Having lost all interest in the three jugglers, and having thoroughly

convinced myself of my young lady's innocence, I took this second

prophecy easily enough. "So much for two of the three things that are

going to happen," I said. "Now for the third!"

"Third, and last," said Sergeant Cuff, "you will, sooner or later, hear

something of that money-lender in London, whom I have twice taken the

liberty of mentioning already. Give me your pocket-book, and I'll make

a note for you of his name and address--so that there may be no mistake

about it if the thing really happens."

He wrote accordingly on a blank leaf--"Mr. Septimus Luker,

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Middlesex-place, Lambeth, London."

"There," he said, pointing to the address, "are the last words, on

the subject of the Moonstone, which I shall trouble you with for the

present. Time will show whether I am right or wrong. In the meanwhile,

sir, I carry away with me a sincere personal liking for you, which

I think does honour to both of us. If we don't meet again before my

professional retirement takes place, I hope you will come and see me in

a little house near London, which I have got my eye on. There will be

grass walks, Mr. Betteredge, I promise you, in my garden. And as for the

white moss rose----"

"The de'il a bit ye'll get the white moss rose to grow, unless you bud

him on the dogue-rose first," cried a voice at the window.

We both turned round. There was the everlasting Mr. Begbie, too eager

for the controversy to wait any longer at the gate. The Sergeant wrung

my hand, and darted out into the court-yard, hotter still on his side.

"Ask him about the moss rose, when he comes back, and see if I have left

him a leg to stand on!" cried the great Cuff, hailing me through the

window in his turn. "Gentlemen, both!" I answered, moderating them again

as I had moderated them once already.

"In the matter of the moss rose there is a great deal to be said on

both sides!" I might as well (as the Irish say) have whistled jigs to

a milestone. Away they went together, fighting the battle of the roses

without asking or giving quarter on either side. The last I saw of them,

Mr. Begbie was shaking his obstinate head, and Sergeant Cuff had got him

by the arm like a prisoner in charge. Ah, well! well! I own I couldn't

help liking the Sergeant--though I hated him all the time.

Explain that state of mind, if you can. You will soon be rid, now, of

me and my contradictions. When I have reported Mr. Franklin's departure,

the history of the Saturday's events will be finished at last. And when

I have next described certain strange things that happened in the course

of the new week, I shall have done my part of the Story, and shall hand

over the pen to the person who is appointed to follow my lead. If you

are as tired of reading this narrative as I am of writing it--Lord, how

we shall enjoy ourselves on both sides a few pages further on!




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