The Moonstone Wilkie Collins (ebook reader for manga .txt) đ
- Author: Wilkie Collins
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âA sailor,â said Sergeant Cuff, âmight have done itâ âearly in the morning, before the street was astir. He would be used to climbing, and his head wouldnât fail him on the roofs of the houses.â
As he spoke, the arrival of the carpenter was announced. We all went upstairs, at once, to the top story. I noticed that the Sergeant was unusually grave, even for him. It also struck me as odd that he told the boy (after having previously encouraged him to follow us), to wait in the room below till we came down again.
The carpenterâs hammer and chisel disposed of the resistance of the door in a few minutes. But some article of furniture had been placed against it inside, as a barricade. By pushing at the door, we thrust this obstacle aside, and so got admission to the room. The landlord entered first; the Sergeant second; and I third. The other persons present followed us.
We all looked towards the bed, and all started.
The man had not left the room. He lay, dressed, on the bedâ âwith a white pillow over his face, which completely hid it from view.
âWhat does that mean?â said the landlord, pointing to the pillow.
Sergeant Cuff led the way to the bed, without answering, and removed the pillow.
The manâs swarthy face was placid and still; his black hair and beard were slightly, very slightly, discomposed. His eyes stared wide-open, glassy and vacant, at the ceiling. The filmy look and the fixed expression of them horrified me. I turned away, and went to the open window. The rest of them remained, where Sergeant Cuff remained, at the bed.
âHeâs in a fit!â I heard the landlord say.
âHeâs dead,â the Sergeant answered. âSend for the nearest doctor, and send for the police.â
The waiter was despatched on both errands. Some strange fascination seemed to hold Sergeant Cuff to the bed. Some strange curiosity seemed to keep the rest of them waiting, to see what the Sergeant would do next.
I turned again to the window. The moment afterwards, I felt a soft pull at my coattails, and a small voice whispered, âLook here, sir!â
Gooseberry had followed us into the room. His loose eyes rolled frightfullyâ ânot in terror, but in exultation. He had made a detective-discovery on his own account. âLook here, sir,â he repeatedâ âand led me to a table in the corner of the room.
On the table stood a little wooden box, open, and empty. On one side of the box lay some jewellersâ cotton. On the other side, was a torn sheet of white paper, with a seal on it, partly destroyed, and with an inscription in writing, which was still perfectly legible. The inscription was in these words:
âDeposited with Messrs. Bushe, Lysaught, and Bushe, by Mr. Septimus Luker, of Middlesex Place, Lambeth, a small wooden box, sealed up in this envelope, and containing a valuable of great price. The box, when claimed, to be only given up by Messrs. Bushe and Co. on the personal application of Mr. Luker.â
Those lines removed all further doubt, on one point at least. The sailor had been in possession of the Moonstone, when he had left the bank on the previous day.
I felt another pull at my coattails. Gooseberry had not done with me yet.
âRobbery!â whispered the boy, pointing, in high delight, to the empty box.
âYou were told to wait downstairs,â I said. âGo away!â
âAnd murder!â added Gooseberry, pointing, with a keener relish still, to the man on the bed.
There was something so hideous in the boyâs enjoyment of the horror of the scene, that I took him by the two shoulders and put him out of the room.
At the moment when I crossed the threshold of the door, I heard Sergeant Cuffâs voice, asking where I was. He met me, as I returned into the room, and forced me to go back with him to the bedside.
âMr. Blake!â he said. âLook at the manâs face. It is a face disguisedâ âand hereâs a proof of it!â
He traced with his finger a thin line of livid white, running backward from the dead manâs forehead, between the swarthy complexion, and the slightly-disturbed black hair. âLetâs see what is under this,â said the Sergeant, suddenly seizing the black hair, with a firm grip of his hand.
My nerves were not strong enough to bear it. I turned away again from the bed.
The first sight that met my eyes, at the other end of the room, was the irrepressible Gooseberry, perched on a chair, and looking with breathless interest, over the heads of his elders, at the Sergeantâs proceedings.
âHeâs pulling off his wig!â whispered Gooseberry, compassionating my position, as the only person in the room who could see nothing.
There was a pauseâ âand then a cry of astonishment among the people round the bed.
âHeâs pulled off his beard!â cried Gooseberry.
There was another pauseâ âSergeant Cuff asked for something. The landlord went to the wash-hand-stand, and returned to the bed with a basin of water and a towel.
Gooseberry danced with excitement on the chair. âCome up here, along with me, sir! Heâs washing off his complexion now!â
The Sergeant suddenly burst his way through the people about him, and came, with horror in his face, straight to the place where I was standing.
âCome back to the bed, sir!â he began. He looked at me closer, and checked himself âNo!â he resumed. âOpen the sealed letter firstâ âthe letter I gave you this morning.â
I opened the letter.
âRead the name, Mr. Blake, that I have written inside.â
I read the name that he had written. It was Godfrey Ablewhite.
âNow,â said the Sergeant, âcome with me, and look at the man on the bed.â
I went with him, and looked at the man on the bed.
Godfrey Ablewhite!
Sixth NarrativeContributed by Sergeant Cuff
IDorking, Surrey, July 30th, 1849.
To Franklin Blake, Esq. Sirâ âI beg to apologise for the delay that has occurred in the production of
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