บทที่ บทที่ 16 · Chapter XVI

We found my lady with no light in the room but the reading-lamp. The

shade was screwed down so as to overshadow her face. Instead of looking

up at us in her usual straightforward way, she sat close at the table,

and kept her eyes fixed obstinately on an open book.

“Officer,” she said, “is it important to the inquiry you are

conducting, to know beforehand if any person now in this house wishes

to leave it?”

“Most important, my lady.”

“I have to tell you, then, that Miss Verinder proposes going to stay

with her aunt, Mrs. Ablewhite, of Frizinghall. She has arranged to

leave us the first thing tomorrow morning.”

Sergeant Cuff looked at me. I made a step forward to speak to my

mistress—and, feeling my heart fail me (if I must own it), took a step

back again, and said nothing.

“May I ask your ladyship _when_ Miss Verinder informed you that she was

going to her aunt’s?” inquired the Sergeant.

“About an hour since,” answered my mistress.

Sergeant Cuff looked at me once more. They say old people’s hearts are

not very easily moved. _My_ heart couldn’t have thumped much harder

than it did now, if I had been five-and-twenty again!

“I have no claim, my lady,” says the Sergeant, “to control Miss

Verinder’s actions. All I can ask you to do is to put off her

departure, if possible, till later in the day. I must go to Frizinghall

myself tomorrow morning—and I shall be back by two o’clock, if not

before. If Miss Verinder can be kept here till that time, I should wish

to say two words to her—unexpectedly—before she goes.”

My lady directed me to give the coachman her orders, that the carriage

was not to come for Miss Rachel until two o’clock. “Have you more to

say?” she asked of the Sergeant, when this had been done.

“Only one thing, your ladyship. If Miss Verinder is surprised at this

change in the arrangements, please not to mention Me as being the cause

of putting off her journey.”

My mistress lifted her head suddenly from her book as if she was going

to say something—checked herself by a great effort—and, looking back

again at the open page, dismissed us with a sign of her hand.

“That’s a wonderful woman,” said Sergeant Cuff, when we were out in the

hall again. “But for her self-control, the mystery that puzzles you,

Mr. Betteredge, would have been at an end tonight.”

At those words, the truth rushed at last into my stupid old head. For

the moment, I suppose I must have gone clean out of my senses. I seized

the Sergeant by the collar of his coat, and pinned him against the

wall.

“Damn you!” I cried out, “there’s something wrong about Miss Rachel—and

you have been hiding it from me all this time!”

Sergeant Cuff looked up at me—flat against the wall—without stirring a

hand, or moving a muscle of his melancholy face.

“Ah,” he said, “you’ve guessed it at last.”

My hand dropped from his collar, and my head sunk on my breast. Please

to remember, as some excuse for my breaking out as I did, that I had

served the family for fifty years. Miss Rachel had climbed upon my

knees, and pulled my whiskers, many and many a time when she was a

child. Miss Rachel, with all her faults, had been, to my mind, the

dearest and prettiest and best young mistress that ever an old servant

waited on, and loved. I begged Sergeant’s Cuff’s pardon, but I am

afraid I did it with watery eyes, and not in a very becoming way.

“Don’t distress yourself, Mr. Betteredge,” says the Sergeant, with more

kindness than I had any right to expect from him. “In my line of life

if we were quick at taking offence, we shouldn’t be worth salt to our

porridge. If it’s any comfort to you, collar me again. You don’t in the

least know how to do it; but I’ll overlook your awkwardness in

consideration of your feelings.”

He curled up at the corners of his lips, and, in his own dreary way,

seemed to think he had delivered himself of a very good joke.

I led him into my own little sitting-room, and closed the door.

“Tell me the truth, Sergeant,” I said. “What do you suspect? It’s no

kindness to hide it from me now.”

“I don’t suspect,” said Sergeant Cuff. “I know.”

My unlucky temper began to get the better of me again.

“Do you mean to tell me, in plain English,” I said, “that Miss Rachel

has stolen her own Diamond?”

“Yes,” says the Sergeant; “that is what I mean to tell you, in so many

words. Miss Verinder has been in secret possession of the Moonstone

from first to last; and she has taken Rosanna Spearman into her

confidence, because she has calculated on our suspecting Rosanna

Spearman of the theft. There is the whole case in a nutshell. Collar me

again, Mr. Betteredge. If it’s any vent to your feelings, collar me

again.”

God help me! my feelings were not to be relieved in that way. “Give me

your reasons!” That was all I could say to him.

“You shall hear my reasons tomorrow,” said the Sergeant. “If Miss

Verinder refuses to put off her visit to her aunt (which you will find

Miss Verinder will do), I shall be obliged to lay the whole case before

your mistress tomorrow. And, as I don’t know what may come of it, I

shall request you to be present, and to hear what passes on both sides.

Let the matter rest for tonight. No, Mr. Betteredge, you don’t get a

word more on the subject of the Moonstone out of me. There is your

table spread for supper. That’s one of the many human infirmities which

I always treat tenderly. If you will ring the bell, I’ll say grace.

‘For what we are going to receive——’”

“I wish you a good appetite to it, Sergeant,” I said. “_My_ appetite is

gone. I’ll wait and see you served, and then I’ll ask you to excuse me,

if I go away, and try to get the better of this by myself.”

I saw him served with the best of everything—and I shouldn’t have been

sorry if the best of everything had choked him. The head gardener (Mr.

Begbie) came in at the same time, with his weekly account. The Sergeant

got on the subject of roses and the merits of grass walks and gravel

walks immediately. I left the two together, and went out with a heavy

heart. This was the first trouble I remember for many a long year which

wasn’t to be blown off by a whiff of tobacco, and which was even beyond

the reach of _Robinson Crusoe_.

Being restless and miserable, and having no particular room to go to, I

took a turn on the terrace, and thought it over in peace and quietness

by myself. It doesn’t much matter what my thoughts were. I felt

wretchedly old, and worn out, and unfit for my place—and began to

wonder, for the first time in my life, when it would please God to take

me. With all this, I held firm, notwithstanding, to my belief in Miss

Rachel. If Sergeant Cuff had been Solomon in all his glory, and had

told me that my young lady had mixed herself up in a mean and guilty

plot, I should have had but one answer for Solomon, wise as he was,

“You don’t know her; and I do.”

My meditations were interrupted by Samuel. He brought me a written

message from my mistress.

Going into the house to get a light to read it by, Samuel remarked that

there seemed a change coming in the weather. My troubled mind had

prevented me from noticing it before. But, now my attention was roused,

I heard the dogs uneasy, and the wind moaning low. Looking up at the

sky, I saw the rack of clouds getting blacker and blacker, and hurrying

faster and faster over a watery moon. Wild weather coming—Samuel was

right, wild weather coming.

The message from my lady informed me, that the magistrate at

Frizinghall had written to remind her about the three Indians. Early in

the coming week, the rogues must needs be released, and left free to

follow their own devices. If we had any more questions to ask them,

there was no time to lose. Having forgotten to mention this, when she

had last seen Sergeant Cuff, my mistress now desired me to supply the

omission. The Indians had gone clean out of my head (as they have, no

doubt, gone clean out of yours). I didn’t see much use in stirring that

subject again. However, I obeyed my orders on the spot, as a matter of

course.

I found Sergeant Cuff and the gardener, with a bottle of Scotch whisky

between them, head over ears in an argument on the growing of roses.

The Sergeant was so deeply interested that he held up his hand, and

signed to me not to interrupt the discussion, when I came in. As far as

I could understand it, the question between them was, whether the white

moss rose did, or did not, require to be budded on the dog-rose to make

it grow well. Mr. Begbie said, Yes; and Sergeant Cuff said, No. They

appealed to me, as hotly as a couple of boys. Knowing nothing whatever

about the growing of roses, I steered a middle course—just as her

Majesty’s judges do, when the scales of justice bother them by hanging

even to a hair. “Gentlemen,” I remarked, “there is much to be said on

both sides.” In the temporary lull produced by that impartial sentence,

I laid my lady’s written message on the table, under the eyes of

Sergeant Cuff.

I had got by this time, as nearly as might be, to hate the Sergeant.

But truth compels me to acknowledge that, in respect of readiness of

mind, he was a wonderful man.

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.