Chapter 20321540

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Chapter NumberFourth narrative - Fifth
Chapter Title
Chapter Urlhttp://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article20321540
Full Date1868-11-21
Page Number2
Corrections3
Word Count8452
IllustratedN
Last Corrected2016-03-06
Newspaper TitleThe Queenslander (Brisbane, Qld. : 1866 - 1939)
Trove TitleThe Moonstone
article text

The Novelist.

THE MOONSTONE.

FOURTH NARRATIVE.

Extracted from the Journal of Ezra Jennings.

BY WILKIE COLLINS. Author of "The Woman in White," "No Name," etc.

IT was all over now. The sedative influence had got him ; the experiment was at an end. I entered the room, telling Mr. Bruff and Betteredge that they might follow me. There

was no fear of disturbing him. We were free to move and speak. " The first thing to settle," I said, " is the question of what we are to do with him. He will probably sleep for the next six or seven hours at least. It is some distance to carry him back to his own room. When I was younger I could have done it alone. But my health and strength are not what they were—I am afraid I must ask you to help me." Before they could answer Miss Verinder called to me softly. She met me at the door of her room with a light shawl and with the counter- pane from her own bed. " Do you mean to watch him while he sleeps ?" she asked. " Yes. I am not sure enough of the action of the opium, in his case, to be willing to leave him alone." She handed me the shawl and the counter- pane. " Why should you disturb him ?" she whis- pered. " Make his bed on the sofa. I can shut my door and keep in my room." It was infinitely the simplest and the safest way of disposing of him for the night. I men- tioned the suggestion to Mr. Bruff and Better- edge, who approved of my adopting it. In five minutes I had laid him comfortably on the sofa, and had covered him lightly with the counterpane and the shawl. Miss Verinder wished us good-night, and closed the door. At my request we three then drew round the table in the middle of the room, on which the candle was still burning, and on which writing materials were placed. " Before we separate," I began, " I have a word to say about the experiment which has been tried to-night. Two distinct objects were to be gained by it. The first of these objects was to prove that Mr. Blake entered this room And took the diamond last year, acting uncon- sciously and irresponsibly, under the influence of opium. After what you have both seen, are you both satisfied so far ?" They answered me in the affirmative, without a moment's hesitation. " The second object," I went on, " was to dis- cover what he did with the diamond after he was seen by Miss Verinder to leave her sitting room with the jewel in his hand on the birthday night. The gaining of this object depended, of course, on his still continuing exactly to repeat his proceedings of last year. He has failed to do that ; and the purpose of the experiment is defeated accordingly. I can't assert that I am not disappointed at the result—but I can honestly say that I am not surprised by it. I told Mr. Blake from the first that our complete success in this matter depended on our com- pletely reproducing in him the physical and moral conditions of last year ; and I warned him that this was the next thing to a downright impossibility. We have only partially repro- duced the conditions, and the experiment has been only partially successful in consequence. It is also possible that I may have administered too large a dose of laudanum. But I myself look upon the first reason that I have given as the true reason why we have to lament a fail- ure, as well as to rejoice over a success." After saying those words I put the writing materials before Mr. Bruff, and asked him if he had any objection—before we separated for the night—to draw out, and sign, a plain statement of what he had seen. He at once took the pen, and produced the statement with the fluent readiness of a practised hand. "I owe you this," he said, signing the paper, " as some atonement for what passed between us earlier in the evening. I beg your pardon, Mr. Jennings, for having doubted you. You have done Franklin Blake an inestimable ser- vice. In our legal phrase, you have paved your case." Betteredge's apology was characteristic of the man. " Mr. Jennings," he said, " when you read Robinson Crusoe again (which I strongly recom- mend you to do), you will find that he never scruples to acknowledge it when he turns out to have been in the wrong. Please to consider me, sir, as doing what Robinson Crusoe did on the present occasion." With those words he signed the paper in his turn. Mr. Bruff took me aside as we rose from the table. "One word about the diamond," he said. " Your theory is, that Franklin Blake hid the Moonstone in his room. My theory is, that the Moonstone is in the possession of Mr. Luker's bankers in London. We won't dispute which of us is right. We will only ask, which of us is in a position to put his theory to the test first?" "The test, in my case," I answered, " has been tried to-night, and has failed." " The test, in my case," rejoined Mr. Bruff, "is still in process of trial. For the last two days I have had a watch set for Mr. Luker at the bank ; and I shall cause that watch to be continued until the last day of the month. I know that he must take the diamond himself out of his bankers' hands—and I am acting on the chance that the person who has pledged the diamond may force him to do this by redeeming the pledge. In that case I may be able to lay my hand on the person. And there is a pros- pect of our clearing up the mystery, exactly at the point where the mystery baffles us now! Do you admit that, so far ?" I admitted it readily. " I am going back to town by the 10 o'clock train," pursued the lawyer. " I may hear, when I get back, that a discovery has been made—and it may be of the greatest importance that I should have Franklin Blake at hand to appeal to if necessary. I intend to tell him, as soon as he wakes, that he must return with me to London. After all that has happened may I trust to your influence to back me ?" " Certainly!" I said. Mr. Bruff shook hands with me and left the room. Betteredge followed him out. I went to the sofa to look at Mr. Blake. He had not moved since I had laid him down and made his bed—he lay locked in a deep and quiet sleep. While I was still looking at him I heard the bedroom door softly opened. Once more Miss Verinder appeared on the threshold in her pretty summer dress. "Do me a last favor," she whispered. " Let me watch him with you." I hesitated—not in the interests of propriety ; only in the interest of her night's rest. She came close to me and took my hand. " I can't sleep ; I can't even sit still in my own room," she said. " Oh, Mr. Jennings, if you were me, only think how you would long to sit and look at him! Say yes ! Do !" Is it necessary to mention that I gave way ? Surely not! She drew a chair to the foot of the sofa. She looked at him in a silent ecstasy of happiness till the tears rose in her eyes. She dried her eyes, and said she would fetch her work. She fetched her work, and never did a single stitch of it. It lay in her lap—she was not even able to look away from him long enough to thread her needle. I thought of my own youth ; I thought of the gentle eyes which had once looked love at me. In the heaviness of my heart I turned to my journal for relief, and wrote in it what is written here. So we kept our watch together in silence. One of us absorbed in his writing ; the other absorbed in her love. Hour after hour he lay in his deep sleep. The light of the new day grew and grew in the room, and still he never moved. Toward 6 o'clock I felt the warning which told me that my pains were coming back. I was obliged to leave her alone with him for a little while. I said I would go up stairs and fetch another pillow for him out of his room. It was not a long attack this time. In a little while I was able to venture back and let her see me again. I found her at the head of the sofa when I

returned. She was just touching his forehead with her lips. I shook my head as soberly as I could, and pointed to her chair. She looked back at me with a bright smile and a charming color in her face. " You would have done it," she whispered, " in my place!" * * * * * * * It is just 8 o'clock. He is beginning to move for the first time. Miss Verinder is kneeling by the side of the sofa. She has so placed herself that when his eyes first open they must open on her face. Shall I leave them together ? Yes! * * * * * * * 11 o'clock.—They have arranged it among themselves ; they have all gone to London by the 10 o'clock train. My brief dream of happi- ness is over. I have awakened again to the realities of my friendless and lonely life. I dare not trust myself to write down the kind words that have been said to me —especi- ally by Miss Verinder and Mr. Blake. Besides, it is needless. Those words will come back to me in my solitary hours, and will help me through what is left of the end of my life. Mr. Blake is to write, and tell me what happens in London. Miss Verinder is to return to Yorkshire in the autumn (for her marriage, no doubt) ; and I am to take a holiday, and be a guest in the house. Oh me, how I felt it, as the grateful happiness looked at me out of her eyes, and the warm pressure of her hand said, " This is your doing!" My poor patients are waiting for me. Back again, this morning, to the old routine! Back again, to-night, to the dreadful alternative be tween the opium and the pain! God be praised for his mercy! I have seen a little sunshine—I have had a happy time. ____ FIFTH NARRATIVE. The Story resumed by Franklin Blake. ____ CHAPTER I. BUT few words are needed, on my part, to complete the narrative that has been presented in the journal of Ezra Jennings. Of myself, I have only to say that I awoke on the morning of the twenty-sixth, perfectly ig- norant of all that I had said and done under the influence of the opium—from the time when the drug first laid its hold on me, to the time when I opened my eyes on the sofa in Rachel's sitting-room. Of what happened after my waking, I do not feel called upon to render an account in detail. Confining myself merely to results, I have to re- port that Rachel and I thoroughly understood each other before a single word of explanation had passed on either side. I decline to account and Rachel declines to account, for the extra- ordinary rapidity of our reconciliation. Sir and madam, look back to the time when you were passionately attached to each other—and you will know what happened, after Ezra Jen- nings had shut the door of the sitting-room, as well as I know it myself. On our arrival in London, Mr. Bruff was ac- costed at the terminus by a small boy, dressed in a jacket and trousers of threadbare black cloth, and personally remarkable in virtue of the extraordinary prominence of his eyes. They projected so far, and they rolled about so loosely, that you wondered uneasily why they remained in their sockets. After listening to the boy, Mr. Bruff asked the ladies whether they would ex- cuse our accompanying them back to Portland Place. I had barely time to promise Rachel that I would return, and tell her everything that had happened, before Mr. Bruff seized me by the arm and hurried me into a cab. The boy with the ill-secured eyes took his place on the box by the driver, and the driver was directed to go to Lombard-street. "News from the bank?" I asked, as we started. " News of Mr. Luker," said Mr. Bruff. "An hour ago he was seen to leave his house at Lam- beth in a cab, accompanied by two men, who were recognized by my men as police-officers it plain clothes. If Mr. Luker'e dread of the In- dians is at the bottom of this precaution, the in- ference is plain enough. He is going to take the diamond out of the bank." It was twenty-minutes to 5 when we drew up before the bank in Lombard-street. Gooseberry looked longingly at his master as he opened the cab door. "Do you want to come in too?" asked Mr. Bruff, kindly. " Come in then, and keep at my heels till further orders. He's as quick as light- ning." pursued Mr. Bruff, addressing me in s whisper. "Two words will do with Goose- berry where twenty would be wanted with an- other boy." We entered the bank. The outer office— with the long counter, behind which the cashiers sat—was crowded with people ; all waiting their turn to take money out, or to pay money in, before the bank closed at 5 o'clock. Two men among the crowd approached Mr. Bruff as soon as he showed himself. " Well," asked the lawyer. " Have you seen him ?" "He passed us here half an hour since, sir, and went on into the inner office." " Has he not come out again yet ?" " No, sir." Mr. Bruff turned to me. " Let us wait," he said. I looked round among the people about me for the three Indians. Not a sign of them was to be seen any where. The only person present with a noticeably dark complexion was a tall man in a pilot coat, and a round hat, who looked like a sailor. Could this be one of them in disguise? Impossible! The man was taller than any of the Indians ; and his face, where it was not hidden by a bushy black beard, was twice the breadth of any of their faces at least. " They must have their spy somewhere," said Mr. Bruff, looking at the dark sailor in his turn. " And he may be the man." Before he could say any more his coat-tail was respectfully pulled by his attendant sprite with the gooseberry eyes. Mr. Bruff looked where the boy was looking. " Hush !" he said "Here is Mr. Luker!" The money-lender came out from the inner regions of the bank, followed by his two guardian policemen in plain clothes. "Keep your eye on him," whispered Mr. Bruff. "It he passes the diamond to anybody, he will pass it here." Without noticing either of us, Mr. Luker slowly made his way to the door—now in the thickest, now in the thinnest part of the crowd. I distinctly saw his hand move as he passed a short, stout man, respectably dressed in a suit of sober grey. The man started a little, and looked after him. Mr. Luker moved on slowly through the crowd. At the door his guard placed themselves on either side of him. They were all three followed by one of Mr. Bruff's two men—and I saw them no more. I looked round at the lawyer, and then looked significantly toward the man in the suit of sober grey. " Yes!" whispered Mr. Bruff, " I saw it too!" He turned about in search of his second man. The second man was nowhere to be seen. He looked behind him for his attendant sprite. Gooseberry had disappeared. " What the devil does it mean!" said Mr. Bruff, angrily. " They have both left us at the very time when we want them most." It came to the turn of the man in the grey suit to transact his business at the counter. He paid in a cheque—received a receipt for it—and turned to go out. " What is to be done ?" asked Mr. Bruff. " We can't degrade ourselves by following him.'' "I can!" I said. "I wouldn't lose sight of that man for ten thousand pounds !" "In that case," rejoined Mr. Bruff, " I I wouldn't lose sight of you for twice the money. A nice occupation for a man in my position," he muttered to himself, as we followed the stranger out of the bank. " For Heaven's sake, don't mention it! I should be ruined if it was known." The man in the grey suit got into an omnibus going westward. We got in after him. There were latent reserves of youth still left in Mr. Bruff. I assort it positively—when he took his seat in the omnibus he blushed ! The man with the grey suit stopped the om- nibus and got out in Oxford-street. We fol- lowed him again. He went into a chemist's shop. Mr. Bruff started. "My chemist!" he ex- claimed. "I am afraid we have made a mis- take." We entered the shop. Mr. Bruff and the proprietor exchanged a few words in private.

The lawyer joined me again, with a very crest- fallen face. " It's greatly to our credit," he said, as he took my arm and led me out —" that's one com- fort!" " What is to our credit ?" I asked. " Mr. Blake! you and I are the two worst amateur detectives that ever tried their hands at the trade. The man in the grey suit has been thirty years in the chemist's service. He was sent to the bank to pay money to his master's account —and he knows no more of the Moon- stone than the babe unborn." I asked what was to be done next. " Come back to my office," said Mr. Bruff. " Gooseberry and my second man have evidently followed somebody else. Let us hope that they had their eyes about them, at any rate!" When we reached Gray's Inn Square the se- cond man had arrived there before us. He had been waiting for more than a quarter of an hour. " Well!" asked Mr. Bruff. " What's your news ?" "I am sorry to say, sir," replied the man, " that I have made a mistake. I could have taken my oath that I saw Mr. Luker pass some- thing to an elderly gentleman in a light-colored paletot. The elderly gentleman turns out, sir, to be a most respectable master ironmonger in Eastcheap." " Where is Gooseberry ?" asked Mr. Bruff, resignedly. The man stared. "I don't know, sir. I have seen nothing of him since I left the bank." Mr. Bruff dismissed the man. " One of two things," he said to me. "Either Gooseberry has run away, or he is hunting on his own ac- count. What do you say to dining here, on the chance that the boy may come back in an hour or two ? I have got some good wine in the cellar, and we can get a chop from the coffee- house." We waited another half hour for the boy, and waited in vain. It was then time for Mr. Bruff to go to Hampstead, and for me to return to Rachel in Portland Place. I left my card, in charge of the porter at the chambers, with a line written on it to say that I should be at my lodgings at half past 10 that night. The card was to be given to the boy, if the boy came back. At 9 the next morning I heard steps outside my door. " Come in, Gooseberry !" I called out. " Thank you, sir," answered a grave and melancholy voice. The door opened. I started to my feet and confronted—Sergeant Cuff! " I thought I would look in here, Mr. Blake, on the chance of your being in town, before I wrote to Yorkshire," said the sergeant. He was as dreary and as lean as ever. His eyes had not lost their old trick (so subtly noticed in Betteredge's narrative) of " looking as if they expected something more from you than you were aware of yourself." But, so far as dress can alter a man, the great Cuff was changed beyond all recognition. He wore a broad-brimmed white hat, a light shooting jacket, white trousers, and drab gaiters. He carried a stout oak stick. His whole aim and object seemed to be to look as if he had lived in the country all his life. When I complimented him on his metamorphosis he declined to take it as a joke. He complained, quite gravely, of the noises and the smells of London. I declare I am far from sure that he did not speak with a slightly rustic accent! I offered him breakfast. The innocent countryman was quite shocked. His breakfast-hour was half-past 6—and he went to bed with the cocks and hens! " I only got back from Ireland last night," said the sergeant, coming round to the practical object of his visit, in his own impenetrable man- ner. "Before I went to bed I read your letter, telling me what has happened since my inquiry after the diamond was suspended last year. There's only one thing to be said about the mat- ter, on my side. I completely mistook my case. How any man living was to have seen things in their true light, in such a situation as mine was at the time, I don't profess to know. But that doesn't alter the facts as they stand. I own that I made a mess of it. Not the first mess, Mr. Blake, which has distinguished my professional career! It's only in books that the officers of the detective force are superior to the weakness of making a mistake." " You have come in the nick of time to re- cover your reputation," I said. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Blake," rejoined the sergeant. " Now I have retired from business I don't care a straw about my reputation. I have done with my reputation, thank God! I am here, sir, in grateful rememberance of the late Lady Verinder's liberality to me. I will go back to my old work—if you want me, and if you will trust me—on that consideration, and on no other. Not a farthing of money is to pass, if you please, from you to me. This is on honor. Now tell me, Mr. Blake, how the case stands since you wrote to me last." I told him of the experiment with the opium, and of what had occurred afterward at the bank in Lombard-street. He was greatly struck by the experiment—it was something entirely new in his experience. And he was particularly in- terested in the theory of Ezra Jennings, relating to what I had done with the diamond, after I had left Rachel's sitting-room, on the birthday night. " I don't hold with Mr. Jennings that you hid the Moonstone," said Sergeant Cuff. " But I agree with him that you must certainly have taken it back to your own room." "Well?" I asked. "And what happened then ?" "Have you no suspicion yourself of what happened, sir ?" " None whatever." " Has Mr. Bruff no suspicion ?" " No more than I have." Sergeant Cuff rose, and went to my writing table. He came back with a sealed envelope. It was marked " Private ;" it was addressed to me ; and it had the sergeant's signature in the corner. " I suspected the wrong person last year," he said ; "and I may be suspecting the wrong person now. Wait to open the envelope, Mr. Blake, till you have got the truth ; and then compare the name of the guilty person with the name that I have written in that sealed letter." " I put the letter into my pocket, and then asked for the sergeant's opinion of the measures which we had taken at the bank. " Very well intended, sir," he answered, " and quite the right thing to do. But there was an- other person who ought to have been looked after besides Mr. Luker." " The person named in the letter you have just given to me ?" " Yes, Mr. Blake, the person named in the letter. It can't be helped now. I shall have something to propose to you and Mr. Bruff, sir, when the time comes. Let's wait, first, and see if the boy has anything to tell us that is worth hearing. It was close on 10 o'clock, and the boy had not yet made his appearance. Sergeant Cuff talked of other matters. He asked after his old friend Betteredge, and his old enemy the gar- dener. In a minute more he would no doubt have got from this to the subject of bis favorite roses, if my servant had not interrupted us by announcing that the boy was below. On being brought into the room, Gooseberry stopped at the threshold of the door, and looked distrustfully at the stranger who was in my company. I called to the boy to come to me. " You may speak before this gentleman," I said. "He is here to assist me ; and he knows all that has happened. Sergeant Cuff," I added, " this is the boy from Mr. Bruff's office." In our modern system of civilisation, celebrity (no matter of what kind) is the lever that will move anything. The fame of the great Cuff had even reached the ears of the small Goose- berry. The boy's ill fixed eyes rolled, when I mentioned the illustrious name, till I thought they really must have dropped on the carpet. " Come here, my lad," said the sergeant, " and let's hear what you have got to tell us." The notice of the great man—the hero of many a famous story in every lawyer's office in London—appeared to fascinate the boy. He placed himself in front of Sergeant Cuff, and put his hands behind him, after the approved fashion of a neophyte who is examined in his catechism. "What is your name?" said the sergeant, beginning with the first question in the cate- chism. " Octavius Guy," answered the boy. " They call me Gooseberry at the office, because of my eyes."

" Octavius Guy, otherwise Gooseberry," pur- sued the sergeant, with the utmost gravity, " you were missed at the bank yesterday. What were you about ?" " If you please, sir, I was following a man." "Who was he?" " A tall man, sir, with a big black beard, dressed like a sailor," " I remember the man !" I broke in. " Mr. Bruff and I thought he was a spy, employed by the Indians." Sergeant Cuff did not appear to be much im- pressed by what Mr. Bruff and I had thought. He went on catechising Gooseberry. " Well ?" he said —" and why did you follow the sailor ?" "If you please, sir, Mr. Bruff wanted to know whether Mr. Luker passed anything to anybody on his way out of the bank. I saw Mr. Luker pass something to the sailor with the black beard." " Why didn't you tell Mr. Bruff what you saw ?" " I hadn't time to tell anybody, sir, the sailor went out in such a hurry." " And you ran after him —eh ?" " Yes, sir." " Gooseberry," said the sergeant, patting his head, " you have got something in that small skull of yours—and it isn't cotton-wool. I am greatly pleased with you, so far." The boy blushed with pleasure. Sergeant Cuff went on. " Well ? and what did the sailor do, when he got into the street ?" " He called a cab, sir." " And what did you do ?" " Held on behind, and run after it." Before the sergeant could put his next ques- tion, another visitor was announced—the head clerk from Mr. Bruff's office. Feeling the importance of not interrupting Sergeant Cuff's examination of the boy, I re- ceived the clerk in another room. He came with bad news of his employer. The agitation and excitement of the last two days had proved too much for Mr. Bruff. He had awoke that morning with an attack of gout ; he was con- fined to his room at Hampstead ; and, in the present critical condition of our affairs, he was very uneasy at being compelled to leave me without the advice and assistance of an ex- perienced person. The chief clerk had received orders to hold himself at my disposal, and was willing to do his best to replace Mr. Bruff. I wrote at once to quiet the old gentleman's mind, by telling him of Sergeant Cuff's visit; adding that Gooseberry was at that moment under examination ; and promising to inform Mr. Bruff, either personally or by letter, of whatever might occur later in the day. Having dispatched the clerk to Hampstead with my note, I returned to the room which I had left, and found Sergeant Cuff at the fire-place, in the act of ringing the bell. " I beg your pardon, Mr. Blake," said the sergeant. "I was just going to send word by your servant that I wanted to speak to you. There isn't a doubt on my mind that this boy— this most meritorious boy," added the sergeant, patting Gooseberry on the head, " has followed the right man. Precious time has been lost, sir, through your unfortunately not being at home at half-past 10 last night. The only thing to do, now, is to send for a cab immedi- ately." In five minutes more Sergeant Cuff and I (with Gooseberry on the box to guide the driver) were on our way eastward, toward the city. " One of these days," said the sergeant, point- ing through the front window of the cab, " that boy will do great things in my late profession. He is the brightest and cleverest little chap I have met with for many a long year past. You shall hear the substance, Mr. Blake, of what he told me while you were out of the room. You were present, I think, when he mentioned that he held on behind the cab, and ran after it?" "Well, sir, the cab went from Lombard- street to the Tower Wharf. The sailor with the black beard got out, and spoke to the stew- ard of the Rotterdam steamboat, which was to start the next morning. He asked if he could be allowed to go on board at once, and sleep in his berth overnight. The steward said, No. The cabins, and berths, and bedding were all to have a thorough cleaning that evening, and no passenger could be allowed to come on board before the morning. The sailor turned round, and left the wharf. When he got into the street again the boy noticed, for the first time, a man dressed like a respectable mechanic, walking on the opposite side of the road, and apparently keeping the sailor in view. The sailor stopped at an eating-house in the neigh- borhood, and went in. The boy—not being able to make up his mind at the moment— hung about among some other boys, staring at the good things in the eating-house window. He noticed the mechanic, waiting, as he himself was waiting—but still on the opposite side of the street. After a minute a cab came by slowly, and stopped where the mechanic was standing. The boy could only see plainly one person in the cab, who leaned forward at the window to speak to the mechanic. He de- scribed that person, Mr. Blake, without any prompting from me, as having a dark face, like the face of an Indian." It was plain, by this time, that Mr. Bruff and I had made another mistake. The sailor with the black beard was clearly not a spy in the service of the Indian conspiracy. Was he, by any possibility, the man who had got the Dia- mond ? " After a little," pursued the sergeant, " the cab moved on slowly down the street. The me- chanic crossed the road, and went into the eat- ing-house. The boy waited outside till he was hungry and tired—and then went into the eat- ing-house, in his turn. He had a shilling in his pocket ; and he dined sumptuously, he tells me, on a black pudding, an eel-pie, and a bottle of ginger-beer. What can a boy not digest ? The substance in question has never been found yet." " What did he see in the eating-house ?" I asked. "Well, Mr. Blake, he saw the sailor reading the newspaper at one table, and the mechanic reading the newspaper at another. It was dusk before the sailor got up and left the place. He looked about him suspiciously when he got out into the street. The boy—being a boy—passed unnoticed. The mechanic had not come out yet. The sailor walked on, looking about him, and apparently not very certain of where he was going next. The mechanic appeared once more, on the opposite side of the road. The sailor went on, till he got to Shore-lane, lead- ing into Lower Thames-street. There he stopped before a public house under the sign of The Wheel of Fortune, and, after examining the place outside, went in. Gooseberry went in too. There were a great many people, mostly of the decent sort, at the bar. The Wheel of Fortune is a very respectable house, Mr. Blake ; famous for its porter and pork-pies." The sergeant's digressions irritated me. He saw it, and confined himself more strictly to Gooseberry's evidence when he went on. "The sailor," he resumed, " asked if he could have a bed. The landlord said 'No ; they were full.' The barmaid corrected him, and said ' Number ten was empty.' A waiter was sent for to show the sailor to number ten. Just be- fore that, Gooseberry had noticed the mechanic among the people at the bar. Before the waiter had answered the call, the mechanic had van- ished. The sailor was taken off to his room. Not knowing what to do next, Gooseberry had the wisdom to wait and see if anything hap- pened. Something did happen. The landlord was called for. Angry voices were heard up stairs. The mechanic suddenly made his ap- pearance again, collared by the landlord, and exhibiting, to Gooseberry's great surprise, all the signs and tokens of being drunk. The landlord thrust him out at the door, and threatened him with the police if he came back. From the altercation between them, while this was going on, it appeared that the man had been discovered in number ten, and had de- clared with drunken obstinacy that he had taken the room. Gooseberry was so struck by this sudden intoxication of a previously sober person, that he couldn't resist running out after the mechanic info the street. As long as he was in sight of the public house, the man reeled about in the most disgraceful manner. The moment he turned the corner of the street he recovered his balance instantly, and became as sober a member of society as you could wish to see. Gooseberry went back to The Wheel of

Fortune in a very bewildered state of mind. He waited about again, on the chance of some- thing happening. Nothing happened ; and no- thing more was to be heard or seen of the sailor. Gooseberry decided on going back to the office. Just as he came to this conclusion, who should appear, on the opposite side of the street as usual, but the mechanic again ! He looked up at one particular window at the top of the public house, which was the only one that had a light in it. The light seemed to relieve his mind. He left the place directly. The boy made his way to Gray's Inn, got your card and message, called, and failed to find you. There you have the state of the case, Mr. Blake, as it stands at the present time." " What is your opinion of the case, sergeant ?" " I think it's serious, sir. Judging by what the boy saw the Indians are in it, to begin with." " Yes. And the sailor is evidently the man to whom Mr. Luker passed the diamond. It seems odd that Mr. Bruff and I, and the man in Mr. Bruff's employment, should all have been mistaken about who the person was." " Not at all, Mr. Blake. Considering the risk that person ran it's likely enough that Mr. Luker purposely misled you by previous arrange- ment between them." "Do you understand the proceedings at the public house?" I asked. "The man dressed like a mechanic was acting, of course, in the employment of the Indians. But I am as much puzzled to account for his sudden assumption of drunkenness as Gooseberry himself." "I think I can give a guess at what it means, sir," said the sergeant. "If you will reflect you will see that the man must have had some pretty strict instructions from the Indians. They were far too noticeable themselves to risk being seen at the bank, or in the public house— they were obliged to trust everything to their deputy. Very good. Their deputy hears a certain number named in the public house as the number of the room which the sailor is to have for the night—that being also the room (unless our notion is all wrong) which the dia- mond is to have for the night too. Under those circumstances the Indians, you may rely on it, would insist on having a description of the room—of its position in the house, of its capability of being approached from the outside, and so on. What was the man to do, with such orders as these ? Just what he did! He ran up stairs to get a look at the room before the sailor was taken into it. He was found there, making his observations—and he shammed drunk as the easiest way of getting out of the difficulty. That's how I read the riddle. After he was turned out of the public house he pro- bably went with his report to the place where his employers were waiting for him. And his employers, no doubt, sent him back to make sure that the sailor was really settled at the public house till the next morning. As for what happened at The Wheel of Fortune, after the boy left, we ought to have discovered that last night. It's 11 in the morning now. We must hope for the best and find out what we can." In a quarter of an hour more a cab stopped in Shore-lane, and Gooseberry opened the door for us to get out. " All right ?" asked the sergeant. " All right," answered the boy. The moment we entered The Wheel of For- tune it was plain, even to my inexperienced eyes, that there was something wrong in the house. The only person behind the counter at which the liquors were served was a bewildered servant girl, perfectly ignorant of the business. One or two customers, waiting for their morning drink, were tapping impatiently on the counter with their money. The barmaid appeared from the inner regions of the parlor, excited and preoc- cupied. She answered Sergeant Cuff's inquiry for the landlord by telling him sharply that her master was up stairs, and was not to be bothered by anybody. "Come along with me, sir," said sergeant Cuff, coolly leading the way up stairs, and beckoning to the boy to follow him. The barmaid called to her master, and warned him that strangers were intruding themselves into the house. On the first floor we were en- countered by the landlord, hurrying down, in a highly irritated state, to see what was the matter. "Who the devil are you ? and what do you want here?" he asked. " Keep your temper," said the sergeant, quietly. " I'll tell you who I am, to begin with. I am Sergeant Cuff." The illustrious name instantly produced its effect. The angry landlord threw open the door of a sitting-room, and asked the sergeant's pardon. " I am annoyed and out of sorts, sir—that's the truth," he said. "Something unpleasant has happened in the house this morning. A man in my way of business has a deal to upset his temper, Sergeant Cuff." " Not a doubt of it," said the sergeant. " I'll come at once, if you will allow me, to what brings us here. This gentleman and I want to trouble you with a few inquiries, on a matter of some interest to both of us." "Relating to what, sir?" asked the land lord. " Relating to a dark man, dressed like a sailor, who slept here last night." " Good God! that's the man who is upsetting the whole house at this moment!" exclaimed the landlord. "Do you, or does this gentleman, know anything about him ?" "We can't be certain till we see him," answered the sergeant. " See him ?" echoed the landlord. " That's the one thing that nobody has been able to do since 7 o'clock this morning. That was the time when he left word, last night, that he was to be called. He was called—and there was no getting an answer from him. They tried again at 8, and they tried again at 9. No use! There was the door still locked—and not a sound to be heard in the room! I have been out this morning—and I only got back a quarter of an hour ago. I have hammered at the door my- self—and all to no purpose. The pot-boy has gone to fetch a carpenter. If you can wait a few minutes, gentlemen, we will have the door opened, and see what it means." " Was the man sober last night ?" " 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, with out 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 up stairs, 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 toward 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 decomposed. 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 Ser-

geant 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 afterward 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 a corner of the room. On the table stood a little wooden box open and empty. On one side of the box lay some jeweller's 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 inscrip- tion was in these words : " Deposited with Messrs. Bushe, Lysaught, and Bushe, by Mr. Septimus Luker of Middle- sex 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 posses- sion of the Moonstone when he had left the bank on the previous day. I felt another pull at my coat-tails. Goose- berry had not done with me yet. " Robbery!" whispered the boy, pointing, in high delight, to the empty box. " You were told to wait down stairs," I said. " Go away!" "And murder!" added Gooseberry, point- ing, 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 band. 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 Goose- berry, 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 Goose- berry, compassionating my position, as the only person in the room who could see nothing. There was a pause—and then a cry of aston- ishment among the people round the bed. "He's pulled off his beard!" cried Goose- berry. There was another pause. Sergeant Cuff asked for something. The landlord went to the washhand-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." 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 stand- ing. " 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 ! [WILL BE CONCLUDED IN OUR NEXT.]