05| Something is Wanting
Next to sound judgment, diamonds and pearls are the rarest things in the world.
(Jean de la Bruyère)
Margaret woke early, before the first light of dawn outlined the drawn window-curtains. For a moment she was puzzled as to what had woken her, and she was about to go back to sleep—feeling for John's letter she had tucked under her pillow in going to bed the night before and smiling as her fingertips touched the folded paper—when she heard steps haste past her door, followed by a hushed, excited conversation further down the corridor. Deciding that it, probably, was none of her business, she turned around and was soon fast asleep.
She was not to sleep for long, however, before she was abruptly woken again by the rattling of the doorknob, accompanied by Dixon's urgent whisper, "Miss Margaret, are you all right?—The door is locked!"
Remembering that she had bolted the door on the previous night—just as she had promised John—Margaret jumped out of bed and let the maid in.
"Whatever did you lock yourself in for, miss?" the maid exclaimed, only to continue without waiting for an answer, "Miss Verinder's diamond is gone! Just gone!—disappeared from inside the Indian cabinet in her private parlour... Stolen during the night, they say. The whole house is in uproar!"
"Stolen?" Margaret asked, dumbfounded. "But how is this possible?"
"No-one can tell," Dixon cried. "No-one has heard a thing all through the night!—and with the dogs loose, no-one from outside could have got into the house."
"And it is quite certain that it hasn't simply been mislaid?—or slipped behind the drawer?"
"Penelope said they checked everywhere—"
"What does Miss Verinder say about all this?" Margaret wondered.
"The young lady is awfully upset," Dixon said. "According to the upstairs maids she has locked herself into her bedroom and refuses to speak with anyone."
"Are there any suspects as yet?"
"Word has it that Mr Blake and Betteredge figured out that one of the Indians must have crept back into the house after they'd been shown off the grounds, stole the diamond in the dead of night, and sneaked out again during all the commotion in the morning. Mr Blake has ridden into Frizinghall, to inform the local magistrate... There will be police in the house shortly—and we'll all end up being made accessories to the crime," she ended darkly.
"With the police arriving and questioning everybody in the house I may not be able to make my rendezvous with Mr Thornton," Margaret said. "I wonder if there is a way of sending him a message—"
"Betteredge said that, in such cases, nobody is supposed to leave the premises unless given leave by the police."
"This is most inopportune—and Mr Thornton will be worried!" Margaret exclaimed irritably.
"I daresay, in a small town like Frizinghall word will reach him ere long that the police have been summoned," Dixon said, "and then he will come here to inquire."
"You are perfectly right, Dixon," Margaret conceded. "In the meantime, help me get dressed... and then I'll go and find Mrs Clack."
When Margaret eventually came downstairs, Mrs Clack was already at breakfast. Mr Ablewhite and his sisters were also present, and all three of them looked suitably shocked by the events of that morning.
With many exclamations and interruptions by the Miss Ablewhites—which did nothing to enlighten the situation—Mrs Clack, with the occasional remark supplied by Mr Ablewhite, speedily apprised Margaret of the state of affairs. It was basically all—and little else besides—of what she had already learnt from Dixon. So, until they had word from Frizinghall, there was nothing for them to do but wait, and speculate.
The Miss Ablewhites expressed their disgust of the despicable crime in no uncertain manner, accusing 'those horrid strangers' of coming to the house, abusing their goodwill—"And didn't we tip them handsomely for their miserable show of tricks?"—and gaining illegal access... "Oh! We might all have been murdered in our beds!" the elder Miss Ablewhile wailed.
It wasn't just because of the Miss Ablewhites grating on her nerves that Margaret didn't idle over breakfast—the bacon was undercooked and the eggs cold; obviously those below stairs were as much put off their stride by this morning's developments as those above stairs.
"I suppose it is admissible to take a stroll up and down the terrace," Margaret remarked. "Would you like to come with me, Mrs Clack?"
The elder woman quickly acquiesced, and they rang for their coats and bonnets.
"Not a moment too soon," Mrs Clack quietly observed as they stepped outside. "I love my young cousins dearly, but they do try my patience at times—"
"I was in the hall with Mr Thornton last night until the butler returned from seeing the Indian jugglers off the premises," Margaret said quietly, "and afterwards the front door was locked and bolted—and with the cold outside I can't imagine that there had been any windows left ajar... What if it wasn't the jugglers that stole the diamond?"
"Heaven forbid!" Mrs Clack cried. "Are you trying to say that it was one of the servants?"
"Or one of the houseguests—"
They stared at each other, appalled. The only stranger amongst those houseguests was—Miss Margaret Hale. All the rest of them were family; and who would suspect a family member of such a heinous crime as stealing a diamond worth twenty-thousand pounds?
Later in the morning—by then everybody except Miss Verinder had gathered in the library—Mr Blake returned, announcing that Superintendant Seegrave would arrive shortly to take matters in hand.
Blake himself looked utterly deflated. Upon Lady Verinder's inquiry he admitted that his best hopes, namely of finding the Indians their prime suspects, had been crushed. He had it on the best authority; the police themselves confirmed that all three had been seen returning to Frizinghall on the previous night at just before eleven—which also proved that they had walked straight back after performing in the hall. Later still, at midnight, the police, having occasion to search the common lodging-house where they lived, had seen them all three again. And midnight had been the time when Betteredge had let the dogs loose—and from that point on no-one could have come to the house without being noticed. So, unless the three Indians had an hitherto unknown accomplice, they were out of the equation.
But, as it was just possible, when the police came to investigate the matter, that discoveries affecting the jugglers might yet be made, the magistrate had promised to contrive, by committing them as rogues and vagabonds, to keep them under lock and key, for a week. It was a stretch, but every human institution—justice included—might stretch a little, if only pulled it the right way, and by people in the right position; and as it happened the worthy magistrate was an old friend of Lady Verinder's.
Such was Blake's narrative of events at Frizinghall, and without another word he left the library, glumly shaking his head.
"Then it must indeed have been someone from inside the house!" Margaret mouthed in Mrs Clack's direction, her eyes wide. How long before either she or Dixon were going to be asked awkward questions?
Ten minutes later Superintendent Seegrave finally arrived at the house. He reported passing Mr Franklin Blake outside by the front door and warning the police, as they went by, that the investigation was hopeless, before the investigation had begun.
Mr Seegrave was tall and portly, and military in his manners. He had a fine commanding voice and a resolute eye, and a grand frock coat buttoned all the way up to his leather stock. Without saying as much, he left no doubt that there was no trifling with him!
He began by going round the premises, outside and in with the two policemen following close behind. The result of that investigation proved to him—just as Margaret had anticipated—that no thieves had broken in from outside, and that the robbery, consequently, must have been committed by a person, or persons, in the house.
It wasn't just Margaret whose anxiety rose when this official announcement first reached her ears. All the servants instantly were in a fine state of turmoil.
The superintendent decided to begin by examining Miss Verinder's parlour as the scene of the crime, and, that done, to examine the servants next. At the same time, he posted one of his men on the staircase which led to the servants' bedrooms, with instructions to let nobody in the house pass him, till further orders.
At this latter proceeding the maids went distracted on the spot. They whisked upstairs in a body—with the menservants following more slowly—to Miss Verinder's room, burst in on Superintendent Seegrave, and indignantly summoned him to say which of them he suspected, at once.
Drawn by the upstairs commotion the gentlefolk had come out of the library, raising their faces in the direction from where the superintendent's military voice rang out, clearly to be heard even in the hall, "Now, then, you women, go downstairs again, every one of you; I won't have you here!"
There was a mutter of discontent.
"Look!" The superintendent's voice rose another notch. "Look what mischief those petticoats of yours have done already; you smeared the painting on the door! Clear out!—all of you." The second housemaid, Rosanna, was the first to emerge at the top of the stairs and rush back to her work. Little by little the rest of the maidservants appeared, jabbering agitatedly, until Betteredge shooed them away.
As the servants—except for Betteredge—dispersed, Lady Verinder, all of the Ablewhithes, and Mrs Clack went upstairs to see for themselves how the superintendent's investigation was progressing. Margaret reluctantly followed in their wake. Mr Blake was still nowhere to be seen.
Penelope, as the one who had first discovered the Indian cabinet stand open and the diamond gone missing, was summoned next to be interrogated, but could add nothing new to the information gathered thus far.
Then Seegrave asked to see Miss Verinder herself who was still inside her bedroom, with the door locked. Penelope mentioned his request through the door.
"I have nothing to tell the policeman—I can't see anybody," Miss Verinder's voice, muffled by the wooden door, sounded from within.
The superintendent looked equally surprised and offended when he heard that reply. Betteredge told him his young lady was ill, and begged him to wait a little and see her later—but he would have no such thing. Eventually Lady Verinder stepped forward, and in a calm voice, but brooking no opposition, told her daughter to open up the door and let her in.
It was but a minute or two until the bedroom door opened up again, and out came Miss Verinder. Flatly ignoring the superintendent she addressed her maid. "Mr Franklin Blake sent you with a message to me this morning?"
"Yes, miss."
"He wished to speak to me, didn't he?"
"Yes, miss."
"Where is he now?"
A glimpse out of the window ascertained that Mr Blake was still outside on the terrace. Betteredge said as much, and without another word the young lady grabbed a warm shawl, and rushed out of her sitting room and down the stairs, followed more slowly by her mother. Miss Verinder soon caught up with her cousin Franklin, and what she said to him appeared to be spoken vehemently. It lasted but for a short time, and, judging by what could be seen of his face from the window, seemed to astonish him beyond all power of expression. While they were still together, Lady Verinder appeared on the terrace. Miss Rachel saw her—said a few last words to Mr Blake—and abruptly returned to the house, before her mother came up with her. She was upstairs again in a flash, walking swiftly through to her bedroom, wild and angry, with fierce eyes and flaming cheeks—and paying no heed to the assembled houseguests and police in her private parlour.
Superintendent Seegrave once more attempted to question her.
She turned round on him at her bedroom door. "I have not sent for you!" she cried out vehemently. "I don't want you. My diamond is lost. Neither you nor anybody else will ever find it!" With those words she went in, and shut the door in his face and bolted it.
The next moment a stifled sob could be heard through the door.
So far everyone had been dumbfounded by this rapid succession of events, but once the door was closed again, and Betteredge was making half-hearted excuses to an incensed police official on behalf of his young mistress, Mrs Clack beckoned Margaret to leave the room.
"Now, this was decidedly odd," Mrs Clack quietly remarked as soon as they were out of the room. "And my cousin Rachel is acting very peculiar indeed... Why, one might come to the conclusion that she's doing her level best to hamper the investigations!—but for what reasons is entirely beyond me!"
Margaret just shrugged helplessly. There was no rhyme or reason in any of this.
They were on the first floor landing, as yet unsure whether it was best to return to the others or—on the contrary—go downstairs and retire to the library, when they saw Mr Blake walk through the hall and disappear into said library. It was only moments before another movement down in the hall drew the ladies' eyes again; a housemaid rushed towards the library door and, after a timid knock, opened it and went inside. Margaret recognised her as the plain one with the crooked shoulder, Rosanna.
"She's not supposed to go in there at this time of day," Mrs Clack said disapprovingly. "What is she thinking?—but then, Millie tells me that the girl is giving herself airs."
"Dixon told me that she's new—and from London, apparently. Perhaps she doesn't know all the rules yet."
"She's been in Cousin Julia's employ for almost four months now, from what I've heard. She should know her place by now... But Julia is in the habit of picking up waifs and strays from all walks of life—She keeps saying that everyone deserves a second chance."
"Well, that's very commendable, isn't it?"
"Makes me wonder, though, if that one—" Mrs Clack nodded in the direction of the closed library door. "—saw her chance with the diamond last night, and acted on it—"
At that moment the party left Miss Verinder's parlour and approached them on the landing. Out of the corner of her eye Margaret saw the library door downstairs open and the maid Rosanna sneak out again. The girl looked very agitated and flushed.
With Superintendent Seegrave taking the lead, the company went down the stairs; in the hall he addressed Lady Verinder, "I am afraid, ma'am, that there is no way around searching the servants' quarters. None of the interviews have brought us any closer to solving the riddle; now we must search for the diamond itself... Therefore I request permission for myself and my men to search the servants' rooms and boxes on the spot."
"I will never consent to this!" Lady Verinder summarily dismissed his request. "I refuse to have my faithful servants treated like thieves."
The superintendent acquiesced, but then turned to Betteredge with a look that said plainly, "Why employ me, if you are to tie my hands in this way?" He summoned his men in apparent preparation for his exit from the house.
Meanwhile, the elderly house-steward was quietly pondering the situation for a moment, before he said, "We gratefully thank your ladyship, but we ask your permission to do what is right in this matter by giving up our keys. When Gabriel Betteredge sets the example," he said, stopping Superintendent Seegrave at the door, "the rest of the servants will follow. There are my keys, to begin with!"
Lady Verinder, having more than just an inkling of the humiliation her trusted servant was going through, took Betteredge's hand and thanked him in warm words.
The servants were called to the hall, down to the last scullery maid, and led to their quarters. There was much muttering and nasty looks aimed at the police, but as Betteredge had promised, all of them complied.
The search over, and no diamond or sign of a diamond being found anywhere, Superintendent Seegrave was visibly displeased. "You are quite certain that all the servants' rooms have been searched?" he sharply inquired with his men.
"Yes, sir. All the house-servants' rooms have been thoroughly gone through." The policeman hesitated for a moment. "There are, however, two maids that came with the houseguests. Mr Betteredge here said that we had no right to search their lodgings without their mistresses' permission."
"Whose servants are they?" Seegrave's eyes swept imperiously across the assembly in the hall.
Mrs Clack stepped forward. "Mine and Miss Hale's... and I shall vouch for my maid Millie," she said in her most resolute voice. "She is a good girl, and I do not wish her intimidated by these rough fellows." She pointedly looked at the policemen.
"And who are you, pray, that I should take your word for it?" the superintendent said.
"Mrs Clack is my cousin," Lady Verinder intercepted, "from my late husband's side of the family."
"Right," Seegrave conceded. "This leaves Miss Hale's maid."
Margaret took a couple of steps forward which brought her right under the superintendent's nose. "Dixon has been a faithful servant to my family these last thirty years at least," she said striving for calm. "I shall vouch for her unreservedly."
"Is this so?" Seegrave said quietly. "But I understand that you are a stranger to this house." He looked at Margaret ready to deliver his final blow. "So, tell me, Miss Hale, who will vouch for you?"
The assembled company looked at him aghast. Everyone stood rooted on the spot; all of the ladies' faces were showing various degrees of incomprehension and shock—with the Miss Ablewhites' the most expressive, their mouths forming a perfect silent "Oh!"—while Mr Ablewhite sported as disapproving a frown as his bland features allowed. It was so quiet that one could have heard a needle drop.
"I shall," a deep male voice said from the entrance.
As one, everybody turned and stared at the newcomer.
"And who are you, sir?" the superintendent said dismissively.
"John Thornton. Milton manufacturer and magistrate." He unhurriedly came closer—striking an imposing figure all dressed in his usual severe black—and eventually stepped into their midst. "Miss Hale and I are engaged to be married. So, what is it you are accusing my future wife of?" he asked stridently.
No-one spoke.
The superintendent and John Thornton were looking daggers at each other—It was a veritable standoff.
"I should consent to having my maid's room searched," Margaret's voice suddenly chimed out into the silence, "but only under the condition that my own room will first be searched."
John wheeled around to face her. "If you'll excuse us for a moment," he said stiffly, taking Margaret with him to the other side of the hall. "Why, all of a sudden, do you intend to comply with his outrageous request?" he asked her as soon as they were out of earshot.
"Because I am innocent—and so is Dixon... and I don't want the shadow of a doubt remain on my reputation."
"But you're a gentlewoman! They have no right to search your rooms without reasonable suspicion," John pointed out.
"The number of suspects is narrowing down, now that the servants have been cleared of doubt... and I shan't be considered a suspect even for a minute!—not when it is so simple to prove my innocence."
"Very well," he said, offering his arm and taking Margaret back to the company. "It is Miss Hale's decision to have her rooms examined in search of the lost diamond, and while I strongly disagree with the procedure, it is her choice to make." He gave the superintendent a hard stare. "However, I insist that not your men but you, Mr Seegrave, yourself will conduct the search—and that all and any of Miss Hale's personal items will only be touched and handled by her maid." He addressed Mrs Clack. "Will you be so kind and stand in as a witness, Mrs Clack, to ascertain that the whole affair is conducted with proper decorum?"
Mrs Clack acquiesced with a nod of her head.
"Well, go ahead then, if you must," Thornton contemptuously told the police officer. Then he stood back, with Margaret by his side. "I believe you might prefer not to watch the procedure," he quietly said to her.
"Thank you," Margaret replied just as softly, giving him a tremulous smile to convey her gratitude at his interference. She had never been afraid of the search on grounds of being found anything but pristinely innocent, but the thought of strangers going through her chest of drawers and male hands touching garments she would wear next to her skin had been repugnant to her—and she knew that John must have discerned some of her revulsion.
Less than half an hour later—both Margaret and Dixon's rooms had been thoroughly searched in the meantime—Superintendent Seegrave and his men returned to the hall, the former looking thoroughly disenchanted by the results of their fruitless endeavour.
"Mr Seegrave," Lady Verinder said in her most regal tones, "now that you have both insulted my guest and mortified my servants, this must stop immediately—"
"But..." the superintendent spluttered.
The lady of the house cut him short. "Not only has this investigation been utterly futile, it has also been haphazard from the very beginning—and I strongly question your expertise to conduct such a procedure. Therefore I must ask you to leave."
"Lady Verinder..." Seegrave tried again, but to no avail.
"Please go!" Lady Verinder said with emphasis. "I shall consider my further options in quiet... but rest assured that they won't include the participation of the Frizinghall police." Then she abruptly turned on her heels, begging her guests to follow her into the library.
Superintendent Seegrave, having regained some of his wits, wouldn't let well alone. "You may think that I'm clueless in this matter, ma'am, but I am convinced now that a thief from inside this house acted in concert with the Indians—therefore I shall shift my inquiries to the jugglers in the prison at Frizinghall, and no-one shall hinder me. I shall get to the bottom of this affair yet!"
The lady of the house didn't deign to reply; instead she asked Betteredge to have Elsie bring tea to the library. It was well past lunchtime, but with the disturbances of police being in the house, the kitchen staff wouldn't have been able to prepare a proper repast. As it was, no-one was feeling hungry anyway.
Hardly inside the room, Lady Verinder addressed Margaret. "I am so very sorry, my dear, for having you exposed to that kind of inquiry, and inside my home." Her voice, holding so much strength only moments before, was suddenly weak.
"Don't worry on my account, Lady Verinder," Margaret hastened to reassure her, seeing that the elder woman was turning ghastly pale. "But I can tell that you are not feeling well! Please sit and rest yourself—" She scanned the room for Mrs Clack, and furtively signalled her to come over. "I'm afraid your cousin is reeling from the shock of this morning's events," she whispered to her companion. "Perhaps a drop of brandy?"
Mrs Clack nodded briskly. "I shall see to it," she said. "You may want to go and keep Mr Thornton company... I daresay, Cousin Julia would appreciate not to alarm anyone."
"So, what next?" Margaret asked John, once she joined him where he was standing alone by the window. She kept an eye on Lady Verinder and saw that Mrs Clack's offer of a shot of brandy was declined. Instead, the lady said a few words and pointed at her sewing basket. Mrs Clack went and retrieved a small vial from its depths that alarmingly looked like medicine.
"It appears that these gentlemen here are planning the next step as we speak," John pointed out, drawing Margaret's attention to Mr Blake and Mr Ablewhite, who stood at the nearby small writing desk.
"... You'll see, cousin, that it's going to be the best solution all round," Mr Blake said at that moment, brandishing a sheet of paper. "My father will exert his influence with the metropolitan police and have a capable inspector sent up here."
"But won't we lose precious time?" Mr Ablewhite argued.
"No more than Seegrave will waste hunting after another figment of his imagination," Blake replied scornfully. "Let me get this telegram into Frizinghall now, and we shall have a proper investigation under way as early as tomorrow." He rang for the butler.
When Betteredge arrived he briskly requested a horse to run into Frizinghall, adding, "By-the-by, Betteredge, I'd like a word with you about one of the maids who has been acting rather peculiar..."
Remembering the incident with Rosanna sneaking into the library earlier that day, Margaret instantly pricked up her ears, but couldn't discern anything else as both Mr Blake and the steward were heading for the door and out.
Fortified by a cup of tea and a sandwich, Thornton eventually suggested that he and Margaret would go for a walk. "Despite the unpleasantness of the situation, it is still a lovely day," he said. Indeed, the low winter sun was still out, and there was no wind stirring the treetops. "Let's go and have a look at the sea!—Except for the fishing port at Frizinghall I haven't seen anything of the coast yet."
Margaret cautioned that the bay nearest to the house was anything but picturesque.
"Then we shall look for a different one," John said, smiling. "Indulge me, please."
Margaret thought that, if they went to a stretch of the coast further to the south, they might find a pleasanter prospect, and decided to give it a try—if only to please John.
Circumnavigating the fir plantation they reached the coastline at the southernmost edge of the estate. While still a rough piece of pebbly beach interspersed by rocky protrusions, it was by no means as eerie and hostile as the bay that held the Shivering Sand. There also was a coastal path high above the flood line. However, there was a small fishing village visible nearby to the south, which made heading further in that direction undesirable; so, Margaret and John chose the opposite way.
Ambling along the coastal path Margaret fully acquainted him with events of earlier in the day. John, looking grave, listened carefully but refrained from comment, except for asking her for clarification on such rare occasions when he felt her getting out of sequence, or missing a fact.
Margaret was so caught up in her report that she lost track of how long they walked north; and it was only when they rounded another rocky protrusion that she realised how far they had come. She exclaimed in vexation when she realised that ahead of them lay the Shivering Sand.
"This is a horrid place," she said. "We might better turn around—"
"Wait," John said quietly, arresting her arm. "What is she doing there?" Drawing back into the shadow of the woods bordering the coastal path, he pointed at the lone figure standing on the rocky spit, way out towards the sea.
Margaret gasped. Where she stood the woman was dangerously close to the quicksand. "We must be very quiet," she whispered to John. "Lest we startle her and she might slip—"
They saw that the woman took a casket from under her cloak and stooped to put it on the ground in front of her. She opened the lid. At that moment a sudden gust of wind tore at a piece of white fabric inside the box and a part of it came flapping loose. As she picked it up, shook it out, and refolded it, the observers at the shore realised that—telling by its colour and cut—it was most likely a shirt. The woman replaced the garment inside the box, adding a sizable piece of rock, and then closed the lid. Next she tied up the casket with a very long piece of cord, securing the end of the excess length around a rock protusion.
She rose and, drawing back her arms over her head, took aim and hurled the package into the quicksand, with the string uncoiling in its trajectory. Where it hit the quicksand it sank within moments. When the woman saw that she had achieved whatever she had come to do, she turned and, without raising her eyes from the path, left the bay by the way through the fir plantation. She got precariously close to where Margaret and John were standing in the shadow, and when she passed them Margaret recognised her as Rosanna Spearman.
"This was the maid I told you about," she informed John as soon as Rosanna had disappeared into the woods. "She's the newest member of the household—and according to Mrs Clack she may have a 'past' in London." She raised questioning eyes at him. "What do you think she might have been doing just now?"
John gave her a pensive look. "Hiding evidence," he eventually stated. "At least, that's how it appears in light of recent developments."
"Hiding the diamond in the quicksand, you mean?"
"That seems a little risky," John said. "The string might come undone and the diamond be lost forever. But definitely hiding something... I shall go and investigate." He rushed off towards the rocky spit.
"Be careful, John!" Margaret called after him, horrified at the very thought that he might slip and fall into the icy bottomless depths.
He was back by her side within minutes, carrying a casket caked with sand. Carefully placing it on a patch of clean rocky ground, he undid the string and knots. It was a battered tin box with a hinged lid, with the words 'Pears Soap' barely legible. John spread out its sodden contents as best he could.
It was a nightshirt.
John checked for the laundry label. "It belongs to Mr Blake," he said, turning to look at Margaret.
"Oh," she said in a small voice. "I think I might know what this is about... I believe Rosanna has taken a shine to Mr Blake, and this is why she acts so oddly. She probably appropriated his nightshirt as a keepsake, but now that the police are in the house she didn't dare keep it."
"But why not simply return it to the laundry room?"
"Well, maybe she wanted to hold on to it, after all, but didn't dare keep it inside the house," Margaret suggested.
"What's this?" John suddenly exclaimed, pointing out a multihued smear at the hem of the nightshirt. "That's not from the sand, is it?"
"No. It rather looks like a smear of fresh paint." Margaret gasped. "I believe I haven't told you yet that Superintendent Seegrave found a smear in the fresh paint on the inside of the door to Miss Verinder's private parlour... He even berated the maids for it!"
"Was the paint still wet this morning?" he wondered.
"I doubt it... From what Miss Verinder and Mr Blake were telling me about the paint they use, it should take no more than ten to twelve hours for it be sufficiently dry." She looked back at John in concern. "They finished painting late in the afternoon—and both Miss Verinder and Penelope would have known to take special care during that time..."
"... which means that whoever made that smear must have been inside Miss Verinder's private parlour between shortly past midnight and five in the morning..."
"... and wearing this nightshirt!" Margaret exclaimed. "So, does this mean that Mr Blake stole the diamond?"
"Evidence points in that direction," John agreed reluctantly.
"But why would he do such a thing?—He is rich, and by all appearances he abhors that diamond!"
"Why indeed?" he murmured, looking out at the open sea.
Unsurprisingly, the sea gave him no answer...
A/N:
... and finally we've arrived at the mystery. If there ever was a diamond that called for getting stolen, it definitely was this one!—which takes us right in the middle of a 19th century police investigation. Much of the plot is still taken from the original, but Margaret and John's presence is already starting to have an effect on further developments.
Thank you for reading, everyone. I hope you'll keep enjoying this story!
