understand—up in my arms, and carried her,
holus-bolus, into the best parlour, where she
received her company. I said, ' That's the right
place for you, my dear,' and so went back to the
kitchen. I locked myself in, and took off my coat,
and turned up my shirt-sleeves, and cooked my
own dinner. When it was done, I served it up
in my best manner, and enjoyed it most heartily.
I had my pipe and my drop of grog afterwards;
and then I cleared the table, and washed the
crockery, and cleaned the knives and forks, and
put the things away, and swept up the hearth.
When things were as bright and clean again, as
bright and clean could be, I opened the door,
and let Mrs. Betteredge in. ' I've had my
dinner, my dear,' I said; ' and I hope you will
find I have left the kitchen all that your fondest
wishes can desire.' For the rest of that woman's
life, Mr. Franklin, I never had to cook my dinner
again!   Moral: You have put up with Miss
Rachel in London; don't put up with her in
Yorkshire. Come back to the house."

Quite unanswerable!  I could only assure
my good friend that even his powers of
persuasion were, in this case, thrown away on me.

"It's a lovely evening," I said. " I shall
walk to Frizinghall, and stay at the hotel, and
you must come to-morrow morning and
breakfast with me. I have something to say to you."

Betteredge shook his head gravely.

"I'm heartily sorry for this," he said. "I
had hoped, Mr. Franklin, to hear that things
were all smooth and pleasant again between
you and Miss Rachel. If you must have your
own way, sir," he continued, after a moment's
reflection, " there is no need to go to
Frizinghall to-night for a bed. It's to be had
nearer than that. There's Hotherstone's Farm,
barely two miles from here. You can hardly
object to that on Miss Rachel's account," the old
man added slily. " Hotherstone lives, Mr.
Franklin, on his own freehold."

I remembered the place the moment
Betteredge mentioned it. The farm-house stood in
a sheltered inland valley, on the banks of the
prettiest stream in that part of Yorkshire; and
the farmer had a spare bedroom and parlour,
which he was accustomed to let to artists,
anglers, and tourists in general. A more agreeable
place of abode, during my stay in the
neighbourhood, I could not have wished to find.

"Are the rooms to let?" I inquired.

"Mrs. Hotherstone herself, sir, asked for my
good word to recommend the rooms, yesterday."

"I'll take them, Betteredge, with the
greatest pleasure."

We went back to the yard, in which I had
left my travelling bag. After putting a stick
through the handle, and swinging the bag
over his shoulder, Betteredge appeared to relapse
into the bewilderment which my sudden
appearance had caused, when I surprised him in the
beehive chair. He looked incredulously at the
house, and then he wheeled about, and looked
more incredulously still at me.

"I've lived a goodish long time in the world,"
said this best and dearest of all old servants
—- " but the like of this, I never did expect to
see. There stands the house, and here stands
Mr. Franklin Blake—and, Damme, if one of
them isn't turning his back on the other, and
going to sleep in a lodging!"

He led the way out, wagging his head and
growling ominously. " There's only one more
miracle that can happen," he said to me, over
his shoulder. " The next thing you'll do, Mr.
Franklin, will be to pay me back that seven-
and-sixpence you borrowed of me when you.
were a boy."

This stroke of sarcasm put him in a better
humour with himself and with me. We left
the house, and passed through the lodge gates.
Once clear of the grounds, the duties of
hospitality (in Betteredge's code of morals) ceased,
and the privileges of curiosity began.

He dropped back, so as to let me get on a
level with him. " Fine evening for a walk, Mr.
Franklin," he said, as if we had just accidentally
encountered each other at that moment.
"Supposing you had gone to the hotel at Frizinghall,
sir?"

"Yes?"

"I should have had the honour of breakfasting
with you, to-morrow morning."

"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 rne? 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?"