The Moonstone

It was nearly one o'clock before I could get to the hotel to-day. The

visit, even in my shattered condition, proved to be a most amusing

one--thanks entirely to the presence on the scene of Gabriel Betteredge.

I found him in the room, when I went in. He withdrew to the window and

looked out, while I put my first customary question to my patient. Mr.

Blake had slept badly again, and he felt the loss of rest this morning

more than he had felt it yet.

I asked next if he had heard from Mr. Bruff.

A letter had reached him that morning. Mr. Bruff expressed the strongest

disapproval of the course which his friend and client was taking under

my advice. It was mischievous--for it excited hopes that might never be

realised. It was quite unintelligible to HIS mind, except that it

looked like a piece of trickery, akin to the trickery of mesmerism,

clairvoyance, and the like. It unsettled Miss Verinder's house, and

it would end in unsettling Miss Verinder herself. He had put the case

(without mentioning names) to an eminent physician; and the eminent

physician had smiled, had shaken his head, and had said--nothing. On

these grounds, Mr. Bruff entered his protest, and left it there.

My next inquiry related to the subject of the Diamond. Had the lawyer

produced any evidence to prove that the jewel was in London?

No, the lawyer had simply declined to discuss the question. He was

himself satisfied that the Moonstone had been pledged to Mr. Luker. His

eminent absent friend, Mr. Murthwaite (whose consummate knowledge of

the Indian character no one could deny), was satisfied also. Under these

circumstances, and with the many demands already made on him, he must

decline entering into any disputes on the subject of evidence. Time

would show; and Mr. Bruff was willing to wait for time.

It was quite plain--even if Mr. Blake had not made it plainer still

by reporting the substance of the letter, instead of reading what was

actually written--that distrust of me was at the bottom of all this.

Having myself foreseen that result, I was neither mortified nor

surprised. I asked Mr. Blake if his friend's protest had shaken him. He

answered emphatically, that it had not produced the slightest effect

on his mind. I was free after that to dismiss Mr. Bruff from

consideration--and I did dismiss him accordingly.

A pause in the talk between us, followed--and Gabriel Betteredge came

out from his retirement at the window.

"Can you favour me with your attention, sir?" he inquired, addressing

himself to me.

"I am quite at your service," I answered.