“They have quite asked me!” said Lizzie piteously.
“You;—yes. But there’s some reason in that. These infernal diamonds did belong to you, or, at any rate, you had them. You are the last person known to have seen them. Even if you had them still, you’d only have what you call your own.” Lizzie looked at him with all her eyes and listened to him with all her ears. “But what the mischief can I have had to do with them?”
“It’s very hard upon you,” said Mrs. Carbuncle.
“Unless I stole them,” continued Lord George.
“Which is so absurd, you know,” said Lizzie.
“That a pigheaded provincial fool should have taken me for a midnight thief, did not disturb me much. I don’t think I am very easily annoyed by what other people think of me. But these fellows, I suppose, were sent here by the head of the metropolitan police; and everybody knows that they have been sent. Because I was civil enough to you women to look after you coming up to town, and because one of you was careless enough to lose her jewels, I—I am to be talked about all over London as the man who took them!” This was not spoken with much courtesy to the ladies present. Lord George had dropped that customary chivalry of manner which, in ordinary life, makes it to be quite out of the question that a man shall be uncivil to a woman. He had escaped from conventional usage into rough, truthful speech, under stress from the extremity of the hardship to which he had been subjected. And the women understood it and appreciated it, and liked it rather than otherwise. To Lizzie it seemed fitting that a Corsair so circumstanced should be as uncivil as he pleased; and Mrs. Carbuncle had long been accustomed to her friend’s moods.
“They can’t really think it,” said Mrs. Carbuncle.
“Somebody thinks it. I am told that your particular friend, Lord Fawn,”—this he said, specially addressing Lizzie—“has expressed a strong opinion that I carry about the necklace always in my pocket. I trust to have the opportunity of wringing his neck some day.”
“I do so wish you would,” said Lizzie.
“I shall not lose a chance if I can get it. Before all this occurred I should have said of myself that nothing of the kind could put me out. I don’t think there is a man in the world cares less what people say of him than I do. I am as indifferent to ordinary tittle-tattle as a rhinoceros. But, by George—when it comes to stealing ten thousand pounds’ worth of diamonds, and the delicate attentions of all the metropolitan police, one begins to feel that one is vulnerable. When I get up in the morning, I half feel that I shall be locked up before night, and I can see in the eyes of every man I meet that he takes me for the prince of burglars!”
“And it is all my fault,” said Lizzie.
“I wish the diamonds had been thrown into the sea,” said Mrs. Carbuncle.
“What do you think about them yourself?” asked Lucinda.
“I don’t know what to think. I’m at a dead loss. You know that man Mr. Benjamin, Lady Eustace?” Lizzie, with a little start, answered that she did—that she had had dealings with him before her marriage, and had once owed him two or three hundred pounds. As the man’s name had been mentioned, she thought it better to own as much. “So he tells me. Now, in all London, I don’t suppose there is a greater rascal than Benjamin.”
“I didn’t know that,” said Lizzie.
“But I did; and with that rascal I have had money dealings for the last six or seven years. He has cashed bills for me, and has my name to bills now—and Sir Griffin’s too. I’m half inclined to think that he has got the diamonds.”
“Do you indeed?” said Mrs. Carbuncle.
“Mr. Benjamin!” said Lizzie.
“And he returns the compliment.”
“How does he return it?” asked Mrs. Carbuncle.
“He either thinks that I’ve got ’em, or he wants to make me believe that he thinks so. He hasn’t dared to say it;—but that’s his intention. Such an opinion from such a man on such a subject would be quite a compliment. And I feel it. But yet it troubles me. You know that greasy, Israelitish smile of his, Lady Eustace.” Lizzie nodded her head and tried to smile. “When I asked him yesterday about the diamonds, he leered at me and rubbed his hands. ‘It’s a pretty little game;—ain’t it, Lord George?’ he said. I told him that I thought it a very bad game, and that I hoped the police would have the thief and the necklace soon. ‘It’s been managed a deal too well for that, Lord George;—don’t you think so?’ ” Lord George mimicked the Jew as he repeated the words, and the ladies, of course, laughed. But poor Lizzie’s attempt at laughter was very sorry. “I told him to his face that I thought he had them among his treasures. ‘No, no, no, Lord George,’ he said, and seemed quite to enjoy the joke. If he’s got them himself, he can’t think that I have them;—but if he has not, I don’t doubt but he believes that I have. And I’ll tell you another person who suspects me.”
“What fools they are,” said Lizzie.
“I don’t know how that may be. Sir Griffin, Lucinda, isn’t at all sure but what I have them in my pocket.”
“I can believe anything of him,” said Lucinda.
“And it seems he can believe anything of me. I shall begin to think soon that I did take them, myself—or, at any rate, that I ought to have done so. I wonder what you three
