FOURTH NARRATIVE (3/3)

by Wilkie Collins

After following my instructions and adding the water, Miss Verinder seized a moment while Betteredge was busy locking the chest and Mr. Bruff was distracted with his papers. She leaned in and gave the rim of the medicine glass a quick kiss. “When you give it to him,” she said with a charming smile, “make sure to hand it to him from that side!”

I pulled out the piece of crystal that was meant to stand in for the Diamond and handed it to her.

“You need to be involved in this too,” I said. “You should place it where you put the Moonstone last year.”

She led me to the Indian cabinet and carefully placed the mock Diamond into the drawer that had held the real Diamond on that fateful birthday night. Mr. Bruff watched this with a look of disapproval, just as he had observed everything else. But the dramatic tension of the moment was clearly too much for Betteredge to handle. His hand shook as he held the candle, and he leaned in, whispering anxiously, “Are you sure, miss, that’s the right drawer?”

I stepped back out, laudanum and water in hand. At the door, I paused to share one last thought with Miss Verinder.

“Don’t take too long to put out the lights,” I said.

“I’ll put them out right away,” she replied. “And I’ll wait in my bedroom with just one candle lit.”

She shut the sitting-room door behind us. I followed Mr. Bruff and Betteredge back to Mr. Blake’s room.

When we entered, we found him shifting restlessly in bed, irritated and wondering if he would be getting the laudanum that night. With the two witnesses present, I administered the dose, fluffed his pillows, and told him to lie back down and wait quietly.

His bed, adorned with light chintz curtains, was positioned against the wall, leaving ample space on either side. I fully drew the curtains on one side and placed Mr. Bruff and Betteredge in the part of the room now hidden from his view, waiting for the outcome. At the foot of the bed, I partially drew the curtains and set my chair a little distance away, allowing him the choice to see me or not, to speak to me or remain silent, depending on how things unfolded. Knowing he always slept with a light on, I placed one of the two lit candles on a small table at the head of the bed, ensuring the light wouldn’t glare directly into his eyes. The other candle I handed to Mr. Bruff, the light softened by the chintz curtains. The window was slightly open for ventilation, and the rain fell gently outside, the house enveloped in quiet. It was twenty minutes past eleven when I settled into my chair at the foot of the bed, ready for what was to come.

Mr. Bruff returned to his papers, appearing as engrossed as ever. But as I glanced his way, I noticed subtle signs that the tension of the situation was starting to chip away at his usual composure. The suspense was beginning to take hold even of his practical mind. As for Betteredge, his principles and dignity had evaporated into mere words. He completely forgot that I was performing a trick on Mr. Franklin Blake; he forgot that I had turned the house upside down; he even forgot that I hadn’t read *Robinson Crusoe* since childhood. “For heaven’s sake, sir,” he whispered to me, “tell us when it will start working.”

“Not before midnight,” I whispered back. “Keep quiet and stay still.”

Betteredge, without any attempt to maintain his usual decorum, sank to a level of familiarity I hadn’t expected. He simply responded with a wink!

Turning my attention back to Mr. Blake, I found him still restless in bed, fretfully questioning why the laudanum hadn’t taken effect yet. Trying to explain that the more he fidgeted and wondered, the longer he would prolong the very result we were waiting for would have been pointless. Instead, I decided the best approach was to gently guide his thoughts away from the opium and lead him to focus on something else entirely.

With this in mind, I encouraged him to talk, steering the conversation back to the topic that had captured our attention earlier that evening—the Diamond. I made sure to revisit the parts of the Moonstone’s story that dealt with its journey from London to Yorkshire, the risk Mr. Blake had taken when he removed it from the bank at Frizinghall, and the unexpected arrival of the Indians at the house on his birthday. I intentionally pretended to misunderstand much of what Mr. Blake had shared with me just hours before. This way, I got him engaged in the discussion that was crucial for filling his mind—without him realizing I had an agenda.

Gradually, he became so engrossed in correcting my misunderstandings that he forgot to fidget in bed. His thoughts drifted away from the opium at the critical moment when his eyes first revealed that the drug was beginning to take hold of his mind.

I glanced at my watch. It was just five minutes to midnight when the first signs of the laudanum's effects became apparent to me.

At that moment, anyone untrained wouldn’t have noticed any change in him. But as the minutes of the new day passed, the subtle influence of the opium began to manifest more clearly. A dreamy intoxication sparkled in his eyes, and a fine sheen of perspiration appeared on his face. In another five minutes, the conversation he was still maintaining with me lost its coherence. He remained focused on the Diamond, but his sentences trailed off unfinished. Soon, he was down to single words. Then came a stretch of silence. He sat up in bed, still fixated on the Diamond, but began to speak again—not to me, but to himself. That shift told me the first stage of my experiment had been reached. The opium's influence had taken hold.

It was now twenty-three minutes past twelve. The next half hour would determine whether he would get up from his bed and leave the room.

In my breathless anticipation of watching him—in the overwhelming thrill of witnessing the first signs of my experiment unfold almost exactly as I had predicted—I completely forgot about my two companions keeping vigil with me. When I glanced at them, I saw the Law (represented by Mr. Bruff’s papers) lying neglected on the floor. Mr. Bruff was peering eagerly through a gap in the hastily drawn curtains of the bed, while Betteredge, disregarding all social boundaries, was leaning over Mr. Bruff’s shoulder.

Both of them jumped back, startled to find me watching them, like schoolboys caught in mischief. I gestured for them to quietly remove their boots, just as I was doing. If Mr. Blake gave us the opportunity to follow him, it was crucial that we did so without making a sound.

Ten minutes passed—and nothing happened. Then, suddenly, he threw the bedclothes off and swung one leg over the side of the bed. He paused.

“I wish I had never taken it out of the bank,” he muttered to himself. “It was safe in the bank.”

My heart raced; I could feel the pulse in my temples pounding. The doubt about the safety of the Diamond was once again the dominant thought in his mind! The entire success of my experiment hinged on that one idea. The prospect that had just opened up before me was almost too much for my frayed nerves. I had to look away from him, or I would lose my composure.

Another silence fell.

When I felt I could look back at him without betraying my emotions, he was standing at the side of the bed. His pupils were constricted, and his eyes shone in the candlelight as he moved his head slowly from side to side. He was deep in thought, wrestling with doubt—then he spoke again.

“How do I know?” he said. “The Indians may be hidden in the house.”

He paused, walking slowly to the far end of the room. He turned, hesitated, then returned to the bed.

“It’s not even locked up,” he continued. “It’s in the drawer of her cabinet. And the drawer doesn’t lock.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed. “Anyone could take it,” he said.

He stood up again, restless, and repeated his earlier words.

“How do I know? The Indians may be hidden in the house.”

He paused once more. I stepped back behind the half curtain of the bed. He scanned the room, his eyes vacant and shimmering. It was a tense moment. There was a pause of some kind. A pause in the effects of the opium? A pause in his thought process? Who could say? Everything now depended on what he would do next.

Then, he lay back down on the bed!

A terrible doubt crept into my mind. Was the opium already taking effect? That didn’t align with my experience, but then again, what did I really know about opium? No two people react to it the same way. Was there something unique about him that made the drug hit differently? Were we about to fail just when success was within reach?

“No! How the hell am I supposed to sleep with this on my mind?” he exclaimed, suddenly getting to his feet.

He glanced at the candle flickering on the table beside his bed. After a moment, he picked it up.

I extinguished the second candle that was burning behind the closed curtains. Mr. Bruff, Betteredge, and I retreated into the far corner by the bed. I gestured for them to be quiet, as if our lives depended on it.

We waited, seeing and hearing nothing, hidden from him by the curtains.

Suddenly, the light he held on the other side of us shifted. In the next moment, he passed us swiftly and silently, candle in hand.

He opened the bedroom door and stepped out.

We followed him down the corridor, down the stairs, and along the second corridor. He never looked back; he never hesitated.

He opened the sitting-room door and walked in, leaving it ajar.

The door, like all the others in the house, was hung on large, old-fashioned hinges. When it swung open, a small gap appeared between the door and the frame. I signaled to my companions to peek through, ensuring they stayed hidden. I positioned myself outside the door, on the opposite side, ready to slip into a recess in the wall if he turned back.

He moved to the center of the room, candle still in hand, scanning the space—but he never glanced back.

I noticed the door to Miss Verinder’s bedroom slightly ajar. She had turned off her light, maintaining her composure beautifully. The faint outline of her summer dress was all I could make out. Anyone unaware would have thought the room empty; she remained still and silent in the shadows.

It was now ten minutes past one. Through the heavy silence, I could hear the soft patter of rain and the gentle rustle of the night air through the trees.

After hesitating for a minute or more in the middle of the room, he moved toward the corner by the window, where the Indian cabinet stood.

He placed his candle on top of the cabinet and began to open and close drawers one by one until he reached the one containing the mock Diamond. He peered inside for a moment, then pulled out the mock Diamond with his right hand, taking the candle from the cabinet with the other.

He stepped back a few paces toward the center of the room and paused again.

So far, he had mirrored his actions from the birthday night exactly. Would he follow the same path as before? Would he leave the room? Would he return to his bedroom, just as I believed he had done last year? Would he reveal what he had done with the Diamond when he got back to his own space?

His next move, however, was something he hadn’t done during his first experience with the opium. He set the candle down on a table and wandered a bit toward the far end of the room. There was a sofa there. He leaned heavily against its back with his left hand, then shook himself awake and returned to the center of the room. I could see his eyes now; they were growing dull and heavy, the spark fading fast.

The tension of the moment proved too much for Miss Verinder. She took a few steps forward, then halted again. Mr. Bruff and Betteredge exchanged glances, sensing the disappointment looming over us all.

Yet, as long as he remained where he was, there was still hope. We waited in breathless anticipation, eager to see what would happen next.

Then it happened. He let the mock Diamond slip from his fingers.

It fell to the floor, right before the doorway—clearly visible to him and everyone else. He made no move to pick it up; instead, he stared down at it blankly, his head drooping to his chest. He staggered, briefly roused himself, then unsteadily walked back to the sofa and sat down. He made one last attempt to rise but sank back down, his head falling onto the cushions. It was twenty-five minutes past one o’clock. By the time I tucked my watch back into my pocket, he was fast asleep.

It was all over now. The sedative had taken hold; the experiment was finished.

I stepped into the room, motioning for Mr. Bruff and Betteredge to follow me. There was no worry about disturbing him; we were free to talk and move around.

“The first thing we need to figure out,” I said, “is what we’re going to do with him. He’ll likely sleep for the next six or seven hours, at least. It’s quite a distance to carry him back to his own room. When I was younger, I could have managed it on my own, but my health isn’t what it used to be. I’m afraid I’ll need your help.”

Before they could respond, Miss Verinder called to me softly. She appeared at her door, draped in a light shawl and holding the counterpane from her bed.

“Are you planning to watch him while he sleeps?” she asked.

“Yes, I’m not confident enough about how the opium will affect him to leave him alone.”

She handed me the shawl and the counterpane.

“Why disturb him?” she whispered. “Just make his bed on the sofa. I can close my door and stay in my room.”

It was undoubtedly the simplest and safest way to handle him for the night. I shared her suggestion with Mr. Bruff and Betteredge, both of whom agreed it was a good idea. In just five minutes, I had him comfortably settled on the sofa, lightly covered with the counterpane and shawl. Miss Verinder wished us goodnight and closed her door. At my request, the three of us gathered around the table in the middle of the room, where the candle still flickered and writing materials were laid out.

“Before we part ways,” I began, “I want to discuss the experiment we conducted tonight. We had two main goals. The first was to demonstrate that Mr. Blake entered this room and took the Diamond last year, acting unconsciously and irresponsibly under the influence of opium. After what you both witnessed, are you satisfied with that?”

They nodded in agreement without hesitation.

“The second goal,” I continued, “was to find out what he did with the Diamond after Miss Verinder saw him leave her sitting room with it on the night of her birthday. Achieving this depended on him repeating exactly what he did last year. Unfortunately, he didn’t do that, which means our experiment has failed. I can’t say I’m not disappointed by the outcome, but I can honestly say I’m not surprised. I warned Mr. Blake from the start that our success depended on perfectly recreating the physical and moral conditions from last year, and I cautioned him that this was nearly impossible. We only partially recreated those conditions, and as a result, the experiment was only partially successful. It’s also possible that I might have given him too large a dose of laudanum. But I believe the first reason I mentioned is the true cause of our failure, as well as our partial success.”

After saying this, I placed the writing materials in front of Mr. Bruff and asked if he would mind drafting and signing a straightforward statement of what he had observed before we called it a night. He immediately took the pen and, with the ease of someone experienced, wrote out the statement.

“I owe you this,” he said, signing the paper, “as a way to make amends for our earlier conversation. I apologize, Mr. Jennings, for doubting you. You’ve provided an invaluable service to Franklin Blake. In legal terms, you’ve proven your case.”

Betteredge’s apology was typical of his character.

“Mr. Jennings,” he said, “when you read _Robinson Crusoe_ again (which I highly recommend), you’ll notice he never hesitates to admit when he’s wrong. Please consider me, sir, as doing what Robinson Crusoe did in this situation.” With that, he signed the paper as well.

Mr. Bruff pulled me aside as we rose from the table.

“One last word about the Diamond,” he said. “Your theory is that Franklin Blake hid the Moonstone in his room. My theory is that it’s in the hands of Mr. Luker’s bankers in London. We won’t argue about who’s right. Instead, let’s ask who’s in a position to test their theory.”

“The test, in my case,” I replied, “was conducted tonight, and it failed.”

“The test, in my case,” Mr. Bruff replied, “is still ongoing. For the past two days, I’ve had a watch set for Mr. Luker at the bank, and I plan to keep that watch going until the end of the month. He has to take the Diamond out of his bank himself, and I’m hoping that the person who pledged the Diamond will force his hand by redeeming it. If that happens, I might be able to identify that person. If I succeed, I’ll solve the mystery right at the point where it currently eludes us. Do you agree with that?”

I nodded in agreement.

“I’m heading back to town on the morning train,” the lawyer continued. “By the time I return, I might hear that a discovery has been made. It could be crucial for me to have Franklin Blake available to consult if needed. I plan to tell him as soon as he wakes up that he must come back to London with me. After everything that’s happened, can I count on your support?”

“Of course!” I replied.

Mr. Bruff shook my hand and left the room, with Betteredge following him out.

I moved to the sofa to check on Mr. Blake. He hadn’t stirred since I laid him down and made him comfortable—he was deep in a peaceful sleep.

While I watched him, I heard the bedroom door open quietly. Miss Verinder appeared again, dressed in her lovely summer dress.

“Can you do me one last favor?” she whispered. “Let me watch him with you.”

I hesitated—not out of concern for propriety, but for her own rest. She stepped closer and took my hand.

“I can’t sleep; I can’t even sit still in my own room,” she confessed. “Oh, Mr. Jennings, if you were in my place, you’d want to sit and look at him too. Please say yes!”

Was it really necessary to mention that I gave in? Surely not!

She pulled a chair to the foot of the sofa and gazed at him, lost in a silent joy that brought tears to her eyes. Wiping her tears, she said she would go get her work. She returned with it, but never managed to do a single stitch. It rested in her lap—she couldn’t tear her gaze away from him long enough to thread her needle. I thought back to my own youth, to the gentle eyes that once looked at me with love. With a heavy heart, I turned to my Journal for solace and wrote down what you see here.

So we kept our vigil in silence—one of us absorbed in writing, the other in love.

Hour after hour, he lay in his deep sleep. The light of dawn filled the room, yet he remained still.

Around six o’clock, I felt the familiar warning that my pains were returning. I had to leave her alone with him for a bit. I said I would go upstairs to get another pillow from his room. This time, the attack was brief. Soon, I was able to return and let her see me again.

When I came back, I found her at the head of the sofa, gently kissing his forehead. I shook my head as seriously as I could and pointed to her chair. She looked back at me with a bright smile, color blooming in her cheeks. “You would have done the same in my place!” she whispered.

It was just eight o’clock. He was beginning to stir for the first time.

Miss Verinder knelt beside the sofa, positioning herself so that when his eyes opened, they would meet hers first.

Should I leave them together?

Yes!

Eleven o’clock— the house was empty once more. They had made their plans; everyone had left for London on the ten o’clock train. My brief moment of happiness was over. I had awakened again to the reality of my lonely life.

I couldn’t bring myself to write down the kind words that had been said to me—especially by Miss Verinder and Mr. Blake. Besides, it felt unnecessary. Those words would return to me in my solitary moments and help me through the remainder of my days. Mr. Blake promised to write and tell me what happens in London. Miss Verinder plans to return to Yorkshire in the autumn (most likely for her wedding), and I’m to take a holiday and be a guest in their home. Oh, how I felt as I saw the grateful happiness shining in her eyes, and the warm pressure of her hand saying, “This is your doing!”

My poor patients are waiting for me. Back to the old routine this morning! Back tonight to the dreadful choice between the opium and the pain!

Thank God for His mercy! I’ve seen a little sunshine—I’ve had a happy time.