.
A few days were allowed to elapse (as a precaution agreed to by both
parties) before the jewel was actually taken out of the bank. If he had
got safe with it to Amsterdam, there would have been just time between
July 'forty-nine, and February 'fifty (when the young gentleman came of
age) to cut the Diamond, and to make a marketable commodity (polished or
unpolished) of the separate stones. Judge from this, what motives he
had to run the risk which he actually ran. It was "neck or nothing" with
him--if ever it was "neck or nothing" with a man yet.

I have only to remind you, before closing this Report, that there is a
chance of laying hands on the Indians, and of recovering the Moonstone
yet. They are now (there is every reason to believe) on their passage to
Bombay, in an East Indiaman. The ship (barring accidents) will touch
at no other port on her way out; and the authorities at Bombay (already
communicated with by letter, overland) will be prepared to board the
vessel, the moment she enters the harbour.

I have the honour to remain, dear sir, your obedient servant, RICHARD
CUFF (late sergeant in the Detective Force, Scotland Yard, London).*

* NOTE.--Wherever the Report touches on the events of the
birthday, or of the three days that followed it, compare
with Betteredge's Narrative, chapters viii. to xiii.

SEVENTH NARRATIVE

In a Letter from MR. CANDY

Frizinghall, Wednesday, September 26th, 1849.--Dear Mr. Franklin Blake,
you will anticipate the sad news I have to tell you, on finding your
letter to Ezra Jennings returned to you, unopened, in this enclosure. He
died in my arms, at sunrise, on Wednesday last.

I am not to blame for having failed to warn you that his end was at
hand. He expressly forbade me to write to you. "I am indebted to Mr.
Franklin Blake," he said, "for having seen some happy days. Don't
distress him, Mr. Candy--don't distress him."

His sufferings, up to the last six hours of his life, were terrible to
see. In the intervals of remission, when his mind was clear, I entreated
him to tell me of any relatives of his to whom I might write. He asked
to be forgiven for refusing anything to me. And then he said--not
bitterly--that he would die as he had lived, forgotten and unknown. He
maintained that resolution to the last. There is no hope now of making
any discoveries concerning him. His story is a blank.

The day before he died, he told me where to find all his