The Moonstone
In half a minute after he had read the message, he had looked back into
his memory for Superintendent 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 gentleman’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 would 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 Indians 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 tomorrow whether Superintendent Seegrave 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 another point of
view. You take your white moss rose——”
By that time, I had closed the door on them, 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 Rachel’s bell rang while we were talking. Penelope ran
up the back stairs to go on with the 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, with a very disturbed face, and in a very
odd manner.”
“I am afraid I am innocently the cause of that disturbance,
Betteredge.”
“You, sir!”
“I can’t explain it,” says Mr. Franklin; “but, if the girl _is_
concerned in the loss of the Diamond, I do really believe she was on
the point of confessing 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 I saw the tails of
Sergeant Cuff’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 which 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 Sergeant—and not desiring
to make needless mischief, where, Heaven knows, there was mischief
enough going on already—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 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 face, I asked
her if she wished to speak to me. She answered, ‘Yes, if I dare.’
Knowing what suspicion attached to her, I could only put one
construction on such language as that. I confess it made me
uncomfortable. I had no wish to invite the girl’s 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 awkward 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?’ Mind, Betteredge, I didn’t speak
unkindly! 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 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 what had passed between the Sergeant and me, I knew what it was
that he had left unspoken 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 excitement; it was a question of proving her
innocence. If Rosanna had done nothing to compromise herself, 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 Frizinghall. She had been up all
night, 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 servants’ 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.
Franklin, who, thereupon, left the library, and went up to bed.
I was putting the lights out, 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 bedchamber that was prepared for
him? I went upstairs 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. “And mind, if you ever take to
growing roses, the white moss rose is all the better for _not_ being
budded on the dog-rose, whatever the gardener may say to the contrary!”
“What are you doing here?” I asked. “Why are you not in your proper
bed?”
“I am not in my proper bed,” answered the Sergeant, “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 Verinder stated her resolution to leave the
house. Whatever Rosanna may have hidden, it’s clear to my mind that
your young lady couldn’t go away until she knew that it _was_ hidden.
The two must have communicated privately once already tonight. If they
try to communicate again, when the house is quiet, I want to be in the
way, and stop it. Don’t blame me for upsetting your sleeping
arrangements, 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, gravely.
CHAPTER XVII
Nothing happened in the night; and (I am happy to add) no attempt at
communication between Miss Rachel and Rosanna rewarded the vigilance of
Sergeant Cuff.
I had expected the Sergeant to set off for Frizinghall 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?” was all the return he got for
politely wishing Mr. Franklin good morning.