The Moonstone
“Was the man drunk last night?” asked Sergeant Cuff.
“Perfectly sober, sir—or I would never have let him sleep in my house.”
“Did he pay for his bed beforehand?”
“No.”
“Could he leave the room in any way, without going out by the door?”
“The room is a garret,” said the landlord. “But there’s a trap-door in
the ceiling, leading out on to the roof—and a little lower down the
street, there’s an empty house under repair. Do you think, Sergeant,
the blackguard has got off in that way, without paying?”
“A sailor,” said Sergeant Cuff, “might have done it—early in the
morning, before the street was astir. He would be used to climbing, and
his head wouldn’t fail him on the roofs of the houses.”
As he spoke, the arrival of the carpenter was announced. We all went
upstairs, at once, to the top story. I noticed that the Sergeant was
unusually grave, even for _him_. It also struck me as odd that he told
the boy (after having previously encouraged him to follow us), to wait
in the room below till we came down again.
The carpenter’s hammer and chisel disposed of the resistance of the
door in a few minutes. But some article of furniture had been placed
against it inside, as a barricade. By pushing at the door, we thrust
this obstacle aside, and so got admission to the room. The landlord
entered first; the Sergeant second; and I third. The other persons
present followed us.
We all looked towards the bed, and all started.
The man had not left the room. He lay, dressed, on the bed—with a white
pillow over his face, which completely hid it from view.
“What does that mean?” said the landlord, pointing to the pillow.
Sergeant Cuff led the way to the bed, without answering, and removed
the pillow.
The man’s swarthy face was placid and still; his black hair and beard
were slightly, very slightly, discomposed. His eyes stared wide-open,
glassy and vacant, at the ceiling. The filmy look and the fixed
expression of them horrified me. I turned away, and went to the open
window. The rest of them remained, where Sergeant Cuff remained, at the
bed.
“He’s in a fit!” I heard the landlord say.
“He’s dead,” the Sergeant answered. “Send for the nearest doctor, and
send for the police.”
The waiter was despatched on both errands. Some strange fascination
seemed to hold Sergeant Cuff to the bed. Some strange curiosity seemed
to keep the rest of them waiting, to see what the Sergeant would do
next.
I turned again to the window. The moment afterwards, I felt a soft pull
at my coat-tails, and a small voice whispered, “Look here, sir!”
Gooseberry had followed us into the room. His loose eyes rolled
frightfully—not in terror, but in exultation. He had made a
detective-discovery on his own account. “Look here, sir,” he
repeated—and led me to a table in the corner of the room.
On the table stood a little wooden box, open, and empty. On one side of
the box lay some jewellers’ cotton. On the other side, was a torn sheet
of white paper, with a seal on it, partly destroyed, and with an
inscription in writing, which was still perfectly legible. The
inscription was in these words:
“Deposited with Messrs. Bushe, Lysaught, and Bushe, by Mr. Septimus
Luker, of Middlesex Place, Lambeth, a small wooden box, sealed up in
this envelope, and containing a valuable of great price. The box, when
claimed, to be only given up by Messrs. Bushe and Co. on the personal
application of Mr. Luker.”
Those lines removed all further doubt, on one point at least. The
sailor had been in possession of the Moonstone, when he had left the
bank on the previous day.
I felt another pull at my coat-tails. Gooseberry had not done with me
yet.
“Robbery!” whispered the boy, pointing, in high delight, to the empty
box.
“You were told to wait downstairs,” I said. “Go away!”
“And Murder!” added Gooseberry, pointing, with a keener relish still,
to the man on the bed.
There was something so hideous in the boy’s enjoyment of the horror of
the scene, that I took him by the two shoulders and put him out of the
room.
At the moment when I crossed the threshold of the door, I heard
Sergeant Cuff’s voice, asking where I was. He met me, as I returned
into the room, and forced me to go back with him to the bedside.
“Mr. Blake!” he said. “Look at the man’s face. It is a face
disguised—and here’s the proof of it!”
He traced with his finger a thin line of livid white, running backward
from the dead man’s forehead, between the swarthy complexion, and the
slightly-disturbed black hair. “Let’s see what is under this,” said the
Sergeant, suddenly seizing the black hair, with a firm grip of his
hand.
My nerves were not strong enough to bear it. I turned away again from
the bed.
The first sight that met my eyes, at the other end of the room, was the
irrepressible Gooseberry, perched on a chair, and looking with
breathless interest, over the heads of his elders, at the Sergeant’s
proceedings.
“He’s pulling off his wig!” whispered Gooseberry, compassionating my
position, as the only person in the room who could see nothing.
There was a pause—and then a cry of astonishment among the people round
the bed.
“He’s pulled off his beard!” cried Gooseberry.
There was another pause—Sergeant Cuff asked for something. The landlord
went to the wash-hand-stand, and returned to the bed with a basin of
water and a towel.
Gooseberry danced with excitement on the chair. “Come up here, along
with me, sir! He’s washing off his complexion now!”
The Sergeant suddenly burst his way through the people about him, and
came, with horror in his face, straight to the place where I was
standing.
“Come back to the bed, sir!” he began. He looked at me closer, and
checked himself “No!” he resumed. “Open the sealed letter first—the
letter I gave you this morning.”
I opened the letter.
“Read the name, Mr. Blake, that I have written inside.”
I read the name that he had written. It was—_Godfrey Ablewhite_.
“Now,” said the Sergeant, “come with me, and look at the man on the
bed.”
I went with him, and looked at the man on the bed.
GODFREY ABLEWHITE!
SIXTH NARRATIVE.
_Contributed by Sergeant Cuff._
I
Dorking, Surrey, July 30th, 1849. To Franklin Blake, Esq. Sir,—I beg to
apologise for the delay that has occurred in the production of the
Report, with which I engaged to furnish you. I have waited to make it a
complete Report; and I have been met, here and there, by obstacles
which it was only possible to remove by some little expenditure of
patience and time.
The object which I proposed to myself has now, I hope, been attained.
You will find, in these pages, answers to the greater part—if not
all—of the questions, concerning the late Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite, which
occurred to your mind when I last had the honour of seeing you.
I propose to tell you—in the first place—what is known of the manner in
which your cousin met his death; appending to the statement such
inferences and conclusions as we are justified (according to my
opinion) in drawing from the facts.
I shall then endeavour—in the second place—to put you in possession of
such discoveries as I have made, respecting the proceedings of Mr.
Godfrey Ablewhite, before, during and after the time, when you and he
met as guests at the late Lady Verinder’s country house.
II
As to your cousin’s death, then, first.
It appears to be established, beyond any reasonable doubt, that he was
killed (while he was asleep, or immediately on his waking) by being
smothered with a pillow from his bed—that the persons guilty of
murdering him are the three Indians—and that the object contemplated
(and achieved) by the crime, was to obtain possession of the diamond,
called the Moonstone.
The facts from which this conclusion is drawn, are derived partly from
an examination of the room at the tavern; and partly from the evidence
obtained at the Coroner’s Inquest.
On forcing the door of the room, the deceased gentleman was discovered,
dead, with the pillow of the bed over his face. The medical man who
examined him, being informed of this circumstance, considered the
post-mortem appearances as being perfectly compatible with murder by
smothering—that is to say, with murder committed by some person, or
persons, pressing the pillow over the nose and mouth of the deceased,
until death resulted from congestion of the lungs.
Next, as to the motive for the crime.
A small box, with a sealed paper torn off from it (the paper containing
an inscription) was found open, and empty, on a table in the room. Mr.
Luker has himself personally identified the box, the seal, and the
inscription. He has declared that the box did actually contain the
diamond, called the Moonstone; and he has admitted having given the box
(thus sealed up) to Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite (then concealed under a
disguise), on the afternoon of the twenty-sixth of June last. The fair
inference from all this is, that the stealing of the Moonstone was the
motive of the crime.
Next, as to the manner in which the crime was committed.
On examination of the room (which is only seven feet high), a trap-door
in the ceiling, leading out on to the roof of the house, was discovered
open. The short ladder, used for obtaining access to the trap-door (and
kept under the bed), was found placed at the opening, so as to enable
any person or persons, in the room, to leave it again easily. In the
trap-door itself was found a square aperture cut in the wood,
apparently with some exceedingly sharp instrument, just behind the bolt
which fastened the door on the inner side. In this way, any person from
the outside could have drawn back the bolt, and opened the door, and
have dropped (or have been noiselessly lowered by an accomplice) into
the room—its height, as already observed, being only seven feet. That
some person, or persons, must have got admission in this way, appears
evident from the fact of the aperture being there. As to the manner in
which he (or they) obtained access to the roof of the tavern, it is to
be remarked that the third house, lower down in the street, was empty,
and under repair—that a long ladder was left by the workmen, leading
from the pavement to the top of the house—and that, on returning to
their work, on the morning of the 27th, the men found the plank which
they had tied to the ladder, to prevent anyone from using it in their
absence, removed, and lying on the ground. As to the possibility of
ascending by this ladder, passing over the roofs of the houses, passing
back, and descending again, unobserved—it is discovered, on the
evidence of the night policeman, that he only passes through Shore Lane
twice in an hour, when out on his beat. The testimony of the
inhabitants also declares, that Shore Lane, after midnight, is one of
the quietest and loneliest streets in London. Here again, therefore, it
seems fair to infer that—with ordinary caution, and presence of
mind—any man, or men, might have ascended by the ladder, and might have
descended again, unobserved. Once on the roof of the tavern, it has
been proved, by experiment, that a man might cut through the trap-door,
while lying down on it, and that in such a position, the parapet in
front of the house would conceal him from the view of anyone passing in
the street.
Lastly, as to the person, or persons, by whom the crime was committed.
It is known (1) that the Indians had an interest in possessing
themselves of the Diamond. (2) It is at least probable that the man
looking like an Indian, whom Octavius Guy saw at the window of the cab,
speaking to the man dressed like a mechanic, was one of the three
Hindoo conspirators. (3) It is certain that this same man dressed like
a mechanic, was seen keeping Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite in view, all through