The Moonstone
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, every one 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