I expressed my opinion, upon this, that they
were a set of murdering thieves. Mr. Mur-
thwaite expressed his opinion that they were a
wonderful people. Mr. Franklin, expressing
no opinion at all, brought us back to the matter
in hand.

"They have seen the Moonstone on Miss
Verinder's dress," he said. "What is to be done?"

"What your uncle threatened to do,"
answered Mr. Murthwaite. " Colonel Herncastle
understood the people he had to deal with. Send
the Diamond to-morrow (under guard of more
than one man) to be cut up at Amsterdam.
Make half a dozen diamonds of it, instead of
one. There is an end of its sacred identity as
The Moonstone—and there is an end of the
conspiracy."

Mr. Franklin turned to me.

"There is no help for it," he said. "We
must speak to Lady Verinder to-morrow."

"What about to-night, sir?" I asked.
"Suppose the Indians come back?"

Mr. Murthwaite answered me, before Mr.
Franklin could speak.

"The Indians won't risk coming back to-
night," he said. " The direct way is hardly
ever the way they take to anything—let alone a
matter like this, in which the slightest mistake
might be fatal to their reaching their end."

"'But suppose the rogues are bolder than you
think, sir?" I persisted.

"In that case," says Mr. Murthwaite, "let
the dogs loose. Have you got any big dogs in
the yard?"

"Two, sir. A mastiff and a bloodhound."

"They will do. In the present emergency,
Mr. Betteredge, the mastiff and the bloodhound
have one great merit—they are not likely to be
troubled with your scruples about the sanctity
of human life."

The strumming of the piano reached us from
the drawing-room, as he fired that shot at me.
He threw away his cheroot, and took Mr.
Franklin's arm, to go back to the ladies. I
noticed that the sky was clouding over fast, as I
followed them to the house. Mr. Murthwaite
noticed it too. He looked round at me, in his
dry, drolling way, and said:

"The Indians will want their umbrellas, Mr.
Betteredge, to-night!"

It was all very well for him to joke. But I
was not an eminent traveller—and my way in
this world had not led me into playing ducks
and drakes with my own life, among thieves
and murderers in the outlandish places of the
earth. I went into my own little room, and sat
down in my chair in a perspiration, and
wondered helplessly what was to be done next. In
this anxious frame of mind, other men might
have ended by working themselves up into a
fever; I ended in a different way. I lit my
pipe, and took a turn at Robinson Crusoe.

Before I had been at it five minutes, I came
to this amazing bit—page one hundred and
sixty-one—as follows:

"Fear of Danger is ten thousand times more
terrifying than Danger itself, when apparent to
the Eyes; and we find the Burthen of Anxiety
greater, by much, than the Evil which we are
anxious about."

The man who doesn't believe in Robinson
Crusoe, after that, is a man with a screw loose
in his understanding, or a man lost in the mist
of his own self-conceit! Argument is thrown
away upon him; and pity is better reserved for
some person with a livelier faith.

I was far on with my second pipe, and still
lost in admiration of that wonderful book, when
Penelope (who had been handing round the tea)
came in with her report from the drawing-room.
She had left the Bouncers singing a duet—
words beginning with a large "O," and music
to correspond. She had observed that my lady
made mistakes in her game of whist for the
first time in our experience of her. She had
seen the great traveller asleep in a corner. She
had overheard Mr. Franklin sharpening his wits
on Mr. Godfrey, at the expense of Ladies'
Charities in general; and she had noticed that
Mr. Godfrey hit him back again rather more
smartly than became a gentleman of his
benevolent character. She had detected Miss Rachel,
apparently engaged in appeasing Mrs. Threadgall
by showing her some photographs, and really
occupied in stealing looks at Mr. Franklin
which no intelligent lady's maid could
misinterpret for a single instant. Finally, she had
missed Mr. Candy, the doctor, who had
mysteriously disappeared from the drawing-
room, and had then mysteriously returned,
and entered into conversation with Mr. Godfrey.
Upon the whole, things were prospering better
than the experience of the dinner gave us any
right to expect. If we could only hold on for
another hour, old Father Time would bring
up their carriages, and relieve us of them
altogether.

Everything wears off in this world; and even
the comforting effect of Robinson Crusoe wore
off, after Penelope left me. I got fidgety again,
and resolved on making a survey of the grounds
before the rain came. Instead of taking the
footman, whose nose was human, and therefore
useless in any emergency, I took the bloodhound
with me. His nose for a stranger was
to be depended on. We went all round the
premises, and out into the road; and returned
as wise as we went, having discovered no such
thing as a lurking human creature anywhere.
I chained up the dog again, for the present;
and, returning once more by way of the shrub-
bery, met two of our gentlemen coming out
towards me from the drawing-room. The two
were Mr. Candy and Mr. Godfrey, still (as
Penelope had reported them) in conversation
together, and laughing softly over some
pleasant conceit of their own. I thought it
rather odd that those two should have run up
a friendship together—but passed on, of course,
without appearing to notice them.

The arrival of the carriages was the signal
for the arrival of the rain. It poured as if it
meant to pour all night. With the exception
of the doctor, whose gig was waiting for him,