The Moonstone Page 15

  CHAPTER XII

  The Thursday night passed, and nothing happened. With the Friday morningcame two pieces of news.

  Item the first: the baker's man declared he had met Rosanna Spearman,on the previous afternoon, with a thick veil on, walking towardsFrizinghall by the foot-path way over the moor. It seemed strange thatanybody should be mistaken about Rosanna, whose shoulder marked her outpretty plainly, poor thing--but mistaken the man must have been; forRosanna, as you know, had been all the Thursday afternoon ill up-stairsin her room.

  Item the second came through the postman. Worthy Mr. Candy had said onemore of his many unlucky things, when he drove off in the rain on thebirthday night, and told me that a doctor's skin was waterproof. Inspite of his skin, the wet had got through him. He had caught a chillthat night, and was now down with a fever. The last accounts, broughtby the postman, represented him to be light-headed--talking nonsenseas glibly, poor man, in his delirium as he often talked it in hissober senses. We were all sorry for the little doctor; but Mr. Franklinappeared to regret his illness, chiefly on Miss Rachel's account. Fromwhat he said to my lady, while I was in the room at breakfast-time, heappeared to think that Miss Rachel--if the suspense about the Moonstonewas not soon set at rest--might stand in urgent need of the best medicaladvice at our disposal.

  Breakfast had not been over long, when a telegram from Mr. Blake, theelder, arrived, in answer to his son. It informed us that he had laidhands (by help of his friend, the Commissioner) on the right man tohelp us. The name of him was Sergeant Cuff; and the arrival of him fromLondon might be expected by the morning train.

  At reading the name of the new police-officer, Mr. Franklin gave astart. It seems that he had heard some curious anecdotes about SergeantCuff, from his father's lawyer, during his stay in London.

  "I begin to hope we are seeing the end of our anxieties already," hesaid. "If half the stories I have heard are true, when it comes tounravelling a mystery, there isn't the equal in England of SergeantCuff!"

  We all got excited and impatient as the time drew near for theappearance of this renowned and capable character. SuperintendentSeegrave, returning to us at his appointed time, and hearing that theSergeant was expected, instantly shut himself up in a room, with pen,ink, and paper, to make notes of the Report which would be certainlyexpected from him. I should have liked to have gone to the stationmyself, to fetch the Sergeant. But my lady's carriage and horses werenot to be thought of, even for the celebrated Cuff; and the pony-chaisewas required later for Mr. Godfrey. He deeply regretted being obliged toleave his aunt at such an anxious time; and he kindly put off the hourof his departure till as late as the last train, for the purpose ofhearing what the clever London police-officer thought of the case.But on Friday night he must be in town, having a Ladies' Charity, indifficulties, waiting to consult him on Saturday morning.

  When the time came for the Sergeant's arrival, I went down to the gateto look out for him.

  A fly from the railway drove up as I reached the lodge; and out got agrizzled, elderly man, so miserably lean that he looked as if he had notgot an ounce of flesh on his bones in any part of him. He was dressedall in decent black, with a white cravat round his neck. His face wasas sharp as a hatchet, and the skin of it was as yellow and dry andwithered as an autumn leaf. His eyes, of a steely light grey, had a verydisconcerting trick, when they encountered your eyes, of looking as ifthey expected something more from you than you were aware of yourself.His walk was soft; his voice was melancholy; his long lanky fingers werehooked like claws. He might have been a parson, or an undertaker--oranything else you like, except what he really was. A more completeopposite to Superintendent Seegrave than Sergeant Cuff, and a lesscomforting officer to look at, for a family in distress, I defy you todiscover, search where you may.

  "Is this Lady Verinder's?" he asked.

  "Yes, sir."

  "I am Sergeant Cuff."

  "This way, sir, if you please."

  On our road to the house, I mentioned my name and position in thefamily, to satisfy him that he might speak to me about the businesson which my lady was to employ him. Not a word did he say about thebusiness, however, for all that. He admired the grounds, and remarkedthat he felt the sea air very brisk and refreshing. I privatelywondered, on my side, how the celebrated Cuff had got his reputation.We reached the house, in the temper of two strange dogs, coupled uptogether for the first time in their lives by the same chain.

  Asking for my lady, and hearing that she was in one of theconservatories, we went round to the gardens at the back, and sent aservant to seek her. While we were waiting, Sergeant Cuff lookedthrough the evergreen arch on our left, spied out our rosery, and walkedstraight in, with the first appearance of anything like interest that hehad shown yet. To the gardener's astonishment, and to my disgust,this celebrated policeman proved to be quite a mine of learning on thetrumpery subject of rose-gardens.

  "Ah, you've got the right exposure here to the south and sou'-west,"says the Sergeant, with a wag of his grizzled head, and a streakof pleasure in his melancholy voice. "This is the shape for arosery--nothing like a circle set in a square. Yes, yes; with walksbetween all the beds. But they oughtn't to be gravel walks like these.Grass, Mr. Gardener--grass walks between your roses; gravel's too hardfor them. That's a sweet pretty bed of white roses and blush roses. Theyalways mix well together, don't they? Here's the white musk rose, Mr.Betteredge--our old English rose holding up its head along with the bestand the newest of them. Pretty dear!" says the Sergeant, fondlingthe Musk Rose with his lanky fingers, and speaking to it as if he wasspeaking to a child.

  This was a nice sort of man to recover Miss Rachel's Diamond, and tofind out the thief who stole it!

  "You seem to be fond of roses, Sergeant?" I remarked.

  "I haven't much time to be fond of anything," says Sergeant Cuff. "Butwhen I _have_ a moment's fondness to bestow, most times, Mr. Betteredge,the roses get it. I began my life among them in my father's nurserygarden, and I shall end my life among them, if I can. Yes. One of thesedays (please God) I shall retire from catching thieves, and try my handat growing roses. There will be grass walks, Mr. Gardener, between mybeds," says the Sergeant, on whose mind the gravel paths of our roseryseemed to dwell unpleasantly.

  "It seems an odd taste, sir," I ventured to say, "for a man in your lineof life."

  "If you will look about you (which most people won't do)," says SergeantCuff, "you will see that the nature of a man's tastes is, most times, asopposite as possible to the nature of a man's business. Show me any twothings more opposite one from the other than a rose and a thief; andI'll correct my tastes accordingly--if it isn't too late at my time oflife. You find the damask rose a goodish stock for most of the tendersorts, don't you, Mr. Gardener? Ah! I thought so. Here's a lady coming.Is it Lady Verinder?"

  He had seen her before either I or the gardener had seen her, thoughwe knew which way to look, and he didn't. I began to think him rather aquicker man than he appeared to be at first sight.

  The Sergeant's appearance, or the Sergeant's errand--one or both--seemedto cause my lady some little embarrassment. She was, for the first timein all my experience of her, at a loss what to say at an interview witha stranger. Sergeant Cuff put her at her ease directly. He asked if anyother person had been employed about the robbery before we sent for him;and hearing that another person had been called in, and was now in thehouse, begged leave to speak to him before anything else was done.

  My lady led the way back. Before he followed her, the Sergeant relievedhis mind on the subject of the gravel walks by a parting word to thegardener. "Get her ladyship to try grass," he said, with a sour look atthe paths. "No gravel! no gravel!"

  Why Superintendent Seegrave should have appeared to be several sizessmaller than life, on being presented to Sergeant Cuff, I can'tundertake to explain. I can only state the fact. They retired together;and remained a weary long time shut up from all mortal intrusion. Whenthey came out, Mr. Superintendent was excited, a
nd Mr. Sergeant wasyawning.

  "The Sergeant wishes to see Miss Verinder's sitting-room," says Mr.Seegrave, addressing me with great pomp and eagerness. "The Sergeant mayhave some questions to ask. Attend the Sergeant, if you please!"

  While I was being ordered about in this way, I looked at the great Cuff.The great Cuff, on his side, looked at Superintendent Seegrave in thatquietly expecting way which I have already noticed. I can't affirm thathe was on the watch for his brother officer's speedy appearance in thecharacter of an Ass--I can only say that I strongly suspected it.

  I led the way up-stairs. The Sergeant went softly all over the Indiancabinet and all round the "boudoir;" asking questions (occasionallyonly of Mr. Superintendent, and continually of me), the drift of which Ibelieve to have been equally unintelligible to both of us. In due time,his course brought him to the door, and put him face to face with thedecorative painting that you know of. He laid one lean inquiring fingeron the small smear, just under the lock, which Superintendent Seegravehad already noticed, when he reproved the women-servants for allcrowding together into the room.

  "That's a pity," says Sergeant Cuff. "How did it happen?"

  He put the question to me. I answered that the women-servants hadcrowded into the room on the previous morning, and that some of theirpetticoats had done the mischief, "Superintendent Seegrave ordered themout, sir," I added, "before they did any more harm."

  "Right!" says Mr. Superintendent in his military way. "I ordered themout. The petticoats did it, Sergeant--the petticoats did it."

  "Did you notice which petticoat did it?" asked Sergeant Cuff, stilladdressing himself, not to his brother-officer, but to me.

  "No, sir."

  He turned to Superintendent Seegrave upon that, and said, "You noticed,I suppose?"

  Mr. Superintendent looked a little taken aback; but he made the bestof it. "I can't charge my memory, Sergeant," he said, "a mere trifle--amere trifle."

  Sergeant Cuff looked at Mr. Seegrave, as he had looked at the gravelwalks in the rosery, and gave us, in his melancholy way, the first tasteof his quality which we had had yet.

  "I made a private inquiry last week, Mr. Superintendent," he said. "Atone end of the inquiry there was a murder, and at the other end therewas a spot of ink on a table cloth that nobody could account for. In allmy experience along the dirtiest ways of this dirty little world, I havenever met with such a thing as a trifle yet. Before we go a step furtherin this business we must see the petticoat that made the smear, and wemust know for certain when that paint was wet."

  Mr. Superintendent--taking his set-down rather sulkily--asked if heshould summon the women. Sergeant Cuff, after considering a minute,sighed, and shook his head.

  "No," he said, "we'll take the matter of the paint first. It's aquestion of Yes or No with the paint--which is short. It's a question ofpetticoats with the women--which is long. What o'clock was it when theservants were in this room yesterday morning? Eleven o'clock--eh? Isthere anybody in the house who knows whether that paint was wet or dry,at eleven yesterday morning?"

  "Her ladyship's nephew, Mr. Franklin Blake, knows," I said.

  "Is the gentleman in the house?"

  Mr. Franklin was as close at hand as could be--waiting for his firstchance of being introduced to the great Cuff. In half a minute he was inthe room, and was giving his evidence as follows:

  "That door, Sergeant," he said, "has been painted by Miss Verinder,under my inspection, with my help, and in a vehicle of my owncomposition. The vehicle dries whatever colours may be used with it, intwelve hours."

  "Do you remember when the smeared bit was done, sir?" asked theSergeant.

  "Perfectly," answered Mr. Franklin. "That was the last morsel of thedoor to be finished. We wanted to get it done, on Wednesday last--and Imyself completed it by three in the afternoon, or soon after."

  "To-day is Friday," said Sergeant Cuff, addressing himself toSuperintendent Seegrave. "Let us reckon back, sir. At three on theWednesday afternoon, that bit of the painting was completed. The vehicledried it in twelve hours--that is to say, dried it by three o'clock onThursday morning. At eleven on Thursday morning you held your inquiryhere. Take three from eleven, and eight remains. That paint hadbeen EIGHT HOURS DRY, Mr. Superintendent, when you supposed that thewomen-servants' petticoats smeared it."

  First knock-down blow for Mr. Seegrave! If he had not suspected poorPenelope, I should have pitied him.

  Having settled the question of the paint, Sergeant Cuff, from thatmoment, gave his brother-officer up as a bad job--and addressed himselfto Mr. Franklin, as the more promising assistant of the two.

  "It's quite on the cards, sir," he said, "that you have put the clueinto our hands."

  As the words passed his lips, the bedroom door opened, and Miss Rachelcame out among us suddenly.

  She addressed herself to the Sergeant, without appearing to notice (orto heed) that he was a perfect stranger to her.

  "Did you say," she asked, pointing to Mr. Franklin, "that HE had put theclue into your hands?"

  ("This is Miss Verinder," I whispered, behind the Sergeant.)

  "That gentleman, miss," says the Sergeant--with his steely-grey eyescarefully studying my young lady's face--"has possibly put the clue intoour hands."

  She turned for one moment, and tried to look at Mr. Franklin. I say,tried, for she suddenly looked away again before their eyes met. Thereseemed to be some strange disturbance in her mind. She coloured up, andthen she turned pale again. With the paleness, there came a new lookinto her face--a look which it startled me to see.

  "Having answered your question, miss," says the Sergeant, "I beg leaveto make an inquiry in my turn. There is a smear on the painting of yourdoor, here. Do you happen to know when it was done? or who did it?"

  Instead of making any reply, Miss Rachel went on with her questions, asif he had not spoken, or as if she had not heard him.

  "Are you another police-officer?" she asked.

  "I am Sergeant Cuff, miss, of the Detective Police."

  "Do you think a young lady's advice worth having?"

  "I shall be glad to hear it, miss."

  "Do your duty by yourself--and don't allow Mr Franklin Blake to helpyou!"

  She said those words so spitefully, so savagely, with such anextraordinary outbreak of ill-will towards Mr. Franklin, in her voiceand in her look, that--though I had known her from a baby, though Iloved and honoured her next to my lady herself--I was ashamed of MissRachel for the first time in my life.

  Sergeant Cuff's immovable eyes never stirred from off her face. "Thankyou, miss," he said. "Do you happen to know anything about the smear?Might you have done it by accident yourself?"

  "I know nothing about the smear."

  With that answer, she turned away, and shut herself up again inher bed-room. This time, I heard her--as Penelope had heard herbefore--burst out crying as soon as she was alone again.

  I couldn't bring myself to look at the Sergeant--I looked at Mr.Franklin, who stood nearest to me. He seemed to be even more sorelydistressed at what had passed than I was.

  "I told you I was uneasy about her," he said. "And now you see why."

  "Miss Verinder appears to be a little out of temper about the loss ofher Diamond," remarked the Sergeant. "It's a valuable jewel. Naturalenough! natural enough!"

  Here was the excuse that I had made for her (when she forgot herselfbefore Superintendent Seegrave, on the previous day) being made for herover again, by a man who couldn't have had MY interest in making it--forhe was a perfect stranger! A kind of cold shudder ran through me, whichI couldn't account for at the time. I know, now, that I must have gotmy first suspicion, at that moment, of a new light (and horrid light)having suddenly fallen on the case, in the mind of Sergeant Cuff--purelyand entirely in consequence of what he had seen in Miss Rachel, andheard from Miss Rachel, at that first interview between them.

  "A young lady's tongue is a privileged member, sir," says the Sergeantto Mr. Franklin. "Let us forget what h
as passed, and go straight on withthis business. Thanks to you, we know when the paint was dry. The nextthing to discover is when the paint was last seen without that smear.YOU have got a head on your shoulders--and you understand what I mean."

  Mr. Franklin composed himself, and came back with an effort from MissRachel to the matter in hand.

  "I think I do understand," he said. "The more we narrow the question oftime, the more we also narrow the field of inquiry."

  "That's it, sir," said the Sergeant. "Did you notice your work here, onthe Wednesday afternoon, after you had done it?"

  Mr. Franklin shook his head, and answered, "I can't say I did."

  "Did you?" inquired Sergeant Cuff, turning to me.

  "I can't say I did either, sir."

  "Who was the last person in the room, the last thing on Wednesdaynight?"

  "Miss Rachel, I suppose, sir."

  Mr. Franklin struck in there, "Or possibly your daughter, Betteredge."He turned to Sergeant Cuff, and explained that my daughter was MissVerinder's maid.

  "Mr. Betteredge, ask your daughter to step up. Stop!" says the Sergeant,taking me away to the window, out of earshot, "Your Superintendenthere," he went on, in a whisper, "has made a pretty full report to meof the manner in which he has managed this case. Among other things,he has, by his own confession, set the servants' backs up. It's veryimportant to smooth them down again. Tell your daughter, and tell therest of them, these two things, with my compliments: First, that I haveno evidence before me, yet, that the Diamond has been stolen; I onlyknow that the Diamond has been lost. Second, that my business here withthe servants is simply to ask them to lay their heads together and helpme to find it."

  My experience of the women-servants, when Superintendent Seegrave laidhis embargo on their rooms, came in handy here.

  "May I make so bold, Sergeant, as to tell the women a third thing?"I asked. "Are they free (with your compliments) to fidget up anddownstairs, and whisk in and out of their bed-rooms, if the fit takesthem?"

  "Perfectly free," said the Sergeant.

  "THAT will smooth them down, sir," I remarked, "from the cook to thescullion."

  "Go, and do it at once, Mr. Betteredge."

  I did it in less than five minutes. There was only one difficulty when Icame to the bit about the bed-rooms. It took a pretty stiff exertionof my authority, as chief, to prevent the whole of the female householdfrom following me and Penelope up-stairs, in the character of volunteerwitnesses in a burning fever of anxiety to help Sergeant Cuff.

  The Sergeant seemed to approve of Penelope. He became a trifle lessdreary; and he looked much as he had looked when he noticed the whitemusk rose in the flower-garden. Here is my daughter's evidence, as drawnoff from her by the Sergeant. She gave it, I think, very prettily--but,there! she is my child all over: nothing of her mother in her; Lordbless you, nothing of her mother in her!

  Penelope examined: Took a lively interest in the painting on the door,having helped to mix the colours. Noticed the bit of work underthe lock, because it was the last bit done. Had seen it, some hoursafterwards, without a smear. Had left it, as late as twelve at night,without a smear. Had, at that hour, wished her young lady good night inthe bedroom; had heard the clock strike in the "boudoir"; had her handat the time on the handle of the painted door; knew the paint was wet(having helped to mix the colours, as aforesaid); took particular painsnot to touch it; could swear that she held up the skirts of her dress,and that there was no smear on the paint then; could not swear that herdress mightn't have touched it accidentally in going out; remembered thedress she had on, because it was new, a present from Miss Rachel; herfather remembered, and could speak to it, too; could, and would, anddid fetch it; dress recognised by her father as the dress she wore thatnight; skirts examined, a long job from the size of them; not the ghostof a paint-stain discovered anywhere. End of Penelope's evidence--andvery pretty and convincing, too. Signed, Gabriel Betteredge.

  The Sergeant's next proceeding was to question me about any large dogsin the house who might have got into the room, and done the mischiefwith a whisk of their tails. Hearing that this was impossible, he nextsent for a magnifying-glass, and tried how the smear looked, seen thatway. No skin-mark (as of a human hand) printed off on the paint. All thesigns visible--signs which told that the paint had been smeared by someloose article of somebody's dress touching it in going by. That somebody(putting together Penelope's evidence and Mr. Franklin's evidence) musthave been in the room, and done the mischief, between midnight and threeo'clock on the Thursday morning.

  Having brought his investigation to this point, Sergeant Cuff discoveredthat such a person as Superintendent Seegrave was still left in theroom, upon which he summed up the proceedings for his brother-officer'sbenefit, as follows:

  "This trifle of yours, Mr. Superintendent," says the Sergeant, pointingto the place on the door, "has grown a little in importance since younoticed it last. At the present stage of the inquiry there are, as Itake it, three discoveries to make, starting from that smear. Find out(first) whether there is any article of dress in this house with thesmear of the paint on it. Find out (second) who that dress belongs to.Find out (third) how the person can account for having been in thisroom, and smeared the paint, between midnight and three in the morning.If the person can't satisfy you, you haven't far to look for the handthat has got the Diamond. I'll work this by myself, if you please, anddetain you no longer-from your regular business in the town. You havegot one of your men here, I see. Leave him here at my disposal, in caseI want him--and allow me to wish you good morning."

  Superintendent Seegrave's respect for the Sergeant was great; but hisrespect for himself was greater still. Hit hard by the celebrated Cuff,he hit back smartly, to the best of his ability, on leaving the room.

  "I have abstained from expressing any opinion, so far," says Mr.Superintendent, with his military voice still in good working order. "Ihave now only one remark to offer on leaving this case in your hands.There IS such a thing, Sergeant, as making a mountain out of a molehill.Good morning."

  "There is also such a thing as making nothing out of a molehill, inconsequence of your head being too high to see it." Having returnedhis brother-officer's compliments in those terms, Sergeant Cuff wheeledabout, and walked away to the window by himself.

  Mr. Franklin and I waited to see what was coming next. The Sergeantstood at the window with his hands in his pockets, looking out, andwhistling the tune of "The Last Rose of Summer" softly to himself. Laterin the proceedings, I discovered that he only forgot his manners so faras to whistle, when his mind was hard at work, seeing its way inchby inch to its own private ends, on which occasions "The Last Rose ofSummer" evidently helped and encouraged him. I suppose it fitted insomehow with his character. It reminded him, you see, of his favouriteroses, and, as HE whistled it, it was the most melancholy tune going.

  Turning from the window, after a minute or two, the Sergeant walked intothe middle of the room, and stopped there, deep in thought, with hiseyes on Miss Rachel's bed-room door. After a little he roused himself,nodded his head, as much as to say, "That will do," and, addressing me,asked for ten minutes' conversation with my mistress, at her ladyship'searliest convenience.

  Leaving the room with this message, I heard Mr. Franklin ask theSergeant a question, and stopped to hear the answer also at thethreshold of the door.

  "Can you guess yet," inquired Mr. Franklin, "who has stolen theDiamond?"

  "NOBODY HAS STOLEN THE DIAMOND," answered Sergeant Cuff.

  We both started at that extraordinary view of the case, and bothearnestly begged him to tell us what he meant.

  "Wait a little," said the Sergeant. "The pieces of the puzzle are notall put together yet."