“Are you really going to leave us, sir?” I asked.  “Miss Rachel will surely come right again, if you only give her time?”

“She will come right again,” answered Mr. Franklin, “when she hears that I have gone away, and that she will see me no more.”

I thought he spoke in resentment of my young lady’s treatment of him.  But it was not so.  My mistress had noticed, from the time when the police first came into the house, that the bare mention of him was enough to set Miss Rachel’s temper in a flame.  He had been too fond of his cousin to like to confess this to himself, until the truth had been forced on him, when she drove off to her aunt’s.  His eyes once opened in that cruel way which you know of, Mr. Franklin had taken his resolution—­the one resolution which a man of any spirit could take—­to leave the house.

What he had to say to the Sergeant was spoken in my presence.  He described her ladyship as willing to acknowledge that she had spoken over-hastily.  And he asked if Sergeant Cuff would consent—­in that case—­to accept his fee, and to leave the matter of the Diamond where the matter stood now.  The Sergeant answered, “No, sir.  My fee is paid me for doing my duty.  I decline to take it, until my duty is done.”

“I don’t understand you,” says Mr. Franklin.

“I’ll explain myself, sir,” says the Sergeant.  “When I came here, I undertook to throw the necessary light on the matter of the missing Diamond.  I am now ready, and waiting to redeem my pledge.  When I have stated the case to Lady Verinder as the case now stands, and when I have told her plainly what course of action to take for the recovery of the Moonstone, the responsibility will be off my shoulders.  Let her ladyship decide, after that, whether she does, or does not, allow me to go on.  I shall then have done what I undertook to do—­and I’ll take my fee.”

In those words Sergeant Cuff reminded us that, even in the Detective Police, a man may have a reputation to lose.

The view he took was so plainly the right one, that there was no more to be said.  As I rose to conduct him to my lady’s room, he asked if Mr. Franklin wished to be present.  Mr. Franklin answered, “Not unless Lady Verinder desires it.”  He added, in a whisper to me, as I was following the Sergeant out, “I know what that man is going to say about Rachel; and I am too fond of her to hear it, and keep my temper.  Leave me by myself.”

I left him, miserable enough, leaning on the sill of my window, with his face hidden in his hands and Penelope peeping through the door, longing to comfort him.  In Mr. Franklin’s place, I should have called her in.  When you are ill-used by one woman, there is great comfort in telling it to another—­because, nine times out of ten, the other always takes your side.  Perhaps, when my back was turned, he did call her in?  In that case it is only doing my daughter justice to declare that she would stick at nothing, in the way of comforting Mr. Franklin Blake.