to give the coachman her 
 orders, that the carriage was not to come for Miss 
 Rachel until two o'clock. '^ Have you more to 
 say V she asked of the Sergeant, when this had 
 been done. 
 
 '' Only one thing, your ladyship. If Miss 
 Verinder is surprised at this change in the arrange- 
 ments, please not to mention Me as being the cause 
 of putting off her journey.'"' 
 
 My mistress lifted her head suddenly from her 
 hook as if she was going to say something — checked
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 265 
 
 herself by a great effort — and, looking back again 
 at the open page, dismissed us with a sign of her 
 hand. 
 
 " That's a wonderful woman/^ said Sergeant 
 Cuff, when we were out in the hall again. " But 
 for her self-control, the mystery that puzzles you, 
 Mr. Betteredge, would have been at an end to- 
 night.'' 
 
 At those words, the truth rushed at last into my 
 stupid old head. For the moment, I suppose I 
 must have gone clean out of my senses. I seized 
 the Sergeant by the collar of his coat, and pinned 
 him against the wall. 
 
 " Damn you V I cried out, *^ there's something 
 wrong about Miss Rachel — and you have been 
 hiding it from me all this time !" 
 
 Sergeant Cuff looked up at me — flat against the 
 wall — without stirring a hand, or moving a muscle 
 of his melancholy face. 
 
 " Ah," he said, " you've guessed it at last." 
 
 My hand dropped from his collar, and my head 
 sunk on my breast. Please to remember, as some 
 excuse for my breaking out as I did, that I had 
 served the family for fifty years. Miss Rachel had 
 climbed upon my knees, and pulled my whiskers, 
 many and many a time when she was a child. Miss 
 Rachel, with all her faults, had been, to my mind.
 
 266 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 the dearest and prettiest and best young mistress- 
 that ever an old servant waited ou^ and loved. I 
 begged Sergeant Cuff^s pardon^ but I am afraid I 
 did it with watery eyes, and not in a very becoming 
 way. 
 
 '^Don^t distress yourself, Mr. Betteredge/-* says 
 the Sergeant, with more kindness than I had any 
 right to expect from him. " In my line of life, if 
 we were quick at taking offence, we shouldn^t be 
 worth salt to our porridge. If it''s any comfort to 
 you, collar rae again. You don^t in the least know 
 how to do it ; but Til overlook your awkwardness 
 in consideration of your feelings.^^ 
 
 He curled up at the corners of his lips, and, in 
 his own dreary way, seemed to think he had de- 
 livered himself of a very good joke. 
 
 I led him into my own little sitting room, and 
 closed the door. 
 
 '' Tell me the truth. Sergeant,'' I said. '' What 
 do you suspect ? It's no kindness to hide it from 
 me now.^' 
 
 '^ I don't suspect," said Sergeant Cuff. "I know." 
 My unlucky temper began to get the better of me 
 again. 
 
 " Do you mean to tell me, in plain English," I 
 said, "that Miss Rachel has stolen her own 
 Diamond ?"
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 267 
 
 '' Yes/^ says the Sergeant ; '' that is what I mean 
 to tell jouj in so many words. Miss Verinder has 
 been in secret possession of the Moonstone fi-om 
 first to last ; and she has taken Rosanna Spearman 
 into her confidence, because she has calculated on 
 our suspecting Kosanna Spearman of the theft. 
 There is the whole case in a nutshell. Collar me 
 again, Mr. Betteredge. If it^s anv vent to your 
 feelings, collar me again. ^^ 
 
 God help me ! my feelings were not to be re- 
 lieved in that way. '' Give me your reasons V 
 That was all I could say to him. 
 
 ^^You shall hear my reasons to-morrow/^ said 
 the Sergeant. " If Miss Yerinder refuses to put 
 off her visit to her aunt (which you will find Miss 
 Yerinder ^vill do), I shall be obliged to lay the 
 whole case before your mistress to-morrow. And, 
 as I don^t know what may come of it, I shall request 
 you to be present, and to hear what passes on both 
 sides. Let the matter rest for to-night. Xo, Mr. 
 Betteredge, you don^t get a word more on the 
 subject of the Moonstone out of me. There is 
 your table spread for supper. That^s one of the 
 many human infirmities which I always treat ten- 
 derly. If you will ring the bell, Fll say grace. 
 ^ For what we are going to receive ^ ^' 
 
 '' I wish you a good appetite to it. Sergeant/^ I
 
 268 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 said. " My appetite is gone. 1^11 wait and see 
 you served^ and then 1^11 ask you to excuse me^ 
 if I go away, and try to get the better of this by 
 myself.''^ 
 
 I saw him served with the best of everything — 
 and I shouldn't have been sorry if the best of every- 
 thing had choked him. The head gardener (Mr. 
 Begbie) came in at the same time, with his weekly 
 account. The Sergeant got on the subject of roses 
 and the merits of grass walks and gravel walks im- 
 mediately. I left the two together, and went out 
 with a heavy heart. This was the first trouble I 
 remember for many a long year which wasn't to be 
 blown off by a whiff of tobacco, and which was 
 even beyond the reach of Robinson Crusoe. 
 
 Being restless and miserable, and having no par- 
 ticular room to go to, I took a tiu'n on the terrace, 
 and thought it over in peace and quietness by my-. 
 self. It doesn't much matter what my thoughts 
 were. I felt wretchedly old, and worn out, and 
 .unfit for my place — and began to wonder, for the 
 first time in my life, when it would please God to 
 take me. With all this, I held firm, notwithstand- 
 ing, to my belief in Miss Each el. If Sergeant 
 Cuff had been Solomon in all his glory, and had 
 told me that my young lady had mixed herself up 
 in a mean and guilty plot, I should have had but
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 269 
 
 one answer for Solomon, wise as he was, " You 
 don^t know her ; and I do/" 
 
 My meditations were interrupted by Samuel. 
 He brought me a written message from my 
 mistress. 
 
 Going into the house to get a light to read it 
 by, Samuel remarked that there seemed a change 
 coming in the weather. My troubled mind had. 
 prevented me from noticing it before. But, now 
 my attention was roused, I heard the dogs uneasy, 
 and the wind moaning low. Looking up at the 
 sky, I saw the rack of clouds getting blacker and 
 blacker, and hurrying faster and faster over a 
 watery moon. "Wild weather coming — Samuel was 
 right, wild weather coming. 
 
 The message from my lady informed me, that 
 the magistrate at Frizinghall had written to remind 
 her about the three Indians. Early in the coming 
 week, the rogues must needs be Teleased, and left 
 free to follow their own devices. If we had any 
 more questions to ask them, there was no time to 
 lose. Having forgotten to mention this, when she 
 had last seen Sergeant Cuff, my mistress now de- 
 sired me to supply the omission. The Indians had 
 gone clean out of my head (as they have, no doubt, 
 gone clean out of yours). I didn^'t see much 
 use in stirring that subject again. However, I
 
 570 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 obeyed my orders on the spot, as a matter of 
 course. 
 
 I found Sergeant Cuff and the gardener, with a 
 "bottle of Scotch whisky between them, head over 
 ears in an argument on the growing of roses. The 
 Sergeant was so deeply interested that he held up 
 his hand^ and signed to me not to interrupt the 
 discussion, when I came in. As far as I could 
 understand it, the question between them was, 
 whether the white moss rose did, or did not, require 
 to be budded on the dog rose to make it grow well. 
 Mr. Begbie said, Yes; and Sergeant Cuff said. No. 
 They appealed to me, as hotly as a couple of boys. 
 Knowing nothing whatever about the growing of 
 roses, I steered a middle course — just as her 
 majesty^s judges do, when the scales of justice 
 bother them by hanging even to a hair. " Gentle- 
 men,'''' I remarked, '^ there is much to be said on 
 both sides.^^ In the temporary lull produced by 
 that impartial sentence, I laid my lady's written 
 message on the table, under the eyes of Sergeant 
 Cuff. 
 
 I had got by this time, as nearly as might be, 
 to hate the Sergeant. But truth compels me to 
 acknowledge that, in respect of readiness of mind, 
 he was a wonderful man. 
 
 In half a minute after he had read the message.
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 271 
 
 lie liad looked back Id to his memory for Super- 
 intendent Seegrave's report; had picked out that 
 part of it in which the Indians were concerned; 
 and was ready with his answer. A certain great 
 traveller, who understood the Indians and their 
 language, had figured in Mr. Seegrave^s report, 
 hadn't he? Very well. Did I know the gentle- 
 man^s name and address ? Very well again. 
 Would I write them on the back of my lady^s 
 message? Much obliged to me. Sergeant Cuff 
 T70uld look that gentleman up, when he went to 
 Frizinghall in the morning. 
 
 '^ Do you expect anything to come of it ?^^ I 
 asked. " Superintendent Seegrave found the In- 
 dians as innocent as the babe unborn.^' 
 
 " Superintendent Seegrave has been proved 
 wrong, up to this time, in all his conclusions,^'' 
 answered the Sergeant. '' It may be worth while 
 to find out to-morroAY whether Superintendent See- 
 grave was wrong about the Indians as well.^'' With 
 that he turned to Mr. Begbie, and took up the 
 argument again exactly at the place where it had 
 left off. " This question between us is a question 
 of soils and seasons, and patience and pains, Mr. 
 Gardener. Now let me put it to you from an- 
 other point of view. You take your white moss 
 rose '*
 
 272 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 By that time^ I had closed the door on theni;- 
 and was out of hearing of the rest of the dispute. 
 
 In the passage, I met Penelope hanging about^ 
 and asked what she was waiting for. 
 
 She was waiting for her young lady^s bell, when 
 her young lady chose to call her back to go on 
 with the packing for the next day^s journey. 
 Further inquiry revealed to me, that Miss Rachel 
 had given it as a reason for wanting to go to her 
 aunt at Frizinghall, that the house was unendurable 
 to her, and that she could bear the odious presence 
 of a policeman under the same roof with herself no 
 longer. On being informed, half an hour since, 
 that her departure would be delayed till two in the 
 afternoon, she had flown into a violent passion. 
 My lady, present at the time, had severely rebuked 
 her, and then (having apparently something to say,, 
 which was reserved for her daughter's private ear) 
 had sent Penelope out of the room. My girl was 
 in wretchedly low spirits about the changed state 
 of things in the house. " Nothing goes right, 
 father; nothing is like what it used to be. I 
 feel as if some dreadful misfortune was hanging 
 over us all." 
 
 That was my feeling too. But I put a good 
 face on it, before my daughter. Miss BacheFs bell 
 rang while we were talking. Penelope ran up the
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 273 
 
 l)ack stairs to go on with tlie packing. I went by 
 the other way to the hall, to see what the glass 
 said about the change in the weather. 
 
 Just as I approached the swing door leading 
 into the hall from the servants' offices, it was 
 violently opened from the other side ; and Rosanna 
 Spearman ran by me, with a miserable look of 
 pain in her face, and one of her hands pressed hard 
 over her heart, as if the pang was in that quarter. 
 " What's the matter, my girl ?'' I asked, stopping 
 her. ^^Are you ill?^' ^^ For God's sake, don't 
 speak to me," she answered, and twisted herself 
 •out of my hands, and ran on towards the servants' 
 staircase. I called to the cook (who was within 
 hearing) to look after the poor girl. Two other 
 persons proved to be within hearing, as well as the 
 cook. Sergeant Cuff darted softly out of my 
 room, and asked what was the matter. I answered 
 " Nothing." Mr. Franklin, on the other side, 
 pulled open the swing-door, and beckoning me into 
 the hall, inquired if I had seen anything of Rosanna 
 Spearman. 
 
 " She has just passed me, sir, Avith a veiy dis- 
 turbed face, and in a very odd manner." 
 
 " I am afraid I am innocently the cause of that 
 disturbance, Betteredge." 
 
 '' You, sir V ^ 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 " I can^t explain it/^ says Mr. Franklin ; *^ bnt^ if 
 the girl is concerned in the loss of the Diamond, 
 I do really believe she was on the point of confess- 
 ing everything — to me, of all the people in the 
 world — not two minutes since/'' 
 
 Looking towards the swing-door, as he said 
 those last words, I fancied I saw it opened a little 
 way from the inner side. 
 
 Was there anybody listening ? The door fell to, 
 before I could get to it. Looking through, the 
 moment after, I thought 1 saw the tails of Ser- 
 geant Cutf^s respectable black coat disappearing 
 round the corner of the passage. He knew, as 
 well as I did, that he could expect no more help 
 from me, now that I had discovered the turn M'hich 
 his investigations were really taking. Under those 
 circumstances, it was quite in his character to 
 help himself, and to do it by the underground 
 way. 
 
 Not feeling sure that I had really seen the Ser- 
 geant — and not desiring to make needless mischief, 
 where. Heaven knows, there was mischief enough 
 going on abeady — I told Mr. Franklin that I thought 
 one of the dogs had got into the house — and then 
 begged him to describe what had happened between 
 Rosanna and himself. 
 
 " Were you passing through the hall, sir ?'' I
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 275 
 
 asked. '^ Did you meet her accidentally, when she 
 spoke to you/^ 
 
 Mr. Franklin pointed to the billiard-table. 
 
 " I was knocking the balls about/^ he said, '' and 
 trying to get this miserable business of the 
 Diamond out of my mind. I happened to look 
 up — and there stood Rosanna Spearman at the side 
 of me, like a ghost ! Her stealing on me in that 
 way was so strange, that I hardly knew what to 
 do at first. Seeing a very anxious expression in her 
 faee, I asked her if she wished to speak to me. 
 She answered, ' Yes, if I dare.'' Knowing what sus- 
 picion attached to her, I could only put one con- 
 struction' on such language as that. I confess it 
 made me uncomfortable. I had no wish to invite 
 the girFs confidence. At the same time, in the 
 difficulties that now beset us, I could hardly feel 
 justified in refusing to listen to her, if she was 
 really bent on speaking to me. It was an awk- 
 ward position ; and I dare say I got out of it 
 awkwardly enough. I said to her, ^ I don^t quite 
 understand you. Is there anything you want me 
 to do V Mind, Betteredge, I didn''t speak un- 
 kindly ! The poor girl can't help being ugly — I 
 felt that, at the time. The cue was still in my 
 hand, and I went on knocking the balls about, to 
 take off the awkwardness of the thing. As it 
 
 T 2
 
 .276 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 turned out^ I only made matters worse still. I^m 
 afraid I mortified her without meaning it ! She 
 suddenly turned away. ^ He looks at the billiard 
 •balls/ I heard her say. Anything rather than 
 look at me !' Before I could stop her, she had left 
 the hall. I am not quite easy about it, Betteredge. 
 Would you mind telling Rosanna that I meant no 
 unkindness ? I have been a little hard on her, 
 .perhaps, in my own thoughts — I have almost hoped 
 that the loss of the Diamond might be traced to her. 
 
 Not from any ill-will to the poor girl : but ^' 
 
 He stopped there, and going back to the billiard- 
 table, began to knock the balls about once more. 
 
 After Aviiat had passed between the Sergeant 
 and me, I knew what it was that he had left un- 
 spoken as well as he knew it himself. 
 
 Nothing but the tracing of the Moonstone to 
 our second housemaid could now raise Miss Rachel 
 above the infamous suspicion that rested on her in 
 the mind of Sergeant Cuff. It was no longer a 
 question of quieting my young lady^s nervous ex- 
 citement ; it was question of proving her innocence. 
 If Rosauna had done nothing to compromise her- 
 self, the hope which Mr. Franklin confessed to 
 having felt would have been hard enough on her in 
 all conscience. But this was not the case. She 
 had pretended to be ill, and had gone secretly to
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 277^ 
 
 Frizinghall. She had been up all nighty making^ 
 something, or destroying something, in private. 
 And she had been at the Shivering Sand, that 
 evening, under circumstances which were highly 
 suspicious, to say the least of them. For all these* 
 reasons (sorry as I was for Rosanna) I could not 
 but think that Mr. Franklin's way of looking at 
 the matter was neither unnatural nor unreasonable,- 
 in Mr. Franklin's position. I said a word to him' 
 to that effect. 
 
 ^^ Yes, yes \" he said in return. " But there is 
 just a chance — a very poor one, certainly — that 
 Rosanna's conduct may admit of some explanation 
 which we don't see at present. I hate hurting a 
 woman's feelings, Betteredge ! Tell the poor creature 
 what I told you to tell her. And if she wants to- 
 speak to me — I don't care whether I get into a 
 scrape or not — send her to me in the library ."^ 
 With those kind words he laid down the cue and 
 left me. 
 
 Inquiry at the servant's offices informed me that 
 Rosanna had retired to her own room. She had 
 declined all offers of assistance with thanks, and 
 had only asked to be left to rest in quiet. Here, 
 therefore, was an end of any confession on her 
 part (supposing she really had a confession to make) 
 for that night. I reported the result to Mr. Frank-
 
 278 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 lin, whO; thereupon^ left the library^ and went np 
 to bed. 
 
 I was putting the lights OTit_, and making the 
 windows fast^ when Samuel came in with news of 
 the two guests whom I had left in my room. 
 
 The argument about the white moss-rose had 
 apparently come to an end at last. The gardener 
 had gone home, and Sergeant Cuff was nowhere 
 to be found in the lower regions of the house. 
 
 I looked into my room. Quite true — nothing 
 was to be discovered there but a couple of empty 
 tumblers and a strong smell of hot grog. Had the 
 Sergeant gone of his own accord to the bed-chamber 
 that was prepared for him ? I went up-stairs to see. 
 
 After reaching the second landing, I thought I 
 heard a sound of quiet and regular breathing on 
 my left-hand side. My left-hand side led to the 
 corridor which communicated with Miss Rachel" s 
 room. I looked in, and there, coiled up on three 
 chairs placed right across the passage — there, with 
 a red handkerchief tied round his grizzled head, and 
 his respectable black coat rolled up for a pillow, lay 
 and slept Sergeant Cuff ! 
 
 He woke, instantly and quietly, like a dog, the 
 moment I approached him. 
 
 " Good night, Mr. Betteredge," he said. " An d 
 mind, if you ever take to growing roses, the white
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 279 
 
 moss-rose is all the better for not being budded on 
 the dog-rose_, whatever the gardener may say to the 
 contrary V^ 
 
 " What are you doing here V^ I asked. " Why 
 are you not in your proper bed V 
 
 " I am not in my proper bed/' answered the 
 Sergeantj " because I am one of the many people in 
 this miserable world who can't earn their money 
 honestly and easily at the same time. There was 
 a coincidence^ this evening, between the period of 
 Rosanna Spearman's return from the Sands and the 
 period when Miss Yerinder stated her resolution to 
 leave the house. Whatever Kosanna may have 
 hidden^, it's clear to my mind that your young lady 
 couldn't go away until she knew that it ivas hidden. 
 The two must have communicated privately once 
 already to-night. If they try to commimicate 
 again, when the house is quiet, I want to be in the 
 way, and stop it. Don't blame me for upsetting 
 your sleeping aiTangements^ Mr. Betteredge — blame 
 the Diamond." 
 
 '' I wish to God the Diamond had never found 
 its way into this house !" I broke out. 
 
 Sergeant Cuff looked with a rueful face at the 
 three chairs on which he had condemned himself to 
 pass the night. 
 
 " So do I/' he said, gravelv.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 OTHING happened in the night ; and (I am- 
 happy to add) no attempt at communica- 
 tion betAveen Miss Rachel and Rosanna rewarded 
 the vigilance of Sergeant Cuff. 
 
 I had expected the Sergeant to set off for Friz- 
 inghall the first thing in the morning. He waited 
 about;, however, as if he had something else to do 
 first. I left him to his own devices; and going 
 into the grounds shortly after, met Mr. Franklin 
 on his favourite walk by the shrubbery side. 
 
 Before we had exchanged two words, the Sergeant 
 unexpectedly joined us. He made up to Mr. 
 Franklin, who received him, I must own, haughtily 
 enough. " Have you anything to say to me V' was 
 all the return he got for politely wishing Mr. 
 Franklin good morning. 
 
 " I have something to say to you, sir,^"" answered 
 the Sergeant, " on the subject of the inquiry I auL 
 conducting here. You detected the turn that.
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 2SI 
 
 inquiry was really taking, yesterday. Naturally 
 enougli, in your position, you are shocked and dis- 
 tressed. Naturally enough, also, you visit your own 
 angry sense of your own family scandal upon Me.^^ 
 
 " What do you want ?" Mr. Franklin broke in, 
 sharply enough. 
 
 " I want to remind you, sir, that I have at any 
 rate, thus far, not heen proved to be wrong. Bear- 
 ing that in mind, be pleased to remember, at the 
 same time, that I am an officer of the law acting 
 here under the sanction of the mistress of the house. 
 Under these circumstances, is it, or is it not, your 
 duty as a good citizen to assist me with any special 
 information which you may happen to possess ?^^ 
 
 " I possess no special information,^' says Mr. 
 Franklin. 
 
 Sergeant CuflP put that answer by him, as if no 
 answer had been made. 
 
 " You may save my time, sir, from being wasted 
 on an inquiry at a distance,^' he went on, " if you 
 choose to understand me and speak out." 
 
 " I don't understand you/' answered Mr. Frank- 
 lin ; " and I have nothing to SB-y.^' 
 
 " One of the female servants (I won't mention 
 names) spoke to you privately, sir, last night.'' 
 
 Once more Mr. Franklin cut him short ; once 
 more Mr. Franklin answered, " I have nothing to say."
 
 282 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 Standing by in silence^ I tliought of the move- 
 ment in the swing-door on the previous evening, 
 and of the coat-tails which I had seen disappearing 
 down the passage. Sergeant Cnif had, no doubt, 
 just heard enough, before I interrupted him, to make 
 liim suspect that E^osanna had relieved her mind by- 
 confessing something to Mr. Franklin Blake. 
 
 This notion had barely stinick me — when who 
 should appear at the end of the shrubbery walk but 
 Rosanna Spearman in her own proper person ! She 
 was followed by Penelope^ who was evidently trying 
 to make her retrace her steps to the house. Seeing 
 that Mr. Franklin was not alone, Rosanna came to a 
 standstill, evidently in great perplexity what to do 
 next. Penelope waited behind her. Mr. Franklin 
 saw the girls as soon as I saw them. The Sergeant, 
 with his devilish cunning, took on not to have 
 noticed them at all. All this happened in an instant. 
 Before either Mr. Franklin or I could say a word, 
 Sergeant Cuff struck in smoothly, with an appear- 
 ance of continuing the previous conversation. 
 
 " You needn^t be afraid of harming the girl, sir,^^ 
 he said to Mr. Franklin, speaking in a loud voice, 
 so that Bosanna might hear him. " On the con- 
 trary, I recommend you to honour me with your 
 confidence, if you feel any interest in Bosanna 
 Spearman.^^
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 283 
 
 Mr. Franklin instantly took on not to have 
 noticed tlie girls either. He answered^ speaking 
 londly on his side : 
 
 " I take no interest whatever in Rosanna Spear- 
 man. ^^ 
 
 I looked towards the end of the walk. All I 
 saw at the distance was that Rosanna suddenly- 
 turned round, the moment Mr. Franklin had spoken. 
 Instead of resisting Penelope, as she had done the 
 moment before, she now let my daughter take her 
 by the arm and lead her back to the house. 
 
 The breakfast-bell rang as the two girls dis- 
 appeared — and even Sergeant Cuff w^as now obliged 
 to give it up as a bad job ! He said to me quietly, 
 " I shall go to Frizinghall, Mr. Betteredge ; and I 
 shall be back before two.^^ He went his way with- 
 out a word more — and for some few hours we were 
 well rid of him. 
 
 " You must make it right with Rosanna/^ Mr. 
 Franklin said to me, when we were alone. '^ T 
 seem to be fated to say or do something awkward, 
 before that unlucky girl. You must have seen 
 yourself that Sergeant Cuff laid a trap for both of 
 us. If he could confuse me, or irritate her into 
 breaking out, either she or I might have said some- 
 thing which would answer his purpose. On the 
 spur of the moment, I saw^ no better way out of it
 
 284 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 than the way I took. It stopped the girl from 
 saying anything, and it showed the Sergeant that I 
 saw through him. He was evidently listenings 
 Betteredge, when I was speaking to yon last 
 night." 
 
 He had done worse than listen, as I privately 
 thought to myself. He had remembered my 
 telling him that the girl was in love wdth Mr. 
 Franklin ; and he had calculated on that, when he 
 appealed to Mr. Franklin^s interest in Rosanna — in 
 Rosanna^s hearing. 
 
 ^'As to listening, sir," I remarked (keeping the 
 other ]3oint to myself), " we shall all be rowing in 
 the same boat, if this sort of thing goes on much 
 longer. Prying, and peeping, and listening are the 
 natural occupations of people situated as we are. In 
 another day or two, ]Mr. Franklin, we shall all be 
 struck dumb together — for this reason, that we shall 
 all be listening to surprise each other^s secrets, and 
 all know it. Excuse my breaking out, sir. The 
 horrid mystery hanging over us in this house gets^ 
 into my head like liquor, and makes me wild. I 
 won^t forget what you have told me. Fll take the 
 first opportunity of making it right with Rosanna 
 Spearman." 
 
 ^' You haven^t said anything to her yet about 
 last night, have you ?" Mr. Franklin asked.
 
 THE MOONSTONE. JiOO 
 
 '' No, sir/' 
 
 " Then say nothing now. I had better not invite 
 the girl's confidence;, with the Sergeant on the look- 
 out to surprise us together. My conduct is not 
 very consistent, Betteredge — is it ? I see no way 
 out of this business, which isn't dreadful to think 
 of, unless the Diamond is traced to Rosanna. And 
 yet I can't, and won't, help Sergeant Cuff to find 
 the girl out." 
 
 Unreasonable enough, no doubt. But it was 
 my state of mind as well. I thoroughly under- 
 ■stood him. If you will, for once in your life, 
 remember that you are mortal, j^erhaps you will 
 thoroughly understand him too. 
 
 The state of things, indoors and out, while 
 Sergeant Cuff was on his way to Frizinghall, was 
 briefly this : 
 
 3Iiss Rachel waited for the time when the 
 carriage was to take her to her aunt's, still obsti- 
 nately shut up in her own room. ]\Iy lady and 
 Mr. Franklin breakfasted together. After break- 
 fast, Mr. Franklin took one of his sudden reso- 
 lutions, and went out precipitately to quiet his 
 mind by a long walk. I was the only person who 
 saw him go; and he told me he should be back 
 before the Sergeant returned. The change in the
 
 2S6 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 weather, fore-shadowed over-night, had come. 
 Heavy rain had been followed, soon after dawn, 
 by high wind. It was blowing fresh as the day 
 got on. But though the clouds threatened more 
 than once, the rain still held off. It was not a 
 bad day for a walk, if you were young and strong, 
 and could breast the great gusts of wind which 
 came sweeping in from the sea. 
 
 I attended my lady after breakfast, and assisted 
 her in the settlement of our household accounts. 
 She only once alluded to the matter of the Moon- 
 stone, and that was in the way of forbidding any 
 present mention of it between us. *^ Wait till that 
 man comes back,-'^ she said, meaning the Sergeant. 
 " We must speak of it then : we are not obliged to 
 speak of it now." 
 
 After leaving my mistress, I found Penelope 
 waiting for me in my room. 
 
 " I wish, father, you would come and speak to 
 Rosanna," she said. ^^ I am very uneasy about 
 her." 
 
 I suspected what was the matter readily enough. 
 But it is a maxim of mine that men (being superior 
 creatures) are bound to improve women — if they 
 can. When a woman wants me to do anything 
 (my daughter, or not, it doesn^t matter), I always 
 insist on knowing why. The oftener you make
 
 THE MOONSTONE. '2^1 
 
 them rummage their own minds for a reason^ the 
 more manageable you will find them in all the 
 relations of life. It isnH their fault (poor wretches !) 
 that they act first, and think afterwards; it^s the 
 fault of the fools who humour them.'''' 
 
 Penelope's reason why, on this occasion, may be 
 given in her own words. " I am afraid, father,''^ 
 she said, " Mr. Franklin has hurt Rosanna cruelly, 
 without intending it." 
 
 /^^ What took Rosanna into the shrubbery walk ?'' 
 I asked. 
 
 " Her own madness," says Penelope ; " I can call 
 it nothing else. She was bent on speaking to Mr. 
 Franklin, this morning, come what might of it. I 
 did my best to stop her ; you saw that. K I could 
 only have got her away before she heard those 
 dreadful words " 
 
 " There ! there V I said, ^' don^t lose your head. 
 I can^t call to mind that anything happened to alarm 
 Rosanna." 
 
 " Nothing to alarm her, father. But Mr. Franklin 
 said he took no interest whatever in her — and, oh, 
 he said it in such a cruel voice !" 
 
 " He said it to stop the Sergeant''s mouth," I 
 answered. 
 
 '' I told her that," says Penelope. '' But you 
 see, father (though Mr. Franklin isnH to blame).
 
 2S8 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 he^s been mortifying and disappointing her for 
 weeks and weeks past ; and now this comes on 
 the top of it all ! She has no right, of course, to 
 expect him to take any interest in her. It^s quite 
 monstrous that she should forget herself and her 
 station in that way. But she seems to have lost 
 pride, and proper feeliug, and everything. She 
 frightened me, father, when Mr. Franklin said 
 those words. They seemed to turn her into 
 stone. A sudden quiet came over her, and she has 
 gone about her work, ever since, like a woman in 
 a dream. ^^ 
 
 I began to feel a little uneasy. There was 
 something in the way Penelope put it which silenced 
 my superior sense. I called to mind, now my 
 thoughts were directed that way, what had passed 
 between Mr. Franklin and Rosanna overnight. She 
 looked cut to the heart on that occasion ; and now, 
 as ill-luck would have it, she had been unavoidably 
 stung again, poor soul, on the tender place. Sad ! 
 sad ! — all the more sad because the girl had no 
 reason to justify her, and no right to feel it. 
 
 I had promised Mr. Franklin to speak to 
 Kosanna, and this seemed the fittest time for keep- 
 ing my word. 
 
 We found the girl sweeping the corridor outside 
 the bedrooms, pale and composed, and neat as ever
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 289 
 
 in lier modest print dress. I noticed a curious 
 dimness and dulness in her eyes — not as if she had 
 been crying^ but as if she had been looking at 
 something too long. Possibly, it was a misty 
 something raised by her own thoughts. There 
 was certainly no object about her to look at 
 which she had not seen already hundreds on hun- 
 dreds of times. 
 
 ^' Cheer up_, Rosanna V' I said. ^* You mustn^t 
 fret over your own fancies. I have got something 
 to say to you from Mr. Franklin.'''' 
 
 I thereupon put the matter in the right view 
 before her, in the friendliest and most comforting 
 words I could find. My principles, in regard to 
 the other sex, are, as you may have noticed, very 
 severe. But somehow or other, when I come face 
 to face with the women, my practice (I own) is not 
 conformable. 
 
 '' Mr. Franklin is very kind and considerate. 
 Please to thank him/' That was all the answer 
 she made me. 
 
 My daughter had already noticed that Ptosanna 
 went about her work like a woman in a dream. I 
 now added to this observation, that she also listened 
 and spoke like a woman in a dream. I doubted if 
 her mind was in a fit condition to take in what I 
 had said to her. 
 
 VOL. I. U
 
 290 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 ^^ Are you quite sure, Rosanna,, that you under- 
 stand me ?" I asked. 
 
 ^^ Quite sure/^ 
 
 She echoed me, not like a living woman, but 
 like a creature moved by machinery. She went 
 on sweeping all the time. I took away the broom 
 as gently and as kindly as I could. 
 
 ^^ Come, come, my girl !" I said, ^^ this is not 
 like yourself. You have got something on your 
 mind. Fm your friend — and 1^11 stand your 
 friend, even if you have done wrong. Make a 
 clean breast of it, Rosanna — make a clean breast 
 of it V' 
 
 The time had been, when my speaking to her in 
 that way would have brought the tears into her 
 eyes. I could see no change in them now. 
 
 ^^ Yes,^^ she said, " 1^11 make a clean breast of it.'^ 
 
 '' To my lady ?" I asked. 
 
 '^No.^^ 
 
 '' To Mr. Franklin ?" 
 
 ^^Yes; to Mr. Franklin.'' 
 
 I hardly knew what to say to that. She was in 
 no condition to understand the caution against 
 speaking to him in private, which Mr. Franklin 
 had directed me to give her. Feeling my way, 
 little by little, I only told her Mr. Franklin had 
 gone out for a walk.
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 291 
 
 " It doesn^t matter/' she answered. ^^ I shan't 
 trouble Mr. Franklin^ to-day.'' 
 
 " Why not speak to my lady ?" I said. "The way 
 to relieve your mind is to speak to the merciful and 
 Christian mistress who has always been kind to you." 
 
 She looked at me for a moment with a grave 
 and steady attention, as if she was fixing what I 
 said in her mind. Then she took the broom out of 
 my hands ; and moved off with it slowly, a little 
 way down the corridor. 
 
 ^^No/' she said, going on with her sweeping, 
 and speaking to herself; " I know a better way of 
 relieving my mind than that." 
 
 '' What is it ?" 
 
 " Please to let me go on with my work." 
 
 Penelope followed her, and offered to help her. 
 
 She answered, ^' No. I want to do my work. 
 Thank you, Penelope." She looked round at me. 
 " Thank you, Mr. Betteredge." 
 
 There was no moving her — there was nothing 
 more to be said. I signed to Penelope to come 
 away with me. We left her, as we had found her, 
 sweeping the corridor, like a woman in a dream. 
 
 "This is a matter for the doctor to look into," I 
 said. " It's beyond me." 
 
 My daughter reminded me of Mr. Candy's ill- 
 ness, owing (as you may remember) to the chill he 
 
 u2
 
 292 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 had caught on the night of the dinner-party. His 
 assistant — a certain Mr. Ezra Jennings — was at 
 our disposal, to be sure. But nobody knew much 
 about him in our parts. He had been engaged by 
 Mr. Candy, under rather peculiar circumstances ; 
 and, right or wrong, we none of us liked him or 
 trusted him. There were other doctors at Frizing- 
 hall. But they were strangers to our house; and 
 Penelope doubted, in Bosanna^s present state, 
 whether strangers might not do her more harm 
 than good. 
 
 I thought of speaking to my lady. But, remem- 
 bering the heavy weight of anxiety which she 
 already had on her mind, I hesitated to add to all 
 the other vexations this new trouble. Still, there 
 was a necessity for doing something. The girFs 
 state was, to my thinking, downright alarming — 
 and my mistress ought to be informed of it. Un- 
 willingly enough, I went to her sitting-room. No 
 one was there. My lady was shut up with Miss 
 Bachel. It was impossible for me to see her till 
 she came out again. 
 
 I waited in vain till the clock on the front stair- 
 case struck the quarter to two. Five minutes 
 afterwards, I heard my name called, from the drive 
 outside the house. I knew the voice directly. 
 Sergeant Cuff had returned from Frizinghall.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 OING down to the front door^ I met tlie 
 Sergeant on tlie steps. 
 
 It went against the grain with me, after what 
 had passed between us, to show him that I felt any 
 sort of interest in his proceedings. In spite of 
 myself, however, I felt an interest that there was 
 no resisting. My sense of dignity sank from under 
 me, and out came the words : '^ What news from 
 Frizinghall T' 
 
 '' I have seen the Indians," answered Sergeant 
 Cuff. ^^ And I have found out what Rosanna bought 
 privately in the town, on Thursday last. The 
 Indians will be set free on Wednesday in next week. 
 There isn^t a doubt on my mind, and there isn^t a 
 doubt on Mr. Murthwaite's mind, that they came 
 to this place to steal the Moonstone. Their calcu- 
 lations were all thrown out, of course, by what
 
 294 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 happened in the house on Wednesday night ; and 
 they have no more to do with the actual loss of the 
 jewel than you have. But I can tell you one thing, 
 Mr. Betteredge — if we donH find the Moonstone, 
 they will. You have not heard the last of the three 
 jugglers yet.'' 
 
 Mr. Franklin came back from his walk as the 
 Sergeant said those startling words. Governing 
 his curiosity better than I had governed mine, he 
 passed us without a word, and went on into the 
 house. 
 
 As for me, having already dropped my dignity, I 
 determined to have the whole benefit of the sacrifice. 
 '^ So much for the Indians,'' I said. ^^ What about 
 Rosanna next ?" 
 
 Sergeant Cufi* shook his head. 
 
 " The mystery in that quarter is thicKcr than 
 ever," he said. ^^ I have traced her to a shop at 
 Frizinghall, kept by a linendraper named Maltby. 
 She bought nothing whatever at any of the other 
 drapers' shops, or at any milliners' or tailors' shops ; 
 and she bought nothing at Maltby's but a piece of 
 long cloth. She was very particular in choosing a 
 certain quality. As to quantity, she bought enough 
 to make a nightgown." 
 
 " Whose nightgown ?" I asked. 
 
 " Her own, to be sure. Between twelve and
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 295 
 
 three^ on tlie Thursday mornings she must have 
 slipped down to your young lady's room, to settle the 
 hiding of the Moonstone while all the rest of you 
 were in bed. In going back to her own room^ her 
 nightgown must have brushed the wet paint on the 
 door. She couldn't wash out the stain; and she 
 couldn't safely destroy the nightgown without first 
 providing another like it, to make the inventory of 
 her linen complete." 
 
 " What proves that it was Rosanna's nightgown ?" 
 I objected. 
 
 " The material she bought for making the substi- 
 tute dresSj" answered the Sergeant. " If it had been 
 Miss Verinder's nightgown, she would have had to 
 buy lace, and frilling, and Lord knows what besides ; 
 and she wouldn't have had time to make it in one 
 night. Plain long cloth means a plain servant's 
 nightgown. No, no, Mr. Betteredge — all that is clear 
 enough. The pinch of the question is — why, after 
 having provided the substitute dress, does she hide 
 the smeared nightgown, instead of destroying it ? 
 If the girl won't speak out, there is only one way 
 of settling the difiBculty. The hidiag-place at the 
 Shivering Sand must be searched — and the true 
 state of the case will be discovered there." 
 
 '^ How are you to find the place ?" I inquired. 
 
 '' I am sorry to disappoint you," said the Ser-
 
 ?96 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 geant — ^^ but that^s a secret which I mean to keep 
 to myself." 
 
 (Not to irritate your curiosity, as lie irritated 
 mine,, I may here inform you that he had come back 
 from Frizinghallj provided with a search-warrant. 
 His experience in such matters told him that 
 Rosanna was in all probability carrying about her 
 a memorandum of the hiding-place, to guide her, 
 in case she returned to it, under changed circum- 
 stances and after a lapse of time. Possessed of this 
 memorandum, the Sergeant would be furnished with 
 all that he could desire.) 
 
 " Now, Mr. Betteredge," he went on, " suppose 
 we drop speculation, and get to business. I told 
 Joyce to have an eye on Rosanna. Where is 
 Joyce r' 
 
 Joyce was the Frizinghall policeman, who had 
 been left by Superintendent Seegrave at Sergeant 
 CuflP's disposal. The clock struck two, as he put 
 the question; and, punctual to the moment, the 
 carriage came round to take Miss Rachel to her 
 aunt^s. 
 
 "One thing at a time,^' said the Sergeant, 
 stopping me as I was about to send iu search of 
 Joyce. '^ I must attend to Miss Verinder first.^^ 
 
 As the rain was still threatening, it was the close 
 carriage that had been appointed to take Miss
 
 THE MOONSTONE, 297 
 
 Rachel to Frizinghall. Sergeant Cuff beckoned 
 Samuel to come down to him from the rumble 
 behind. 
 
 " You will see a friend of mine waiting among 
 the trees, on this* side of the lodge gate/' he said. 
 ^' My friend, without stopping the carriage, wdll get 
 up into the rumble with you. You have nothing 
 to do but to hold your tongue, and shut your eyes. 
 Otherwise, you will get into trouble/' 
 
 With that ad\dce, he sent the footman back to 
 his place. What Samuel thought I don't know. 
 It was plain, to my mind, that Miss Rachel was to be 
 privately kept in view from the time when she left our 
 house — if she did leave it. A watch set on my 
 young lady ! A spy behind her in the rumble of 
 her mother's carriage ! I could have cut my own 
 tongue out for having forgotten myself so far as to 
 speak to Sergeant Cuff. 
 
 The first person to come out of the house was 
 my lady. She stood aside, on the top step, posting 
 herself there to see what happened. Not a word 
 did she say, either to the Sergeant or to me. With 
 her lips closed, and her arms folded in the light 
 garden cloak which she had wrapped round her on 
 coming into the air, there she stood, as still as a 
 statue, waiting for her daughter to appear. 
 
 In a minute more. Miss Rachel came down
 
 298 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 stairs — very nicely dressed in some soft yellow 
 stuff, that set off her dark complexion, and clipped 
 her tight (in the form of a jacket) round the waist. 
 She had a smart little straw hat on her head, with 
 a white veil twisted round it. She had primrose- 
 coloured gloves that fitted her hands like a second 
 skin. Her beautiful black hair looked as smooth 
 as satin under her hat. Her little ears were like 
 rosy shells — they had a pearl dangling from each 
 of them. She came swiftly out to us, as straight 
 as a lily on its stem, and as lithe and supple in 
 every movement she made as a young cat. Nothing 
 that I could discover was altered in her pretty face, 
 but her eyes and her lips. Her eyes were brighter 
 and fiercer than I liked to see ; and her lips had 
 so completely lost their colour and their smile that 
 I hardly knew them again. She kissed her mother 
 in a hasty and sudden manner on the cheek. She 
 said, ^' Try to forgive me, mamma^^ — and then 
 pulled down her veil over her face so vehemently 
 that she tore it. In another moment she had run 
 down the steps, and had rushed into the carriage as 
 if it was a hiding-place. 
 
 Sergeant Cuff was just as quick on his side. He 
 put Samuel back, and stood before Miss Rachel, 
 with the open carriage-door in his hand, at the 
 instant when she settled herself in her place.
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 299 
 
 " What do you want ?" says Miss Rachel^ from 
 behind her veil. 
 
 " I want to say one word to you, miss/^ an- 
 swered the Sergeant_, " before you go. I can^t pre- 
 sume to stop your paying a visit to your aunt. I 
 can only venture to say that your leaving us, as 
 things are now, puts an obstacle in the way of 
 my recovering your Diamond. Please to under- 
 stand that; and now decide for yourself whether 
 you go or stay.^^ 
 
 Miss Rachel never even answered him. " Drive 
 on, James V' she called out to the coachman. 
 
 Without another word, the Sergeant shut the 
 carriage-door. Just as he closed it, Mr. Franklin 
 came running down the steps. ^^ Good-bye, Rachel,^' 
 he said, holding out his hand. 
 
 '^ Drive on V' cried Miss Rachel, louder than 
 ever, and taking no more notice of Mr. Franklin 
 than she had taken of Sergeant Cuff. 
 
 Mr. Franklin stepped back thunderstruck, as 
 well he might be. The coachman, not knowing 
 what to do, looked towards my lady, still standing 
 immovable on the top step. My lady, with anger 
 and sorrow and shame all struggling together in 
 her face, made him a sign to start the horses, and 
 then turned back hastily into the house. Mr. 
 Franklin, recovering the use of his speech, called
 
 300 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 after her, as tlie carriage drove off, ^^ Aunt ! you 
 were quite right. Accept my thanks for all your 
 kindness — and let me go." 
 
 My lady turned as though to speak to him. 
 Then, as if distrusting herself, waved her hand 
 kindly. " Let me see you, before you leave us, 
 Franklin,^^ she said, in a broken voice — and went 
 on to her own room. 
 
 ^^ Do me a last favour, Betteredge,^^ says Mr. 
 Franklin, turning to me, with the tears in his 
 eyes. " Get me away to the train as soon as you 
 can V 
 
 He too went his way into the house. For the 
 moment. Miss Rachel had completely unmanned 
 him. Judge from that, how fond he must have 
 been of her ! 
 
 Sergeant Cuff and I were left face to face, at 
 the bottom of the steps. The Sergeant stood with 
 his face set towards a gap in the trees, commanding 
 a view of one of the windings of the drive which 
 led from the house. He had his hands in his 
 pockets, and he was softly whistling The Last Rose 
 of Summer to himself. 
 
 " There's a time for everything,^' I said, savagely 
 enough. " This isn't a time for whistling." 
 
 At that moment, the carriage appeared in the 
 distance, through the gap, on its way to the lodge-
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 301 
 
 gate. There was another man^ besides Samuel, 
 plainly visible in the rumble behind. 
 
 " All right V' said the Sergeant to himself. He 
 turned round to me. " It^s no time for whistling, 
 Mr. Betteredge, as you say. It's time to take 
 this business in hand, now, without sparing any- 
 body. We'll begin with Rosanna Spearman. Where 
 is Joyce ?'^ 
 
 We both called for Joyce, and received no answer. 
 I sent one of the stable-boys to look for him. 
 
 " You heard what I said to Miss Yerinder ?" 
 remarked the Sergeant, while we were waiting. 
 " And you saw how she received it ? I tell her 
 plainly that her leaving us will be an obstacle in 
 the way of my recovering her Diamond — and she 
 leaves, in the face of that statement ! Your young 
 lady has got a travelling companion in her mother^s 
 carriage, Mr. Betteredge — and the name of it is, 
 the Moonstone.''^ 
 
 I said nothing. I only held on like death to my 
 belief in Miss Rachel. 
 
 The stable-boy came back, followed — very un- 
 willingly, as it appeared to me — by Joyce. 
 
 " Where is Rosanna Spearman r^' asked Sergeant 
 Cuff. 
 
 '' I can't account for it, sir,'' Joyce began ; 
 ^^ and I am very sorry. But somehow or other '^
 
 302 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 '^ Before I went to Frizinghall/^ said the Ser- 
 geant, cutting him short, " I told you to keep your 
 eye on Rosanna Spearman, without allowing her to 
 discover that she was being watched. Do you 
 mean to tell me that you have let her give you the 
 slip V' 
 
 " I am afraid, sir/' says Joyce, beginning to 
 tremble, " that I was perhaps a little too careful 
 not to let her discover me. There are such a many 
 passages in the lower parts of this house " 
 
 '^ How long is it since you missed her V 
 
 " Nigh on an hour since, sir/"* 
 
 ^'^You can go back to your regular business at 
 Frizinghall,'' said the Sergeant, speaking just as 
 composedly as ever, in his usual quiet and dreary 
 way. " I don't think your talents are at all in our 
 line, Mr. Joyce. Your present form of employment 
 is a trifle beyond you. Good morning.'' 
 
 The man slunk off. I find it very difficult to 
 describe how I was affected by the discovery that 
 Rosanna Spearman was missing. I seemed to be 
 in fifty different minds about it, all at the same 
 time. In that state, I stood staring at Sergeant 
 Cuff — and my powers of language quite failed me. 
 
 '^ No, Mr. Betteredge," said the Sergeant, as if 
 he had discovered the uppermost thought in me, and 
 was picking it out to be answered, before all the
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 303 
 
 rest. ^'Your young friend, Rosanna, won^t slip 
 through my fingers so easily as you think. As 
 long as I know where Miss Verinder is_, I have the 
 means at my disposal of tracing Miss Verinder^s 
 accomplice. I prevented them from communicating 
 last night. Very good. They will get together at 
 Frizinghall, instead of getting together here. The 
 present inquiry must be simply shifted (rather 
 sooner than I had anticipated) from this house, to 
 the house at which Miss Verinder is visiting. In 
 the mean time, I'm afraid I must trouble you to 
 caU the servants together again.'' 
 
 I went round with him to the servants' hall. It is 
 very disgraceful, but it is not the less true, that I 
 had another attack of the detective-fever, when he 
 said those last words. I forgot that I hated Ser- 
 geant Cuff. I seized him confidentially by the 
 arm. I said, '^ For goodness sake, tell us what you 
 are going to do with the servants now ?" 
 
 The great Cuff stood stockstill, and addressed 
 himself in a kind of melancholy rapture to the 
 empty air. 
 
 *^ If this man," said the Sergeant (apparently 
 meaning me), " only understood the growing of 
 roses, he would be the most completely perfect 
 character on the face of creation !" After that 
 strong expression of feeling, he sighed, and put his
 
 304 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 arm through mine. " This is how it stands/^ he 
 said^ dropping down again to business. " Rosanna 
 has done one of two things. She has either gone 
 direct to Frizinghall j[before I can get there), or 
 she has gone first to visit her hiding-place at the 
 Shivering Sand. The first thing to find out is, 
 which of the servants saw the last of her before 
 she left the house.'^ 
 
 On instituting this inquiry, it turned out that 
 the last person who had set eyes on Rosanna was 
 Nancy, the kitchenmaid. 
 
 Nancy had seen her slip out with a letter in her 
 hand, and stop the butcher^s man who had just 
 been delivering some meat at the back door. 
 Nancy had heard her ask the man to post the letter 
 when he got back to Fi'izinghall. The man had 
 looked at the address, and had said it was a round- 
 about way of delivering a letter, directed to Cobb^s 
 Hole, to post it at Frizinghall — and that, moreover, 
 on a Saturday, which would prevent the letter from 
 getting to its destination until Monday morning. 
 Rosanna had answered that the deliveiy of the 
 letter being delayed till Monday was of no import- 
 ance. The only thing she wished to be sure of was 
 that the man would do what she told him. The 
 man had promised to do it, and had driven away. 
 Nancy had been called back to her work in the
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 305 
 
 kitchen. And no other person had seen anything 
 afterwards of Rosanna Spearman. 
 
 '' Well V I asked^ when we were alone again. 
 
 *^ Well/' says the Sergeant. " I must go to 
 Frizinghall.'' 
 
 '' About the letter, sir V 
 
 " Yes. The memorandum of the hiding-place is 
 in that letter. I must see the address at the post- 
 office. If it is the address I suspect, I shall pay 
 our friend, Mrs. Yolland, another visit on Monday 
 next.'' 
 
 I went with the Sergeant to order the pony- 
 chaise. In the stable-yard we got a new Kght 
 thrown on the missing girl. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 HE news of Rosanna^s disappearance had, 
 as it appeared, spread among the out-of- 
 door servants. They too had made their inquiries ; 
 and they had just laid hands on a quick little imp, 
 nicknamed "Duffy^^ — who was occasionally employed 
 in weeding the garden,, and who had seen Rosanna 
 Spearman as lately as half-an-hour since. Duffy- 
 was certain that the girl had passed him in the fir- 
 plantation, not walking, hut running, in the direction 
 of the sea- shore. 
 
 " Does this boy know the coast hereabouts T' 
 asked Sergeant Cuff. 
 
 " He has been born and bred on the coast,^^ I 
 answered. 
 
 " Duffy V^ says the Sergeant, '' do you want to 
 earn a shilling ? If you do, come along with me. 
 Keep the pony-chaise ready, Mr. Betteredge, till I 
 come back.'^
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 307 
 
 He started for the Shivering Sand, at a rate that 
 my legs (though well enough preserved for my time 
 of life) had no hope of matching. Little Duffy, as 
 the Tvay is with the young savages in our parts 
 when they are in high spirits, gave a howl, and 
 trotted off at the Sergeant^s heels. 
 
 Here again, I find it impossible to give anything 
 like a clear account of the state of my mind in the 
 interval after Sergeant Cuff had left us. A curious 
 and stupifying restlessness got possession of me. 
 I did a dozen different needless things in and out 
 of the house, not one of which I can now remem- 
 ber. I don^t even know how long it was after the 
 Sergeant had gone to the sands, when Duffy came 
 running back with a message for me. Sergeant 
 Cuff had given the boy a leaf torn out of his pocket- 
 book, on which was written in pencil, " Send me 
 one of Rosanna Spearman's boots, and be quick 
 about it.'' 
 
 I despatched the first woman-servant I could 
 find to Rosanna^s room; and I sent the boy back 
 to say that I myself would follow him with the 
 boot. 
 
 This, I am well aware, was not the quickest way 
 to take of obeying the directions which I had re- 
 ceived. But I was resolved to see for myself what 
 new mystification was going on, before I trusted 
 
 5 2
 
 308 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 E/Osanna's boot in the Sergeant^s hands. My old 
 notion of screening the girl, if I could, seemed to 
 have come back on me again, at the eleventh hour. 
 This state of feeling (to say nothing of the detective 
 fever) hurried me off, as soon as the boot vras put 
 in my hands, at the nearest approach to a run which 
 a man turned seventy can reasonably hope to 
 make. 
 
 As I got near the shore, the clouds gathered 
 black, and the rain came down, drifting in great 
 white sheets of water before the wind. I heard 
 the thunder of the sea on the sand-bank at the 
 mouth of the bay. A little further on, I passed 
 the boy crouching for shelter under the lee of the 
 sand-hills. Then I saw the raging sea, and the 
 rollers tumbling in on the sand-bank, and the driven 
 rain sweeping over the waters like a flying garment, 
 and the yellow wilderness of the beach with one 
 solitary black figure standing on it — the figure of 
 Sergeant Cuff. 
 
 He waved his hand towards the north, when he 
 first saw me. " Keep on that side V he shouted. 
 *' And come on down here to me \" 
 
 I went down to him, choking for breath, with 
 my heart leaping as if it was like to leap out of 
 me. I was past speaking. I had a hundred ques- 
 tions to put to him; and not one of them woidd
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 309 
 
 pass my lips. His face frightened me. I saw a 
 look in his eyes which was a look of horror. He 
 snatched the boot out of my hand^ and set it in a 
 footmark on the sand, bearing south from us as we 
 stoodj and pointing straight towards the rocky ledge 
 called the South Spit. The mark was not yet 
 blurred out by the rain — and the girPs boot fitted 
 it to a hair. 
 
 The Sergeant pointed to the boot in the foot- 
 markj without saying a word. 
 
 I caught at his arm, and tried to speak to him, 
 and failed as I had failed when I tried before. He 
 went on_, following the footsteps down and down to 
 where the rocks and the sand joined. The South 
 Spit was just awash with the flowing tide ; the waters 
 heaved over the hidden face of the Shivering Sand. 
 Now this way and now that, with an obstinate 
 silence that fell on you like lead, with an obstinate 
 patience that was dreadful to see. Sergeant Cuff 
 tried the boot in the footsteps, and always found it 
 pointing the same way — straight to the rocks. 
 Hunt as he might, no sign could he find anywhere 
 of the footsteps walking from them. 
 
 He gave it up at last. Still keeping silence, 
 he looked again at me ; and then he looked out at 
 the waters before us, heaving in deeper and deeper 
 over the quicksand. I looked where he looked —
 
 310 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 and I saw his thought in his face. A dreadful dumb 
 trembling crawled all over me on a sudden. I fell 
 upon my knees on the beach. 
 
 ^^ She has been back at the hiding-place/^ I 
 heard the Sergeant say to himself. " Some fatal 
 accident has happened to her on those rocks." 
 
 The girFs altered looks^ and words, and actions — 
 the numbed, deadened way in which she listened 
 to me, and spoke to me — when I had found her 
 sweeping the corridor but a few hours since, rose 
 up in my mind, and warned me, even as the Ser- 
 geant spoke, that his guess was wide of the dreadful 
 truth. I tried to tell him of the fear that had 
 frozen me up. I tried to say, " The death she has 
 died. Sergeant, was a death of her own seeking.'^ 
 No ! the words wouldn't come. The dumb tremb- 
 ling held me in its grip. I couldnH feel the driving 
 rain. I couldn't see the rising tide. As in the 
 vision of a dream, the poor lost creature came back 
 before me. I saw her again as I had seen her in 
 the past time — on the morning when I went to 
 fetch her into the house. I heard her again, telling 
 me that the Shivering Sand seemed to draw her to 
 it against her will, and wondering whether her grave 
 was waiting for her there. The horror of it struck 
 at me, in some unfathomable way, through my own 
 child. My girl was just her age. My girl, tried
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 311 
 
 as Rosanna was tried, miglit have lived that miser- 
 able life, and died this dreadfal death. 
 
 The Sergeant kindly lifted me up, and turned me 
 away from the sight of the place where she had 
 perished. 
 
 With that relief, I began to fetch my breath again, 
 and to see things about me, as things really were. 
 Looking towards the sand-hills, I saw the men- 
 servants from out-of-doors, and the fisherman, named 
 Yolland, all running down to us together ; and all, 
 having taken the alarm, calling out to know if the 
 girl had been found. In the fewest words, the Ser- 
 geant showed them the evidence of the footmarks, 
 and told them that a fatal accident must have 
 happened to her. He then picked out the fisher- 
 man fi-om the rest, and put a question to him, 
 turning about again towards the sea : ^^ Tell 
 me,^^ he said. " Could a boat have taken her ofi*, 
 in such weather as this, from those rocks where her 
 footmarks stop ?^^ 
 
 The fisherman pointed to the rollers tumbling in 
 on the sand-bank, and to the great waves leaping 
 up in clouds of foam against the headlands on either 
 side of us. 
 
 " No boat that ever was built,^' he answered, 
 '^ could have got to her through that,^* 
 
 Sergeant Cufi" looked for the last time at the
 
 312 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 footmarks on the sand^ whicli the rain was now 
 fast blurring out. 
 
 "There/^ he said, '"''is the evidence that she 
 can't have left this place by land. And here/' he 
 went on, looking at the fisherman, ^^ is the e\idence 
 that she can't have got away by sea ?" He stopped, 
 and considered for a minute. " She was seen run- 
 ning towards this place, half an hour before I got 
 here from the house," he said to YoUand. " Some 
 time has passed since then. Call it, altogether, an 
 hour ago. How high would the water be, at that 
 time, on this side of the rocks ?" He pointed to 
 the south side — otherwise, the side which was not 
 filled up by the quicksand. 
 
 " As the tide makes to-day," said the fisher- 
 man, " there wouldn't have been water enough to 
 drown a kitten on that side of the Spit, an hour 
 since." 
 
 Sergeant CufiP turned about northward, towards 
 the quicksand. 
 
 " How much on this side ?" he asked 
 
 " Less still," answered Yolland. " The Shiver- 
 ing Sand would have been just awash, and no more." 
 
 The Sergeant turned to me, and said that the 
 accident must have happened on the side of the 
 quicksand. My tongue was loosened at that. '' No 
 accident !" I told him. " When she came to
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 313 
 
 this place, she camej weary of her life, to end it 
 here/' 
 
 He started back from me. " How do you 
 know ?'' he asked. The rest of them crowded 
 round. The Sergeant recovered himself instantly. 
 He put them back from me ; he said I was an old 
 man ; he said the discovery had shaken me ; he 
 said, " Let him alone a little.^'' Then he turned to 
 Yolland, and asked, " Is there any chance of find- 
 ing her, when the tide ebbs again ?" And Yolland 
 answered, '^ None. What the Sand gets, the Sand 
 keeps for everj* Ha\dng said that,, the fisherman 
 came a step nearer, and addressed himself to me. 
 
 " Mr. Betteredge,^ he said, " I have a word to 
 say to you about the young woman^s death. Four 
 foot out, broadwise, along the side of the Spit, 
 there^s a shelf of rock, about half fathom down 
 under the sand. My question is — why didn^t she 
 strike that ? If she slipped, by accident, from off 
 the Spit^ she fell in, where there^s foothold at the 
 bottom, at a depth that would barely cover her to 
 the waist. She must have waded out, or jumped 
 out, into the Deeps beyond — or she wouldn^t be 
 missing now. No accident, sir ! The Deeps of 
 the Quicksand have got her. And they have got 
 her by her own act." 
 
 After that testimony from a man whose know-
 
 314 THE MOONSTONE. 
 
 ledge was to be relied on_, the Sergeant was silent. 
 The rest of us^ like him^ held our peace. With one 
 accord^ we all turned back up the slope of the 
 beach. 
 
 At the sand-hillocks we were met by the under- 
 groom, running to us from the house. The lad is 
 a good lad^ and has an honest respect for me. He 
 handed me a little notC;, with a decent sorrow in his 
 face. " Penelope sent me with this_, Mr. Better edge/"* 
 he said. " She found it in Rosanna^s room.^^ 
 
 It was her last farewell word to the old man who 
 had done his best — thank God_, always done his best 
 — to befriend her. 
 
 " You have often forgiven me, Mr."Betteredge_, in 
 past times. When you next see the Shivering 
 Sand_, try to forgive me once more. I have found 
 my grave where my grave was waiting for me. I 
 have livedo and died^ sir, grateful for your kindness.^' 
 
 There was no more than that. Little as it was, 
 I hadn^t manhood enough to hold up against it. 
 Your tears come easy, when you're young, and be- 
 ginning the world. Your tears come easy, when 
 you're old, and leaving it. I burst out crying. 
 
 Sergeant Cuff took a step nearer to me — mean- 
 ing kindly, I don't doubt. I shrank back from 
 him. " Don't touch me," I said. " It's the dread 
 of youj that has driven her to it."
 
 THE MOONSTONE. 315 
 
 " You are Tvrong^ Mr. Betteredge," he answered, 
 quietly. " But there will be time enough to speak 
 of it when we are indoors again. ^' 
 
 I followed the rest of them^, with the help of the 
 groom^s arm. Through the driving rain we went 
 back — to meet the trouble and the terror that were 
 waiting for us at the house. 
 
 
 END OF VOL. I.
 
 LONDON: 
 
 SATILL, EDWARDS AXD CO., PEI:N^TEU9, CHA.»D0S STEEET, 
 
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