‘What!’ cries the Sergeant, behind me, ‘are you not convinced yet?’
‘The de’il a bit I’m convinced!’ answered Mr. Begbie.
‘Then I’ll walk to the station!’ says the Sergeant.
‘Then I’ll meet you at the gate!’ says Mr. Begbie.
I was angry enough, as you know—but how was any man’s anger to hold out against such an interruption as this? Sergeant Cuff noticed the change in me, and encouraged it by a word in season. ‘Come! come!’ he said, ‘why not treat my view of the case as her ladyship treats it? Why not say, the circumstances have fatally misled me?’
To take anything as her ladyship took it, was a privilege worth enjoying—even with the disadvantage of its having been offered to me by Sergeant Cuff. I cooled slowly down to my customary level. I regarded any other opinion of Miss Rachel, than my lady’s opinion or mine, with a lofty contempt. The only thing I could not do, was to keep off the subject of the Moonstone! My own good sense ought to have warned me, I know, to let the matter rest—but, there! the virtues which distinguish the present generation were not invented in my time. Sergeant Cuff had hit me on the raw, and, though I did look down upon him with contempt, the tender place still tingled for all that. The end of it was that I perversely led him back to the subject of her ladyship’s letter. ‘I am quite satisfied myself,’ I said. ‘But never mind that! Go on, as if I was still open to conviction. You think Miss Rachel is not to be believed on her word; and you say we shall hear of the Moonstone again. Back your opinion, Sergeant,’ I concluded, in an airy way. ‘Back your opinion.’
Instead of taking offence, Sergeant Cuff seized my hand, and shook it till my fingers ached again.
‘I declare to heaven,’ says this strange officer solemnly, ‘I would take to domestic service to-morrow, Mr. Betteredge, if I had a chance of being employed along with You! To say you are as transparent as a child, sir, is to pay the children a compliment which nine out of ten of them don’t deserve. There! there! we won’t begin to dispute again. You shall have it out of me on easier terms than that. I won’t say a word more about her ladyship, or about Miss Verinder—I’ll only turn prophet, for once in a way, and for your sake. I have warned you already that you haven’t done with the Moonstone yet. Very well. Now I’ll tell you, at parting, of three things which will happen in the future, and which, I believe, will force themselves on your attention, whether you like it or not.’
‘Go on!’ I said, quite unabashed, and just as airy as ever.
‘First,’ said the Sergeant, ‘you will hear something from the Yollands—when the postman delivers Rosanna’s letter at Cobb’s Hole, on Monday next.’
If he had thrown a bucket of cold water over me, I doubt if I could have felt it much more unpleasantly than I felt those words. Miss Rachel’s assertion of her innocence had left Rosanna’s conduct—the making the new nightgown, the hiding the smeared nightgown, and all the rest of it—entirely without explanation. And this had never occurred to me, till Sergeant Cuff forced it on my mind all in a moment!
‘In the second place,’ proceeded the Sergeant, ‘you will hear of the three Indians again. You will hear of them in the neighbourhood, if Miss Rachel remains in the neighbourhood. You will hear of them in London, if Miss Rachel goes to London.’
Having lost all interest in the three jugglers, and having thoroughly convinced myself of my young lady’s innocence, I took this second prophecy easily enough. ‘So much for two of the three things that are going to happen,’ I said. ‘Now for the third!’
‘Third, and last,’ said Sergeant Cuff, ‘you will, sooner or later, hear something of that money-lender in London, whom I have twice taken the liberty of mentioning already. Give me your pocket-book, and I’ll make a note for you of his name and address—so that there may be no mistake about it if the thing really happens.’
He wrote accordingly on a blank leaf:— ‘Mr. Septimus Luker, Middlesex-place, Lambeth, London.’
‘There,’ he said, pointing to the address, ‘are the last words, on the subject of the Moonstone, which I shall trouble you with for the present. Time will show whether I am right or wrong. In the meanwhile, sir, I carry away with me a sincere personal liking for you, which I think does honour to both of us. If we don’t meet again before my professional retirement takes place, I hope you will come and see me in a little house near London, which I have got my eye on. There will be grass walks, Mr. Betteredge, I promise you, in my garden. And as for the white moss rose—’
‘The de’il a bit ye’ll get the white moss rose to grow, unless ye bud him on the dogue-rose first,’ cried a voice at the window.
We both turned round. There was the everlasting Mr. Begbie, too eager for the controversy to wait any longer at the gate. The Sergeant wrung my hand, and darted out into the court-yard, hotter still on his side. ‘Ask him about the moss rose, when he comes back, and see if I have left him a leg to stand on!’ cried the great Cuff, hailing me through the window in his turn. ‘Gentlemen both!’ I answered, moderating them again as I had moderated them once already. ‘In the matter of the moss rose there is a great deal to be said on both sides!’ I might as well (as the Irish say) have whistled jigs to a milestone. Away they went together, fighting the battle of the roses without asking or giving quarter on either side. The last I saw of them, Mr. Begbie was shaking his obstinate head, and Sergeant Cuff had got him by the arm like a prisoner in charge. Ah, well! well! I own I couldn’t help liking the Sergeant—though I hated him all the time.
Explain that state of mind, if you can. You will soon be rid, now, of me and my contradictions. When I have reported Mr. Franklin’s departure, the history of the Saturday’s events will be finished at last. And when I have next described certain strange things that happened in the course of the new week, I shall have done my part of the Story, and shall hand over the pen to the person who is appointed to follow my lead. If you are as tired of reading this narrative as I am of writing it—Lord, how we shall enjoy ourselves on both sides a few pages further on!
Chapter XXIII
I HAD kept the pony-chaise ready, in case Mr. Franklin persisted in leaving us by the train that night. The appearance of the luggage, followed down-stairs by Mr. Franklin himself, informed me plainly enough that he had held firm to a resolution for once in his life.
‘So you have really made up your mind, sir?’ I said, as we met in the hall. ‘Why not wait a day or two longer, and give Miss Rachel another chance?’
The foreign varnish appeared to have all worn off Mr. Franklin, now that the time had come for saying good-bye. Instead of replying to me in words, he put the letter which her ladyship had addressed to him into my hand. The greater part of it said over again what had been said already in the other communication received by me. But there was a bit about Miss Rachel added at the end, which will account for the steadiness of Mr. Franklin’s determination, if it accounts for nothing else.
‘You will wonder, I dare say’ (her ladyship wrote), ‘at my allowing my own daughter to keep me perfectly in the dark. A Diamond worth twenty thousand pounds has been lost—and I am left to infer that the mystery of its disappearance is no mystery to Rachel, and that some incomprehensible obligation of silence has been laid on her, by some person or persons utterly unknown to me, with some object in view at which I cannot even guess. Is it conceivable that I should allow myself to be trifled with in this way? It is quite conceivable, in Rachel’s present state. She is in a condition of nervous agitation pitiable to see. I dare not approach the subject of the Moonstone again until time has done something to quiet her. To help this end, I have not hesitated to dismiss the police-officer. The mystery which baffles us, baffles him too. This is not a matter in which any stranger can help us. He adds to what I have to suffer; and he maddens Rachel if she only hears his name.