The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 04Stevenson, Robert Louis
General
The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 04
Stevenson, Robert Louis
English literature -- 19th century; Short stories
The detective that there is in all of us awoke and became clamant in the
bosom of Mr. Rolles; and with a brisk, eager step, that bore no
resemblance to his usual gait, he proceeded to make the circuit of the
garden. When he came to the scene of Harry's escalade, his eye was at
once arrested by a broken rose-bush and marks of trampling on the mould.
He looked up, and saw scratches on the brick, and a rag of trouser
floating from a broken bottle. This, then, was the mode of entrance
chosen by Mr. Raeburn's particular friend! It was thus that General
Vandeleur's secretary came to admire a flower-garden! The young
clergyman whistled softly to himself as he stooped to examine the
ground. He could make out where Harry had landed from his perilous leap;
he recognised the flat foot of Mr. Raeburn where it had sunk deeply in
the soil as he pulled up the secretary by the collar; nay, on a closer
inspection, he seemed to distinguish the marks of groping fingers, as
though something had been spilt abroad and eagerly collected.
"Upon my word," he thought, "the thing grows vastly interesting."
And just then he caught sight of something almost entirely buried in the
earth. In an instant he had disinterred a dainty morocco case,
ornamented and clasped in gilt. It had been trodden heavily underfoot,
and thus escaped the hurried search of Mr. Raeburn. Mr. Rolles opened
the case, and drew a long breath of almost horrified astonishment; for
there lay before him, in a cradle of green velvet, a diamond of
prodigious magnitude and of the finest water. It was of the bigness of a
duck's egg; beautifully shaped, and without a flaw; and as the sun shone
upon it, it gave forth a lustre like that of electricity, and seemed to
burn in his hand with a thousand internal fires.
He knew little of precious stones; but the Rajah's Diamond was a wonder
that explained itself; a village child, if he found it, would run
screaming for the nearest cottage; and a savage would prostrate himself
in adoration before so imposing a fetich. The beauty of the stone
flattered the young clergyman's eyes; the thought of its incalculable
value overpowered his intellect. He knew that what he held in his hand
was worth more than many years' purchase of an archiepiscopal see; that
it would build cathedrals more stately than Ely or Cologne; that he who
possessed it was set free for ever from the primal curse, and might
follow his own inclinations without concern or hurry, without let or
hindrance. And as he suddenly turned it, the rays leaped forth again
with renewed brilliancy, and seemed to pierce his very heart.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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