"Come and breakfast with me at Hotherstone's Farm, instead."
"Much obliged to you for your kindness, Mr. Franklin. But it wasn't
exactly breakfast that I was driving at. I think you mentioned that you
had something to say to me? If it's no secret, sir," said Betteredge,
suddenly abandoning the crooked way, and taking the straight one, "I'm
burning to know what's brought you down here, if you please, in this
sudden way."
"What brought me here before?" I asked.
"The Moonstone, Mr. Franklin. But what brings you now, sir?"
"The Moonstone again, Betteredge."
The old man suddenly stood still, and looked at me in the grey twilight
as if he suspected his own ears of deceiving him.
"If that's a joke, sir," he said, "I'm afraid I'm getting a little dull
in my old age. I don't take it."
"It's no joke," I answered. "I have come here to take up the inquiry
which was dropped when I left England. I have come here to do what
nobody has done yet--to find out who took the Diamond."
"Let the Diamond be, Mr. Franklin! Take my advice, and let the Diamond
be! That cursed Indian jewel has misguided everybody who has come near
it. Don't waste your money and your temper--in the fine spring time
of your life, sir--by meddling with the Moonstone. How can YOU hope to
succeed (saving your presence), when Sergeant Cuff himself made a mess
of it? Sergeant Cuff!" repeated Betteredge, shaking his forefinger at me
sternly. "The greatest policeman in England!"
"My mind is made up, my old friend. Even Sergeant Cuff doesn't daunt me.
By-the-bye, I may want to speak to him, sooner or later. Have you heard
anything of him lately?"
"The Sergeant won't help you, Mr. Franklin."
"Why not?"
"There has been an event, sir, in the police-circles, since you went
away. The great Cuff has retired from business. He has got a little
cottage at Dorking; and he's up to his eyes in the growing of roses.
I have it in his own handwriting, Mr. Franklin. He has grown the white
moss rose, without budding it on the dog-rose first. And Mr. Begbie the
gardener is to go to Dorking, and own that the Sergeant has beaten him
at last."
"It doesn't much matter," I said. "I must do without Sergeant Cuff's
help. And I must trust to you, at starting."
It is likely enough that I spoke rather carelessly.
At any rate, Betteredge seemed to be piqued by something in the reply
which I had just made to him. "You might trust to worse than me, Mr.
Franklin--I can tell you that," he said a little sharply.
The tone in which he retorted, and a certain disturbance, after he had
spoken, which I detected in his manner, suggested to me that he was
possessed of some information which he hesitated to communicate.