The Moonstone

hen the last of the guests had driven away, 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 gentlemen. 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 Colonel’s legacy shining in her daughter’s dress.

“Rachel,” she asked, “where are you going to put your Diamond tonight?”

Miss Rachel was in high good spirits, just in that humour for talking
nonsense, and perversely persisting in it as if it was sense, which you
may sometimes have observed in young girls, when they are highly
wrought up, at the end of an 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 shining of itself, with its
awful moony light in the dark—and that would terrify her in the dead of
night. Then she bethought herself of an Indian cabinet which stood in
her sitting-room; and instantly 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?”

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 tonight?” she asked.

Miss Rachel received that proposal as she might, ten years since, have
received a proposal to part her from a new doll. My lady saw there was
no reasoning with her that night. “Come into my room, Rachel, the first
thing tomorrow morning,” she said. “I shall have something to say to
you.” With those last words she left us 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 saw her reflected in
it, slyly slipping the locket which Mr. Franklin had given to her, out
of the bosom of her dress, and showing it to him for a moment, with a
smile which certainly meant something out of the common, before she
tripped off to bed. This incident staggered 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 affections,
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.

“Betteredge,” he said, “I’m half inclined to think I took Mr.
Murthwaite too seriously, when we had that talk in the shrubbery. I
wonder whether he has been trying any of his traveller’s tales on us?
Do you really mean to let the dogs loose?”

“I’ll 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 Mr. Franklin. “We’ll see what is to be done tomorrow.
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 candle to
go upstairs, that I ventured to advise his having a drop of
brandy-and-water, by way of night-cap. Mr. Godfrey, walking towards us
from the other end of the hall, 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 Rachel’s good graces, seemed to have set no serious difference
between them. But there! they were both good-tempered, 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’ collars. 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
kennels. 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 bones in 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!” she screamed, “come upstairs, for God’s sake! The Diamond is
gone!”

“Are you out of your mind?” I asked her.

“Gone!” 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 bedroom. There, on the threshold of her bedroom door,
stood Miss Rachel, almost as white in the face as the white
dressing-gown that clothed her. There also stood the two doors of the
Indian cabinet, wide open. One, of the drawers inside was pulled out as
far as it would go.

“Look!” 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!”

Having said those words, she withdrew into her bedroom, and shut and
locked the door.

Before we knew which way to turn next, my lady came in, hearing my
voice in her daughter’s sitting-room, and wondering what had happened.
The news of the loss of the Diamond seemed to petrify her. She went
straight to Miss Rachel’s bedroom, 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 state of
bewilderment, which didn’t say much for his natural strength of mind.
Mr. Franklin, whose clear head I had confidently counted on to advise
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
stupefied 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 over night. He
next proposed to his cousin and to me to make quite sure, before we
took any further 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 Penelope, and discovered from
her no more than the little she had already told me—Mr. Franklin
suggested next extending our inquiries to Miss Rachel, and sent
Penelope to knock at her bedroom 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 effort, recovered 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 Mr. Franklin,
catching her up, “is to lay 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. 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 instantly. Our chance
of catching the thieves may depend on our not wasting one unnecessary
minute.” (Nota 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 overlook such an event as the loss of a jewel worth twenty
thousand pounds, I believe—with my lady’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
have been under the sofa while my aunt and Rachel were talking about
where the Diamond was to be 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 turned it over in my mind, the less satisfactory Mr. Franklin’s
explanation appeared to be.

We had our breakfasts—whatever happens in a house, robbery or murder,
it doesn’t matter, you must have your 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 girls,” 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?”

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 bedroom. It is but
fair to add that she was not the only one of us in the house who was
thrown 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 own 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 Rachel, he 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
present 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 circumstances, showed himself of
weaker metal than I had thought him to be. As for the women-servants
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 weaker half of the human family, when anything
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 a gallop;
he came back to us at a walk. When he went away, he was made of iron.
When he returned, he was stuffed with cotton, as limp as limp could be.

“Well,” says my lady, “are the police coming?”

“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?” I asked.

“The poor ill-used Indians have been most unjustly 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 young 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 first inquiries
instituted about the Indians showed that they had not so much as
attempted to leave the town. Further questions addressed to the police,
proved that all three had been seen returning 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 terrace. 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 evidence 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
institution (justice included) will stretch a little, if you only pull
it the right way. The worthy magistrate was an old friend of my lady’s,
and the Indians were “committed” for a week, as soon as the court
opened that morning.

Such was Mr. 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 innocent, who,
in the name of wonder, had taken the Moonstone out of Miss Rachel’s
drawer?

Ten minutes later, to our infinite relief; Superintendent Seegrave
arrived at the house. He reported 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. “I’m the
man you want!” was written all over his face; and he ordered his two
inferior police men 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 him that no thieves had broken in upon us
from outside, and that the robbery, consequently, must have been
committed by some person in the house. I leave you to imagine the state
the servants were in when this official announcement first reached
their ears. The Superintendent decided to begin by examining the
boudoir, and, that done, to examine the servants next. At the same
time, he posted one of his men on the staircase 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
upstairs in a body to Miss Rachel’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.

“Now, then, you women, go downstairs again, everyone of you; I won’t
have you here. Look!” says Mr. Superintendent, suddenly pointing to a
little smear of the decorative painting on Miss Rachel’s door, at the
outer edge, just under the lock. “Look what mischief the petticoats of
some of you have done already. Clear out! clear out!” 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 followed her out. The Superintendent 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, which 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 swimmingly, 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 Rachel’s cup of tea at eight
the next morning, and had found the drawer open and empty. Upon that,
she had alarmed the house—and there was an end of Penelope’s evidence.

Mr. Superintendent next asked 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 offended when he
heard that reply. I told him my young lady was ill, and begged him to
wait a little and see her later. We thereupon went downstairs again,
and were met by Mr. Godfrey 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. Neither of them knew anything
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 Seegrave is an ass.” Released in his
turn, Mr. Godfrey whispered to me—“Evidently a most competent person.
Betteredge, I have the greatest faith in him!” Many men, many opinions,
as one of the ancients said, before my time.

Mr. Superintendent’s next proceeding took him back to the “boudoir”
again, with my daughter and me at his heels. His object was to discover
whether any of the furniture had been moved, during the night, out of
its customary place—his previous investigation in the room having,
apparently, 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 Rachel, 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?”

“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.”

Without another word, without heeding Mr. 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. Franklin 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. My 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 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. Superintendent once more attempted
to question her. She turned round on him at her bedroom door. “I have
not sent for you!” she cried out vehemently. “I don’t want you. My
Diamond is lost. Neither you nor anybody else will ever find it!” With
those words 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 was upset
by the loss of her jewel. Being anxious for the honour of the family,
it distressed me to see my young lady forget herself—even with 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 extraordinary
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 was caused by her having
expressed herself to him (as the person chiefly instrumental in
fetching the police) to that effect. If this guess was right,
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 she 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 was—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!” All her
mother’s influence failed to extract from her a word more than that.

Here we were, 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. 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 furniture, 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 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 great length, and with a very angry sense of the embargo laid on
their bedrooms. The rest of them being sent back to their places
downstairs, Penelope 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 suspected, 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 girl
came back to me in a frenzy. 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 an 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 officer had an interview (at which I was 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 thieves. “I will never consent to make such a return as
that,” she said, “for all I owe to the faithful servants who are
employed in my house.”

Mr. Superintendent made his bow, with a look in my direction, which
said plainly, “Why employ me, if you are to tie my hands in this way?”
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 your permission to
do what is right in this matter by giving up 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 with!” 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 Superintendent
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.

The search over, and no Diamond or sign of a Diamond being found, of
course, anywhere, Superintendent Seegrave 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 Mr. 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 Rosanna 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 upstairs,” says Rosanna;
“and I have been into the library to give it to him.” The girl’s 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 self-importance which 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?” I asked.

“Going to telegraph to London,” says Mr. 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 permission 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, dropping 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
Spearman’s head is not quite right, or I am afraid she knows more about
the Moonstone 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 are old, you acquire one excellent habit. In
cases where 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.
Instead 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, Betteredge, 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 outside. 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’s story, even then. It
would have been almost as good as telling him that she was the thief.
Besides, 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, I’m 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. My lady has a very
friendly interest in Rosanna; and the girl may only have been forward
and foolish, after all. When 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 ill, trust the women for prophesying that the person will die.
If it’s a jewel lost, trust them for prophesying that it will never be
found again.”

This view (which I am bound to say, I thought 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. Rosanna Spearman was not among them. On inquiry, I
found that she had been suddenly taken ill, and had gone upstairs to
her own room to lie down.

“Curious! She looked well enough when I saw her last,” I remarked.

Penelope followed me out. “Don’t talk in that way before the rest of
them, father,” she said. “You 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 explanation of Rosanna’s strange language and
behaviour might have been all in this—that she didn’t care what she
said, so long as she could surprise Mr. Franklin into speaking to her.
Granting that to be the right reading of the riddle, it accounted,
perhaps, for her flighty, self-conceited manner when she passed me in
the hall. Though he had only said three words, still she had carried
her point, and Mr. Franklin had spoken to her.

I saw the pony harnessed myself. In the infernal network of mysteries
and uncertainties that now surrounded us, I declare it was a relief to
observe how well the buckles and straps understood 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 to find the Diamond in
the servants’ rooms or boxes) had led him, it appeared, to an entirely
new conclusion. Still sticking to his first text, namely, that somebody
in the house had stolen the jewel, our experienced officer was now of
the opinion that the thief (he was wise enough not to name poor
Penelope, 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 from
our station. Mr. Godfrey, still devoutly believing 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 Rosanna 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
important matter than you may suppose.”

“It is a matter of twenty thousand pounds, sir,” I said, thinking of
the value of the Diamond.

“It’s a matter of quieting Rachel’s mind,” answered Mr. Franklin
gravely. “I am very uneasy about her.”

He left me suddenly; as if he desired to cut short any further talk
between us. I thought I understood 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 downstairs
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 miserably enough, I can tell
you. Miss 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, by reporting what Rosanna Spearman had said to Mr. Franklin.
Penelope persisted in believing that she was to be forthwith tried,
sentenced, and transported for theft. The other women took to their
Bibles and hymn-books, and looked as sour as verjuice 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 gentlemen came back from
Frizinghall, having arranged with Superintendent Seegrave that he was
to return 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 request, 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 suspecting the jugglers of having
tampered with any of our servants. On reaching that conclusion, Mr.
Franklin had sent his telegraphic message to London, and there the
matter now rested till tomorrow came.

So much for the history of the day that followed the birthday. Not 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.