CHAPTER III

by Wilkie Collins

Among the guests at the dinner party, Mr. Murthwaite stood out the most.

When he returned to England after his travels, everyone was captivated by the adventurer who had survived countless dangers and lived to tell the tale. Now, he had announced plans to head back to the very places where he had faced those perils, intent on exploring regions that remained untouched. His bold disregard for his own safety reignited the fading interest of those who admired him. The odds were clearly against him surviving this next venture. It’s not every day you meet a notable figure at dinner, only to think that the next news you might hear could be about his murder.

Once the ladies left the dining room, I found myself seated next to Mr. Murthwaite. With all the guests being English, it was no surprise that, as soon as the women were gone, the conversation turned to politics—a natural outcome in such company.

When it comes to politics, I’m one of the least typical Englishmen you could meet. Generally, I find political discussions to be the most tedious and pointless of all conversations. As I glanced at Mr. Murthwaite after the first round of drinks was served, I noticed he seemed to share my sentiments. He was skillfully navigating the conversation—showing utmost respect for our host—but it was clear he was preparing to doze off. I thought it might be worth a shot to see if a mention of the Moonstone would keep him awake, and if it did, I was curious to hear his thoughts on the latest twist in the Indian conspiracy that had come to light in my office.

“If I’m not mistaken, Mr. Murthwaite,” I began, “you knew the late Lady Verinder and had some interest in the strange series of events that led to the loss of the Moonstone?”

The esteemed traveler immediately perked up and asked who I was.

I introduced myself as someone connected to the Herncastle family, making sure to mention my unusual role with the Colonel and his diamond in the past.

Mr. Murthwaite adjusted his position in his chair, turning away from the rest of the guests—both Conservatives and Liberals—and focused entirely on me, Mr. Bruff, from Gray’s Inn Square.

“Have you heard anything from the Indians lately?” he asked.

“I have every reason to believe that one of them visited me in my office yesterday,” I replied.

Mr. Murthwaite was not easily surprised, but my answer completely took him aback. I recounted the events involving Mr. Luker and my own experience just as I’ve described them here. “It’s clear the Indian’s last question had a purpose,” I added. “Why would he be so eager to know when a borrower is typically allowed to repay a loan?”

“Is it possible you don’t see his motive, Mr. Bruff?”

“I’m embarrassed to admit it, Mr. Murthwaite, but I really don’t.”

The great traveler seemed genuinely intrigued, probing the depths of my ignorance.

“Let me ask you one question,” he said. “What is the current status of the conspiracy to seize the Moonstone?”

“I can’t say,” I replied. “The Indian plot remains a mystery to me.”

“The Indian plot, Mr. Bruff, can only be a mystery to you because you’ve never taken the time to examine it seriously. Shall we go over it together, from when you drafted Colonel Herncastle’s will to when the Indian visited your office? Given your position, it’s crucial for Miss Verinder’s interests that you have a clear understanding of this matter if the need arises. So tell me, would you like to figure out the Indian’s motive yourself, or would you prefer I help you with that?”

It goes without saying that I recognized the practical purpose behind his inquiry, and I chose the first option—determined to uncover the truth for myself.

“Very well,” Mr. Murthwaite said, leaning back in his chair. “Let’s start with the ages of the three Indians. They all seem to be around the same age, wouldn’t you agree? You can decide for yourself if the man you saw was in the prime of his life. Not forty, you think? I agree. So, we’ll say he’s not forty.

Now, let’s think back to when Colonel Herncastle came to England and the plan you were involved in to protect his life. I don’t want you to count the years, but it’s clear that these Indians, at their age, must be the successors of three other Indians—high-caste Brahmins, mind you—who followed the Colonel here.

That’s straightforward enough. But it’s more than just a succession; they’ve taken over the organization their predecessors set up in this country. Don’t look surprised! To us, it might seem trivial, but it’s worth noting. I’d say it involves managing money, relying on that shady sort of Englishman who lurks in the shadows of foreign life in London, and having the quiet support of a few men from their own country—and, at least in the past, from their own religion—who help meet the various needs of this vast city. Nothing too intimidating, right? But we might need to refer back to this little Indian organization as we move forward.

Now that we’ve laid the groundwork, I have a question for you, and I expect your experience to shed some light on it. What event gave the Indians their first opportunity to seize the Diamond?”

I understood what he was getting at.

“The first chance they had,” I replied, “was clearly when Colonel Herncastle died. They would have learned about his death, I assume?”

“Of course. And as you said, that death gave them their first opportunity. Until then, the Moonstone was safely locked away in the bank’s strongroom. You drew up the Colonel’s Will, leaving the jewel to his niece, and it was proved in the usual manner. As a lawyer, you know exactly what steps the Indians would take after that.”

“They would get a copy of the Will from Doctors’ Commons,” I said.

“Exactly. One of those shady Englishmen I mentioned would help them obtain the copy you described. That document would tell them that the Moonstone was bequeathed to Lady Verinder’s daughter and that Mr. Blake the elder, or someone he appointed, was to hand it over to her. You’d agree that finding out about Lady Verinder and Mr. Blake wouldn’t be difficult at all. The only challenge for the Indians would be deciding whether to make their move while the Diamond was being transferred from the bank or wait until it was taken to Lady Verinder’s house in Yorkshire. The latter would clearly be the safer option—and that explains why the Indians showed up at Frizinghall disguised as jugglers, biding their time.

In London, they had their organization keeping them updated. Two men would suffice: one to follow anyone leaving Mr. Blake’s house for the bank, and another to ply the lower servants with beer to gather gossip. These simple precautions would easily inform them that Mr. Franklin Blake had been to the bank and that he was the only one in the house planning to visit Lady Verinder. You remember what happened next, I’m sure, just as well as I do.”

I recalled how Franklin Blake had caught one of the spies in the street, which led him to arrive in Yorkshire hours earlier than planned. Thanks to old Betteredge’s wise advice, he had secured the Diamond in the bank at Frizinghall before the Indians even knew he was in the area. Everything was clear up to that point. But if the Indians were unaware of these precautions, why hadn’t they attempted to break into Lady Verinder’s house—where they must have assumed the Diamond was—during the time leading up to Rachel’s birthday?

I raised this question with Mr. Murthwaite, adding that I had heard about the little boy, the drop of ink, and everything else, and that any explanation involving clairvoyance wouldn’t convince me at all.

“Not to mine either,” Mr. Murthwaite replied. “In this case, the clairvoyance is just an expression of the romantic side of the Indian character. It must be refreshing and encouraging for those men—something that might seem completely unbelievable to an English mind—to wrap their tedious and dangerous mission in this country with a sense of the marvelous and the supernatural. Their boy is undoubtedly sensitive to the mesmeric influence, and under that influence, he likely reflects what was already in the mind of the person mesmerizing him. I’ve tested the theory of clairvoyance, and I’ve never seen it go beyond that point. The Indians don’t approach it this way; they see their boy as a Seer of things that are invisible to them. In that marvel, they find a new interest in their shared purpose. I mention this only to highlight a curious perspective on human character that must be quite new to you. We have nothing to do with clairvoyance, mesmerism, or anything else that might be hard for a practical man to believe in the investigation we are currently pursuing. My goal in following the Indian plot step by step is to trace the results back to their natural causes through rational means. Have I satisfied you so far?”

“Absolutely, Mr. Murthwaite! However, I’m quite anxious to hear the rational explanation for the difficulty I just presented to you.”

Mr. Murthwaite smiled. “That’s the easiest difficulty to address,” he said. “Let me start by agreeing with your assessment of the situation. The Indians were certainly unaware of what Mr. Franklin Blake had done with the Diamond, as evidenced by their first mistake on the night of Mr. Blake’s arrival at his aunt’s house.”

“Their first mistake?” I echoed.

“Indeed! Their mistake was allowing themselves to be caught lurking around the terrace at night by Gabriel Betteredge. However, they did recognize their error, as you pointed out, and after that, they stayed away from the house for weeks.”

“Why, Mr. Murthwaite? That’s what I want to understand! Why?”

“Because no Indian, Mr. Bruff, ever takes unnecessary risks. The clause you drew up in Colonel Herncastle’s Will informed them, didn’t it, that the Moonstone would pass entirely into Miss Verinder’s possession on her birthday? So, what do you think was the safest course for men in their position? To try to seize the Diamond while it was still under the control of Mr. Franklin Blake, who had already shown he could suspect and outsmart them? Or to wait until the Diamond was in the hands of a young girl who would innocently love wearing the beautiful jewel at every opportunity? Perhaps you need proof that my theory holds? Look at the Indians’ actions as evidence. They showed up at the house after all those weeks on Miss Verinder’s birthday, and their careful calculations were rewarded when they saw the Moonstone nestled in her dress! When I heard the story of the Colonel and the Diamond later that evening, I was convinced of the risk Mr. Franklin Blake had faced (they would have certainly attacked him if he hadn’t returned to Lady Verinder’s with other people); and I was even more convinced of the greater danger awaiting Miss Verinder. That’s why I suggested following the Colonel’s plan to destroy the gem’s identity by cutting it into separate stones. How the extraordinary disappearance of the Diamond that night rendered my advice useless and thwarted the Hindoo plot—and how the Indians were then arrested the next day as rogues and vagabonds—you know as well as I do. That’s where the first act of the conspiracy ends. Before we move on to the second act, may I ask if my explanation has addressed your difficulty in a way that satisfies a practical mind?”

It was impossible to deny that he had addressed my concern fairly, thanks to his deeper understanding of the Indian character—and his not having had to think about hundreds of other Wills since Colonel Herncastle’s time!

“So far, so good,” Mr. Murthwaite continued. “The first opportunity the Indians had to seize the Diamond was lost on the day they were imprisoned in Frizinghall. When did the second chance arise? As I can prove, the second chance came while they were still in confinement.”

He pulled out his pocketbook and opened it to a specific page before continuing.

“I was staying with some friends in Frizinghall at the time,” he continued. “A day or two before the Indians were released—on a Monday, if I recall—the prison governor approached me with a letter. It had been sent for the Indians by a woman named Mrs. Macann, from whom they had rented their lodging. The letter had arrived at Mrs. Macann’s door the previous morning, just like any other piece of mail.

The prison authorities noticed that the postmark was from Lambeth and that the address, while written in correct English, was oddly formatted. When they opened it, they found the contents written in a foreign language, which they correctly identified as Hindustani. They came to me, of course, to have the letter translated. I made a copy of the original and my translation, and here they are for you.”

He handed me his open pocketbook. The first thing I saw was the address he had copied. It was all written in one long paragraph without any punctuation: “To the three Indian men living with the lady called Macann at Frizinghall in Yorkshire.” Following that were the Hindoo characters, and at the end was the English translation, which read:

“In the name of the Regent of the Night, whose seat is on the Antelope, whose arms embrace the four corners of the earth.

“Brothers, turn your faces to the south, and come to me in the street of many noises, which leads down to the muddy river.

“The reason is this.

“My own eyes have seen it.”

The letter ended there, without a date or signature. I handed it back to Mr. Murthwaite, admitting that this strange piece of Hindoo correspondence puzzled me.

“I can explain the first sentence,” he said. “And the actions of the Indians will clarify the rest. In Hindoo mythology, the moon god is depicted as a four-armed deity seated on an antelope, and one of his titles is the Regent of the Night. So, right from the start, we have something that seems suspiciously like an indirect reference to the Moonstone.

Now, let’s look at what the Indians did after the prison authorities allowed them to receive their letter. On the very day they were released, they went straight to the railway station and boarded the first train to London. We all thought it was a shame that their movements weren’t being monitored. But after Lady Verinder dismissed the police officer and halted any further investigation into the Diamond’s disappearance, no one else could take action. The Indians were free to go to London, and that’s exactly where they went. What was the next thing we heard about them, Mr. Bruff?”

“They were bothering Mr. Luker,” I replied, “by hanging around his house in Lambeth.”

“Did you read the report of Mr. Luker’s application to the magistrate?”

“Yes.”

“In his statement, he mentioned a foreign worker he had just dismissed on suspicion of attempted theft, someone he also distrusted as possibly colluding with the Indians who were troubling him. The implication is pretty clear, Mr. Bruff, regarding who wrote that letter that puzzled you, and which of Mr. Luker’s Oriental treasures the worker tried to steal.”

The implication, I had to admit, was too obvious to overlook. I had never doubted that the Moonstone had ended up in Mr. Luker’s possession at the time Mr. Murthwaite referenced. My only question had been how the Indians had discovered this fact. Now, that question—one I thought would be the hardest to answer—had been resolved, just like the others. As a lawyer, I began to feel I could trust Mr. Murthwaite to guide me through the final twists of this labyrinth he had led me through so far. I complimented him on this, and he graciously accepted my small concession.

“You need to give me a piece of information before we continue,” he said. “Someone must have taken the Moonstone from Yorkshire to London. And someone must have raised money on it, or it wouldn’t have ended up in Mr. Luker’s hands. Has there been any discovery about who that person was?”

“None that I know of.”

“There was a rumor about Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite, wasn’t there? I hear he’s an eminent philanthropist—which is definitely a mark against him, to start with.”

I wholeheartedly agreed with Mr. Murthwaite on that point. At the same time, I felt it was necessary to inform him—without mentioning Miss Verinder’s name—that Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite had been cleared of all suspicion, based on evidence I could vouch for as completely reliable.

“Alright,” Mr. Murthwaite said calmly, “let’s leave it to time to sort this out. In the meantime, Mr. Bruff, we need to return to the Indians, especially for your sake. Their trip to London ended in yet another failure. Their second chance to seize the Diamond was largely lost due to Mr. Luker’s cleverness and foresight—after all, he’s not at the top of the lending game for nothing! By quickly dismissing the man he employed, he cut off the Indians from the help their ally would have provided in getting into the house. And by swiftly moving the Moonstone to his bank, he caught the conspirators off guard before they could come up with a new plan to rob him.

How the Indians figured out what he had done and how they managed to get hold of his bank receipt are events too fresh to dwell on. It’s enough to say they know the Moonstone is once again out of their reach, safely stored (under the vague label of ‘a valuable of great price’) in a bank vault. Now, Mr. Bruff, what is their third chance to seize the Diamond? And when will that be?”

As the question left his lips, I finally understood the reason behind the Indian’s visit to my office.

“I get it!” I exclaimed. “The Indians assume, just like we do, that the Moonstone has been pledged, and they want to know the earliest time it can be redeemed—because that’s when they can take the Diamond out of the bank!”

“I told you that you’d figure it out if I gave you a fair chance, Mr. Bruff. A year from when the Moonstone was pledged, the Indians will be ready for their third opportunity. Mr. Luker has told them how long they’ll have to wait, and your reputable authority has confirmed that he’s telling the truth. When do we think, roughly, that the Diamond ended up in the money-lender’s hands?”

“Towards the end of last June,” I replied, as best as I could estimate.

“And now it’s the year ’48. Very well. If the unknown person who pledged the Moonstone can redeem it in a year, that jewel will be back in that person’s possession by the end of June ’49. I’ll be thousands of miles away from England and any news by then. But it might be worth your while to take note of it and plan to be in London at that time.”

“Do you think something serious will happen?” I asked.

“I believe I’ll be safer among the fiercest fanatics of Central Asia than if I walked into the bank with the Moonstone in my pocket. The Indians have been defeated twice already, Mr. Bruff. I firmly believe they won’t be defeated a third time.”

Those were the last words he spoke on the matter. The coffee was served, the guests rose and scattered around the room, and we joined the ladies of the dinner party upstairs.

I made a note of the date, and it seems fitting to conclude my narrative by repeating that note here:

_June ’49. Expect news of the Indians towards the end of the month._

With that done, I pass the pen, which I no longer have the right to use, to the next writer who will continue this story.