It appeared that the resolute side of him had held out as far as Frizinghall.  He had put the whole case plainly before the magistrate, and the magistrate had at once sent for the police.  The first inquiries instituted about the Indians showed that they had not so much as attempted to leave the town.  Further questions addressed to the police, proved that all three had been seen returning to Frizinghall with their boy, on the previous night between ten and eleven—­which (regard being had to hours and distances) also proved that they had walked straight back after performing on our terrace.  Later still, at midnight, the police, having occasion to search the common lodging-house where they lived, had seen them all three again, and their little boy with them, as usual.  Soon after midnight I myself had safely shut up the house.  Plainer evidence than this, in favour of the Indians, there could not well be.  The magistrate said there was not even a case of suspicion against them so far.  But, as it was just possible, when the police came to investigate the matter, that discoveries affecting the jugglers might be made, he would contrive, by committing them as rogues and vagabonds, to keep them at our disposal, under lock and key, for a week.  They had ignorantly done something (I forget what) in the town, which barely brought them within the operation of the law.  Every human institution (justice included) will stretch a little, if you only pull it the right way.  The worthy magistrate was an old friend of my lady’s, and the Indians were “committed” for a week, as soon as the court opened that morning.

Such was Mr. Franklin’s narrative of events at Frizinghall.  The Indian clue to the mystery of the lost jewel was now, to all appearance, a clue that had broken in our hands.  If the jugglers were innocent, who, in the name of wonder, had taken the Moonstone out of Miss Rachel’s drawer?

Ten minutes later, to our infinite relief; Superintendent Seegrave arrived at the house.  He reported passing Mr. Franklin on the terrace, sitting in the sun (I suppose with the Italian side of him uppermost), and warning the police, as they went by, that the investigation was hopeless, before the investigation had begun.

For a family in our situation, the Superintendent of the Frizinghall police was the most comforting officer you could wish to see.  Mr. Seegrave was tall and portly, and military in his manners.  He had a fine commanding voice, and a mighty resolute eye, and a grand frock-coat which buttoned beautifully up to his leather stock.  “I’m the man you want!” was written all over his face; and he ordered his two inferior police men about with a severity which convinced us all that there was no trifling with him.