The Moonstone
the evening of the 26th, and was found in the bedroom (before Mr.
Ablewhite was shown into it) under circumstances which lead to the
suspicion that he was examining the room. (4) A morsel of torn gold
thread was picked up in the bedroom, which persons expert in such
matters, declare to be of Indian manufacture, and to be a species of
gold thread not known in England. (5) On the morning of the 27th, three
men, answering to the description of the three Indians, were observed
in Lower Thames Street, were traced to the Tower Wharf, and were seen
to leave London by the steamer bound for Rotterdam.
There is here, moral, if not legal, evidence, that the murder was
committed by the Indians.
Whether the man personating a mechanic was, or was not, an accomplice
in the crime, it is impossible to say. That he could have committed the
murder alone, seems beyond the limits of probability. Acting by
himself, he could hardly have smothered Mr. Ablewhite—who was the
taller and stronger man of the two—without a struggle taking place, or
a cry being heard. A servant girl, sleeping in the next room, heard
nothing. The landlord, sleeping in the room below, heard nothing. The
whole evidence points to the inference that more than one man was
concerned in this crime—and the circumstances, I repeat, morally
justify the conclusion that the Indians committed it.
I have only to add, that the verdict at the Coroner’s Inquest was
Wilful Murder against some person, or persons, unknown. Mr. Ablewhite’s
family have offered a reward, and no effort has been left untried to
discover the guilty persons. The man dressed like a mechanic has eluded
all inquiries. The Indians have been traced. As to the prospect of
ultimately capturing these last, I shall have a word to say to you on
that head, when I reach the end of the present Report.
In the meanwhile, having now written all that is needful on the subject
of Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite’s death, I may pass next to the narrative of
his proceedings before, during, and after the time, when you and he met
at the late Lady Verinder’s house.
III
With regard to the subject now in hand, I may state, at the outset,
that Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite’s life had two sides to it.
The side turned up to the public view, presented the spectacle of a
gentleman, possessed of considerable reputation as a speaker at
charitable meetings, and endowed with administrative abilities, which
he placed at the disposal of various Benevolent Societies, mostly of
the female sort. The side kept hidden from the general notice,
exhibited this same gentleman in the totally different character of a
man of pleasure, with a villa in the suburbs which was not taken in his
own name, and with a lady in the villa, who was not taken in his own
name, either.
My investigations in the villa have shown me several fine pictures and
statues; furniture tastefully selected, and admirably made; and a
conservatory of the rarest flowers, the match of which it would not be
easy to find in all London. My investigation of the lady has resulted
in the discovery of jewels which are worthy to take rank with the
flowers, and of carriages and horses which have (deservedly) produced a
sensation in the Park, among persons well qualified to judge of the
build of the one, and the breed of the others.
All this is, so far, common enough. The villa and the lady are such
familiar objects in London life, that I ought to apologise for
introducing them to notice. But what is not common and not familiar (in
my experience), is that all these fine things were not only ordered,
but paid for. The pictures, the statues, the flowers, the jewels, the
carriages, and the horses—inquiry proved, to my indescribable
astonishment, that not a sixpence of debt was owing on any of them. As
to the villa, it had been bought, out and out, and settled on the lady.
I might have tried to find the right reading of this riddle, and tried
in vain—but for Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite’s death, which caused an inquiry
to be made into the state of his affairs.
The inquiry elicited these facts:—
That Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite was entrusted with the care of a sum of
twenty thousand pounds—as one of two Trustees for a young gentleman,
who was still a minor in the year eighteen hundred and forty-eight.
That the Trust was to lapse, and that the young gentleman was to
receive the twenty thousand pounds on the day when he came of age, in
the month of February, eighteen hundred and fifty. That, pending the
arrival of this period, an income of six hundred pounds was to be paid
to him by his two Trustees, half-yearly—at Christmas and Midsummer Day.
That this income was regularly paid by the active Trustee, Mr. Godfrey
Ablewhite. That the twenty thousand pounds (from which the income was
supposed to be derived) had every farthing of it been sold out of the
Funds, at different periods, ending with the end of the year eighteen
hundred and forty-seven. That the power of attorney, authorising the
bankers to sell out the stock, and the various written orders telling
them what amounts to sell out, were formally signed by both the
Trustees. That the signature of the second Trustee (a retired army
officer, living in the country) was a signature forged, in every case,
by the active Trustee—otherwise Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite.
In these facts lies the explanation of Mr. Godfrey’s honourable
conduct, in paying the debts incurred for the lady and the villa—and
(as you will presently see) of more besides.
We may now advance to the date of Miss Verinder’s birthday (in the year
eighteen hundred and forty-eight)—the twenty-first of June.
On the day before, Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite arrived at his father’s house,
and asked (as I know from Mr. Ablewhite, senior, himself) for a loan of
three hundred pounds. Mark the sum; and remember at the same time, that
the half-yearly payment to the young gentleman was due on the
twenty-fourth of the month. Also, that the whole of the young
gentleman’s fortune had been spent by his Trustee, by the end of the
year ’forty-seven.
Mr. Ablewhite, senior, refused to lend his son a farthing.
The next day Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite rode over, with you, to Lady
Verinder’s house. A few hours afterwards, Mr. Godfrey (as you yourself
have told me) made a proposal of marriage to Miss Verinder. Here, he
saw his way no doubt—if accepted—to the end of all his money anxieties,
present and future. But, as events actually turned out, what happened?
Miss Verinder refused him.
On the night of the birthday, therefore, Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite’s
pecuniary position was this. He had three hundred pounds to find on the
twenty-fourth of the month, and twenty thousand pounds to find in
February eighteen hundred and fifty. Failing to raise these sums, at
these times, he was a ruined man.
Under those circumstances, what takes place next?
You exasperate Mr. Candy, the doctor, on the sore subject of his
profession; and he plays you a practical joke, in return, with a dose
of laudanum. He trusts the administration of the dose, prepared in a
little phial, to Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite—who has himself confessed the
share he had in the matter, under circumstances which shall presently
be related to you. Mr. Godfrey is all the readier to enter into the
conspiracy, having himself suffered from your sharp tongue in the
course of the evening. He joins Betteredge in persuading you to drink a
little brandy and water before you go to bed. He privately drops the
dose of laudanum into your cold grog. And you drink the mixture.
Let us now shift the scene, if you please to Mr. Luker’s house at
Lambeth. And allow me to remark, by way of preface, that Mr. Bruff and
I, together, have found a means of forcing the money-lender to make a
clean breast of it. We have carefully sifted the statement he has
addressed to us; and here it is at your service.
IV
Late on the evening of Friday, the twenty-third of June (’forty-eight),
Mr. Luker was surprised by a visit from Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite. He was
more than surprised, when Mr. Godfrey produced the Moonstone. No such
Diamond (according to Mr. Luker’s experience) was in the possession of
any private person in Europe.
Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite had two modest proposals to make, in relation to
this magnificent gem. First, Would Mr. Luker be so good as to buy it?
Secondly, Would Mr. Luker (in default of seeing his way to the
purchase) undertake to sell it on commission, and to pay a sum down, on
the anticipated result?
Mr. Luker tested the Diamond, weighed the Diamond and estimated the
value of the Diamond, before he answered a word. _His_ estimate
(allowing for the flaw in the stone) was thirty thousand pounds.
Having reached that result, Mr. Luker opened his lips, and put a
question: “How did you come by this?” Only six words! But what volumes
of meaning in them!
Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite began a story. Mr. Luker opened his lips again,
and only said three words, this time. “That won’t do!”
Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite began another story. Mr. Luker wasted no more
words on him. He got up, and rang the bell for the servant to show the
gentleman out.
Upon this compulsion, Mr. Godfrey made an effort, and came out with a
new and amended version of the affair, to the following effect.
After privately slipping the laudanum into your brandy and water, he
wished you good-night, and went into his own room. It was the next room
to yours; and the two had a door of communication between them. On
entering his own room Mr. Godfrey (as he supposed) closed his door. His
money troubles kept him awake. He sat, in his dressing-gown and
slippers, for nearly an hour, thinking over his position. Just as he
was preparing to get into bed, he heard you, talking to yourself, in
your own room, and going to the door of communication, found that he
had not shut it as he supposed.
He looked into your room to see what was the matter. He discovered you
with the candle in your hand, just leaving your bedchamber. He heard
you say to yourself, in a voice quite unlike your own voice, “How do I
know? The Indians may be hidden in the house.”
Up to that time, he had simply supposed himself (in giving you the
laudanum) to be helping to make you the victim of a harmless practical
joke. It now occurred to him, that the laudanum had taken some effect
on you, which had not been foreseen by the doctor, any more than by
himself. In the fear of an accident happening he followed you softly to
see what you would do.
He followed you to Miss Verinder’s sitting-room, and saw you go in. You
left the door open. He looked through the crevice thus produced,
between the door and the post, before he ventured into the room
himself.
In that position, he not only detected you in taking the Diamond out of
the drawer—he also detected Miss Verinder, silently watching you from
her bedroom, through her open door. His own eyes satisfied him that
_she_ saw you take the Diamond, too.
Before you left the sitting-room again, you hesitated a little. Mr.
Godfrey took advantage of this hesitation to get back again to his
bedroom before you came out, and discovered him. He had barely got
back, before you got back too. You saw him (as he supposes) just as he
was passing through the door of communication. At any rate, you called
to him in a strange, drowsy voice.
He came back to you. You looked at him in a dull sleepy way. You put
the Diamond into his hand. You said to him, “Take it back, Godfrey, to
your father’s bank. It’s safe there—it’s not safe here.” You turned
away unsteadily, and put on your dressing-gown. You sat down in the
large arm-chair in your room. You said, “_I_ can’t take it back to the
bank. My head’s like lead—and I can’t feel my feet under me.” Your head
sank on the back of the chair—you heaved a heavy sigh—and you fell