herself to him (as the person chiefly
instrumental in fetching the police) to that effect. If
this guess was right, why—having lost her
Diamond—should she object to the presence in
the house of the very people whose business it
was to recover it for her? And how, in Heaven's
name, could she know that the Moonstone would
never be found again?

As things stood, at present, no answer to
those questions was to be hoped for from
anybody in the house. Mr. Franklin appeared to
think it a point of honour to forbear repeating
to a servant—even to so old a servant as I
was—what Miss Rachel had said to him on the
terrace. Mr. Godfrey, who, as a gentleman
and a relative, had been probably admitted into
Mr. Franklin's confidence, respected that
confidence as he was bound to do. My lady, who
was also in the secret no doubt, and who alone
had access to Miss Rachel, owned openly that
she could make nothing of her. "You madden
me, when you talk of the Diamond!" All her
mother's influence failed to extract from her a
word more than that.

Here we were, then, at a dead lock about
Miss Rachel—and at a dead lock about the
Moonstone. In the first case, my lady was
powerless to help us. In the second (as you
shall presently judge), Mr. Seegrave was fast
approaching the condition of a superintendent
at his wits' end.

Having ferreted about all over the "boudoir,"
without making any discoveries among the
furniture, our experienced officer applied to me
to know, whether the servants in general were
or were not acquainted with the place in which
the Diamond had been put for the night.

"I knew where it was put, sir," I said, "to
begin with. Samuel the footman, knew also; for
he was present in the hall, when they were talking
about where the Diamond was to be kept
that night. My daughter knew, as she has
already told you. She or Samuel may have
mentioned the thing to the other servants—or
the other servants may have heard the talk for
themselves, through the side-door of the hall,
which might have been open to the back staircase.
For all I can tell, everybody in the house
may have known where the jewel was, last
night."

My answer presenting rather a wide field for
Mr. Superintendent's suspicions to range over,
he tried to narrow it by asking about the
servants' characters next.

I thought directly of Rosanna Spearman.
But it was neither my place, nor my wish,
to direct suspicion against a poor girl, whose
honesty had been above all doubt as long
as I had known her. The matron at the
Reformatory had reported her to my lady as a
sincerely penitent and thoroughly trustworthy
girl. It was the Superintendent's business to
discover reason for suspecting her first—and
then, and not till then, it would be my duty to
tell him how she came into my lady's service.
"All our people have excellent characters," I
said. "And all have deserved the trust their
mistress has placed in them." After that, there
was but one thing left for Mr. Seegrave to do—
namely, to set to work, and tackle the servants'
characters himself.

One after another, they were examined. One
after another, they proved to have nothing to
say—and said it (so far as the women were
concerned) at great length, and with a very angry
sense of the embargo laid on their bedrooms.
The rest of them being sent back to their places
down-stairs, Penelope was then summoned, and
examined separately a second time.

My daughter's little outbreak of temper in
the "boudoir," and her readiness to think
herself suspected, appeared to have produced an
unfavourable impression on Superintendent
Seegrave. It seemed also to dwell a little on his
mind, that she had been the last person who saw
the Diamond at night. When the second
questioning was over, my girl came back to me in a
frenzy. There was no doubt of it any longer—
the police-officer had almost as good as told her
she was the thief! I could scarcely believe him
(taking Mr. Franklin's view) to be quite such
an ass as that. But, though he said nothing,
the eye with which he looked at my daughter
was not a pleasant eye to see. I laughed it off
with poor Penelope, as something too ridiculous
to be treated seriously—which it certainly was.
Secretly, I am afraid I was foolish enough to be
angry too. It was a little trying—it was indeed.
My girl sat down in a corner, with her apron
over her head, quite broken-hearted. Foolish
of her, you will say: she might have waited
till he openly accused her. Well, being a man
of just and equal temper, I admit that. Still
Mr. Superintendent might have remembered—
never mind what he might have remembered.
The devil take him!

The next and last step in the investigation
brought matters, as they say, to a crisis. The
officer had an interview (at which I was present)
with my lady. After informing her that the
Diamond must have been taken by somebody in
the house, he requested permission for himself
and his men to search the servants' rooms and
boxes on the spot. My good mistress, like the
generous high-bred woman she was, refused
to let us be treated like thieves. "I will never
consent to make such a return as that," she said,
"for all I owe to the faithful servants who are
employed in my house."

Mr. Superintendent made his bow, with a
look in my direction, which said plainly, "Why
employ me, if you are to tie my hands in this
way?" As head of the servants, I felt directly
that we were bound, in justice to all parties,
not to profit by our mistress's generosity.
"We gratefully thank your ladyship," I said;
"but we ask permission to do what is right in
this matter, by giving up our keys. When
Gabriel Betteredge sets the exemple," says I,
stopping Superintendent Seegrave at the door,
"the rest of the servants will follow, I promise
you. There are my keys, to begin with!" My
lady took me by the hand, and thanked me
with the tears in her eyes. Lord! what would