The Moonstone Read online

  CHAPTER XV

  The Sergeant remained silent, thinking his own thoughts, till we enteredthe plantation of firs which led to the quicksand. There he rousedhimself, like a man whose mind was made up, and spoke to me again.

  "Mr. Betteredge," he said, "as you have honoured me by taking an oar inmy boat, and as you may, I think, be of some assistance to me before theevening is out, I see no use in our mystifying one another any longer,and I propose to set you an example of plain speaking on my side. Youare determined to give me no information to the prejudice of RosannaSpearman, because she has been a good girl to YOU, and because you pityher heartily. Those humane considerations do you a world of credit, butthey happen in this instance to be humane considerations clean thrownaway. Rosanna Spearman is not in the slightest danger of getting intotrouble--no, not if I fix her with being concerned in the disappearanceof the Diamond, on evidence which is as plain as the nose on your face!"

  "Do you mean that my lady won't prosecute?" I asked.

  "I mean that your lady CAN'T prosecute," said the Sergeant. "RosannaSpearman is simply an instrument in the hands of another person, andRosanna Spearman will be held harmless for that other person's sake."

  He spoke like a man in earnest--there was no denying that. Still, I feltsomething stirring uneasily against him in my mind. "Can't you give thatother person a name?" I said.

  "Can't you, Mr. Betteredge?"

  "No."

  Sergeant Cuff stood stock still, and surveyed me with a look ofmelancholy interest.

  "It's always a pleasure to me to be tender towards human infirmity," hesaid. "I feel particularly tender at the present moment, Mr. Betteredge,towards you. And you, with the same excellent motive, feel particularlytender towards Rosanna Spearman, don't you? Do you happen to knowwhether she has had a new outfit of linen lately?"

  What he meant by slipping in this extraordinary question unawares, I wasat a total loss to imagine. Seeing no possible injury to Rosanna if Iowned the truth, I answered that the girl had come to us rather sparelyprovided with linen, and that my lady, in recompense for her goodconduct (I laid a stress on her good conduct), had given her a newoutfit not a fortnight since.

  "This is a miserable world," says the Sergeant. "Human life, Mr.Betteredge, is a sort of target--misfortune is always firing at it, andalways hitting the mark. But for that outfit, we should have discovereda new nightgown or petticoat among Rosanna's things, and have nailedher in that way. You're not at a loss to follow me, are you? You haveexamined the servants yourself, and you know what discoveries two ofthem made outside Rosanna's door. Surely you know what the girl wasabout yesterday, after she was taken ill? You can't guess? Oh dear me,it's as plain as that strip of light there, at the end of the trees. Ateleven, on Thursday morning, Superintendent Seegrave (who is a mass ofhuman infirmity) points out to all the women servants the smear on thedoor. Rosanna has her own reasons for suspecting her own things;she takes the first opportunity of getting to her room, finds thepaint-stain on her night-gown, or petticoat, or what not, shams ill andslips away to the town, gets the materials for making a new petticoator nightgown, makes it alone in her room on the Thursday night lights afire (not to destroy it; two of her fellow-servants are prying outsideher door, and she knows better than to make a smell of burning, and tohave a lot of tinder to get rid of)--lights a fire, I say, to dry andiron the substitute dress after wringing it out, keeps the stained dresshidden (probably ON her), and is at this moment occupied in making awaywith it, in some convenient place, on that lonely bit of beach ahead ofus. I have traced her this evening to your fishing village, and to oneparticular cottage, which we may possibly have to visit, before we goback. She stopped in the cottage for some time, and she came out with(as I believe) something hidden under her cloak. A cloak (on a woman'sback) is an emblem of charity--it covers a multitude of sins. I saw herset off northwards along the coast, after leaving the cottage. Is yoursea-shore here considered a fine specimen of marine landscape, Mr.Betteredge?"

  I answered, "Yes," as shortly as might be.

  "Tastes differ," says Sergeant Cuff. "Looking at it from my point ofview, I never saw a marine landscape that I admired less. If you happento be following another person along your sea-coast, and if thatperson happens to look round, there isn't a scrap of cover to hideyou anywhere. I had to choose between taking Rosanna in custody onsuspicion, or leaving her, for the time being, with her little game inher own hands. For reasons which I won't trouble you with, I decided onmaking any sacrifice rather than give the alarm as soon as to-night toa certain person who shall be nameless between us. I came back to thehouse to ask you to take me to the north end of the beach by anotherway. Sand--in respect of its printing off people's footsteps--is oneof the best detective officers I know. If we don't meet with RosannaSpearman by coming round on her in this way, the sand may tell us whatshe has been at, if the light only lasts long enough. Here IS the sand.If you will excuse my suggesting it--suppose you hold your tongue, andlet me go first?"

  If there is such a thing known at the doctor's shop as aDETECTIVE-FEVER, that disease had now got fast hold of your humbleservant. Sergeant Cuff went on between the hillocks of sand, down tothe beach. I followed him (with my heart in my mouth); and waited at alittle distance for what was to happen next.

  As it turned out, I found myself standing nearly in the same placewhere Rosanna Spearman and I had been talking together when Mr. Franklinsuddenly appeared before us, on arriving at our house from London. Whilemy eyes were watching the Sergeant, my mind wandered away in spite of meto what had passed, on that former occasion, between Rosanna and me. Ideclare I almost felt the poor thing slip her hand again into mine, andgive it a little grateful squeeze to thank me for speaking kindlyto her. I declare I almost heard her voice telling me again that theShivering Sand seemed to draw her to it against her own will, whenevershe went out--almost saw her face brighten again, as it brightened whenshe first set eyes upon Mr. Franklin coming briskly out on us from amongthe hillocks. My spirits fell lower and lower as I thought of thesethings--and the view of the lonesome little bay, when I looked about torouse myself, only served to make me feel more uneasy still.

  The last of the evening light was fading away; and over all the desolateplace there hung a still and awful calm. The heave of the main ocean onthe great sandbank out in the bay, was a heave that made no sound. Theinner sea lay lost and dim, without a breath of wind to stir it. Patchesof nasty ooze floated, yellow-white, on the dead surface of the water.Scum and slime shone faintly in certain places, where the last of thelight still caught them on the two great spits of rock jutting out,north and south, into the sea. It was now the time of the turn of thetide: and even as I stood there waiting, the broad brown face of thequicksand began to dimple and quiver--the only moving thing in all thehorrid place.

  I saw the Sergeant start as the shiver of the sand caught his eye. Afterlooking at it for a minute or so, he turned and came back to me.

  "A treacherous place, Mr. Betteredge," he said; "and no signs of RosannaSpearman anywhere on the beach, look where you may."

  He took me down lower on the shore, and I saw for myself that hisfootsteps and mine were the only footsteps printed off on the sand.

  "How does the fishing village bear, standing where we are now?" askedSergeant Cuff.

  "Cobb's Hole," I answered (that being the name of the place), "bears asnear as may be, due south."

  "I saw the girl this evening, walking northward along the shore, fromCobb's Hole," said the Sergeant. "Consequently, she must have beenwalking towards this place. Is Cobb's Hole on the other side of thatpoint of land there? And can we get to it--now it's low water--by thebeach?"

  I answered, "Yes," to both those questions.

  "If you'll excuse my suggesting it, we'll step out briskly," said theSergeant. "I want to find the place where she left the shore, before itgets dark."

  We had walked, I should say, a couple of hundred yards towards Cobb'sHole, when Sergeant Cuff suddenly went do
wn on his knees on the beach,to all appearance seized with a sudden frenzy for saying his prayers.

  "There's something to be said for your marine landscape here, afterall," remarked the Sergeant. "Here are a woman's footsteps, Mr.Betteredge! Let us call them Rosanna's footsteps, until we find evidenceto the contrary that we can't resist. Very confused footsteps, you willplease to observe--purposely confused, I should say. Ah, poor soul, sheunderstands the detective virtues of sand as well as I do! But hasn'tshe been in rather too great a hurry to tread out the marks thoroughly?I think she has. Here's one footstep going FROM Cobb's Hole; and hereis another going back to it. Isn't that the toe of her shoe pointingstraight to the water's edge? And don't I see two heel-marks furtherdown the beach, close at the water's edge also? I don't want to hurtyour feelings, but I'm afraid Rosanna is sly. It looks as if she haddetermined to get to that place you and I have just come from, withoutleaving any marks on the sand to trace her by. Shall we say that shewalked through the water from this point till she got to that ledge ofrocks behind us, and came back the same way, and then took to the beachagain where those two heel marks are still left? Yes, we'll say that. Itseems to fit in with my notion that she had something under her cloak,when she left the cottage. No! not something to destroy--for, in thatcase, where would have been the need of all these precautions to preventmy tracing the place at which her walk ended? Something to hide is, Ithink, the better guess of the two. Perhaps, if we go on to the cottage,we may find out what that something is?"

  At this proposal, my detective-fever suddenly cooled. "You don't wantme," I said. "What good can I do?"

  "The longer I know you, Mr. Betteredge," said the Sergeant, "the morevirtues I discover. Modesty--oh dear me, how rare modesty is in thisworld! and how much of that rarity you possess! If I go alone to thecottage, the people's tongues will be tied at the first question Iput to them. If I go with you, I go introduced by a justly respectedneighbour, and a flow of conversation is the necessary result. Itstrikes me in that light; how does it strike you?"

  Not having an answer of the needful smartness as ready as I could havewished, I tried to gain time by asking him what cottage he wanted to goto.

  On the Sergeant describing the place, I recognised it as a cottageinhabited by a fisherman named Yolland, with his wife and two grown-upchildren, a son and a daughter. If you will look back, you will findthat, in first presenting Rosanna Spearman to your notice, I havedescribed her as occasionally varying her walk to the Shivering Sand, bya visit to some friends of hers at Cobb's Hole. Those friends were theYollands--respectable, worthy people, a credit to the neighbourhood.Rosanna's acquaintance with them had begun by means of the daughter, whowas afflicted with a misshapen foot, and who was known in our parts bythe name of Limping Lucy. The two deformed girls had, I suppose, akind of fellow-feeling for each other. Anyway, the Yollands and Rosannaalways appeared to get on together, at the few chances they had ofmeeting, in a pleasant and friendly manner. The fact of Sergeant Cuffhaving traced the girl to THEIR cottage, set the matter of my helpinghis inquiries in quite a new light. Rosanna had merely gone where shewas in the habit of going; and to show that she had been in company withthe fisherman and his family was as good as to prove that she had beeninnocently occupied so far, at any rate. It would be doing the girla service, therefore, instead of an injury, if I allowed myself to beconvinced by Sergeant Cuff's logic. I professed myself convinced by itaccordingly.

  We went on to Cobb's Hole, seeing the footsteps on the sand, as long asthe light lasted.

  On reaching the cottage, the fisherman and his son proved to be out inthe boat; and Limping Lucy, always weak and weary, was resting on herbed up-stairs. Good Mrs. Yolland received us alone in her kitchen. Whenshe heard that Sergeant Cuff was a celebrated character in London, sheclapped a bottle of Dutch gin and a couple of clean pipes on the table,and stared as if she could never see enough of him.

  I sat quiet in a corner, waiting to hear how the Sergeant would find hisway to the subject of Rosanna Spearman. His usual roundabout manner ofgoing to work proved, on this occasion, to be more roundabout than ever.How he managed it is more than I could tell at the time, and more thanI can tell now. But this is certain, he began with the Royal Family, thePrimitive Methodists, and the price of fish; and he got from that(in his dismal, underground way) to the loss of the Moonstone, thespitefulness of our first house-maid, and the hard behaviour of thewomen-servants generally towards Rosanna Spearman. Having reached hissubject in this fashion, he described himself as making his inquiriesabout the lost Diamond, partly with a view to find it, and partlyfor the purpose of clearing Rosanna from the unjust suspicions of herenemies in the house. In about a quarter of an hour from the time whenwe entered the kitchen, good Mrs. Yolland was persuaded that she wastalking to Rosanna's best friend, and was pressing Sergeant Cuff tocomfort his stomach and revive his spirits out of the Dutch bottle.

  Being firmly persuaded that the Sergeant was wasting his breath to nopurpose on Mrs. Yolland, I sat enjoying the talk between them, much asI have sat, in my time, enjoying a stage play. The great Cuff showed awonderful patience; trying his luck drearily this way and that way, andfiring shot after shot, as it were, at random, on the chance ofhitting the mark. Everything to Rosanna's credit, nothing to Rosanna'sprejudice--that was how it ended, try as he might; with Mrs. Yollandtalking nineteen to the dozen, and placing the most entire confidencein him. His last effort was made, when we had looked at our watches, andhad got on our legs previous to taking leave.

  "I shall now wish you good-night, ma'am," says the Sergeant. "AndI shall only say, at parting, that Rosanna Spearman has a sincerewell-wisher in myself, your obedient servant. But, oh dear me! she willnever get on in her present place; and my advice to her is--leave it."

  "Bless your heart alive! she is GOING to leave it!" cries Mrs. Yolland.(NOTA BENE--I translate Mrs. Yolland out of the Yorkshire language intothe English language. When I tell you that the all-accomplished Cuffwas every now and then puzzled to understand her until I helped him, youwill draw your own conclusions as to what your state of mind would be ifI reported her in her native tongue.)

  Rosanna Spearman going to leave us! I pricked up my ears at that. Itseemed strange, to say the least of it, that she should have given nowarning, in the first place, to my lady or to me. A certain doubt cameup in my mind whether Sergeant Cuff's last random shot might not havehit the mark. I began to question whether my share in the proceedingswas quite as harmless a one as I had thought it. It might be all in theway of the Sergeant's business to mystify an honest woman by wrappingher round in a network of lies but it was my duty to have remembered,as a good Protestant, that the father of lies is the Devil--and thatmischief and the Devil are never far apart. Beginning to smell mischiefin the air, I tried to take Sergeant Cuff out. He sat down againinstantly, and asked for a little drop of comfort out of the Dutchbottle. Mrs Yolland sat down opposite to him, and gave him his nip. Iwent on to the door, excessively uncomfortable, and said I thought Imust bid them good-night--and yet I didn't go.

  "So she means to leave?" says the Sergeant. "What is she to do when shedoes leave? Sad, sad! The poor creature has got no friends in the world,except you and me."

  "Ah, but she has though!" says Mrs. Yolland. "She came in here, as Itold you, this evening; and, after sitting and talking a little with mygirl Lucy and me she asked to go up-stairs by herself, into Lucy's room.It's the only room in our place where there's pen and ink. 'I want towrite a letter to a friend,' she says 'and I can't do it for the pryingand peeping of the servants up at the house.' Who the letter was writtento I can't tell you: it must have been a mortal long one, judging by thetime she stopped up-stairs over it. I offered her a postage-stamp whenshe came down. She hadn't got the letter in her hand, and she didn'taccept the stamp. A little close, poor soul (as you know), about herselfand her doings. But a friend she has got somewhere, I can tell you; andto that friend you may depend upon it, she will go."

  "Soon?" asked the Sergeant.r />
  "As soon as she can." says Mrs. Yolland.

  Here I stepped in again from the door. As chief of my lady'sestablishment, I couldn't allow this sort of loose talk about a servantof ours going, or not going, to proceed any longer in my presence,without noticing it.

  "You must be mistaken about Rosanna Spearman," I said. "If she had beengoing to leave her present situation, she would have mentioned it, inthe first place, to _me_."

  "Mistaken?" cries Mrs. Yolland. "Why, only an hour ago she bought somethings she wanted for travelling--of my own self, Mr. Betteredge, inthis very room. And that reminds me," says the wearisome woman, suddenlybeginning to feel in her pocket, "of something I have got it on my mindto say about Rosanna and her money. Are you either of you likely to seeher when you go back to the house?"

  "I'll take a message to the poor thing, with the greatest pleasure,"answered Sergeant Cuff, before I could put in a word edgewise.

  Mrs. Yolland produced out of her pocket, a few shillings and sixpences,and counted them out with a most particular and exasperating carefulnessin the palm of her hand. She offered the money to the Sergeant, lookingmighty loth to part with it all the while.

  "Might I ask you to give this back to Rosanna, with my love andrespects?" says Mrs. Yolland. "She insisted on paying me for the one ortwo things she took a fancy to this evening--and money's welcome enoughin our house, I don't deny it. Still, I'm not easy in my mind abouttaking the poor thing's little savings. And to tell you the truth,I don't think my man would like to hear that I had taken RosannaSpearman's money, when he comes back to-morrow morning from his work.Please say she's heartily welcome to the things she bought of me--asa gift. And don't leave the money on the table," says Mrs. Yolland,putting it down suddenly before the Sergeant, as if it burnt herfingers--"don't, there's a good man! For times are hard, and flesh isweak; and I MIGHT feel tempted to put it back in my pocket again."

  "Come along!" I said, "I can't wait any longer: I must go back to thehouse."

  "I'll follow you directly," says Sergeant Cuff.

  For the second time, I went to the door; and, for the second time, tryas I might, I couldn't cross the threshold.

  "It's a delicate matter, ma'am," I heard the Sergeant say, "giving moneyback. You charged her cheap for the things, I'm sure?"

  "Cheap!" says Mrs. Yolland. "Come and judge for yourself."

  She took up the candle and led the Sergeant to a corner of the kitchen.For the life of me, I couldn't help following them. Shaken down inthe corner was a heap of odds and ends (mostly old metal), which thefisherman had picked up at different times from wrecked ships, and whichhe hadn't found a market for yet, to his own mind. Mrs. Yolland divedinto this rubbish, and brought up an old japanned tin case, with a coverto it, and a hasp to hang it up by--the sort of thing they use, on boardship, for keeping their maps and charts, and such-like, from the wet.

  "There!" says she. "When Rosanna came in this evening, she boughtthe fellow to that. 'It will just do,' she says, 'to put my cuffsand collars in, and keep them from being crumpled in my box.' One andninepence, Mr. Cuff. As I live by bread, not a halfpenny more!"

  "Dirt cheap!" says the Sergeant, with a heavy sigh.

  He weighed the case in his hand. I thought I heard a note or two of "TheLast Rose of Summer" as he looked at it. There was no doubt now! Hehad made another discovery to the prejudice of Rosanna Spearman, in theplace of all others where I thought her character was safest, and allthrough me! I leave you to imagine what I felt, and how sincerely Irepented having been the medium of introduction between Mrs. Yolland andSergeant Cuff.

  "That will do," I said. "We really must go."

  Without paying the least attention to me, Mrs. Yolland took another diveinto the rubbish, and came up out of it, this time, with a dog-chain.

  "Weigh it in your hand, sir," she said to the Sergeant. "We had three ofthese; and Rosanna has taken two of them. 'What can you want, my dear,with a couple of dog's chains?' says I. 'If I join them together they'lldo round my box nicely,' says she. 'Rope's cheapest,' says I. 'Chain'ssurest,' says she. 'Who ever heard of a box corded with chain,' saysI. 'Oh, Mrs. Yolland, don't make objections!' says she; 'let me havemy chains!' A strange girl, Mr. Cuff--good as gold, and kinder than asister to my Lucy--but always a little strange. There! I humoured her.Three and sixpence. On the word of an honest woman, three and sixpence,Mr. Cuff!"

  "Each?" says the Sergeant.

  "Both together!" says Mrs. Yolland. "Three and sixpence for the two."

  "Given away, ma'am," says the Sergeant, shaking his head. "Clean givenaway!"

  "There's the money," says Mrs. Yolland, getting back sideways to thelittle heap of silver on the table, as if it drew her in spite ofherself. "The tin case and the dog chains were all she bought, and allshe took away. One and ninepence and three and sixpence--total, five andthree. With my love and respects--and I can't find it in my conscienceto take a poor girl's savings, when she may want them herself."

  "I can't find it in MY conscience, ma'am, to give the money back,"says Sergeant Cuff. "You have as good as made her a present of thethings--you have indeed."

  "Is that your sincere opinion, sir?" says Mrs. Yolland brightening upwonderfully.

  "There can't be a doubt about it," answered the Sergeant. "Ask Mr.Betteredge."

  It was no use asking ME. All they got out of ME was, "Good-night."

  "Bother the money!" says Mrs. Yolland. With these words, she appeared tolose all command over herself; and, making a sudden snatch at the heapof silver, put it back, holus-bolus, in her pocket. "It upsets one'stemper, it does, to see it lying there, and nobody taking it," criesthis unreasonable woman, sitting down with a thump, and looking atSergeant Cuff, as much as to say, "It's in my pocket again now--get itout if you can!"

  This time, I not only went to the door, but went fairly out on theroad back. Explain it how you may, I felt as if one or both of them hadmortally offended me. Before I had taken three steps down the village, Iheard the Sergeant behind me.

  "Thank you for your introduction, Mr. Betteredge," he said. "I amindebted to the fisherman's wife for an entirely new sensation. Mrs.Yolland has puzzled me."

  It was on the tip of my tongue to have given him a sharp answer, for nobetter reason than this--that I was out of temper with him, because Iwas out of temper with myself. But when he owned to being puzzled, acomforting doubt crossed my mind whether any great harm had been doneafter all. I waited in discreet silence to hear more.

  "Yes," says the Sergeant, as if he was actually reading my thoughts inthe dark. "Instead of putting me on the scent, it may console you toknow, Mr. Betteredge (with your interest in Rosanna), that you have beenthe means of throwing me off. What the girl has done, to-night, is clearenough, of course. She has joined the two chains, and has fastened themto the hasp in the tin case. She has sunk the case, in the water orin the quicksand. She has made the loose end of the chain fast to someplace under the rocks, known only to herself. And she will leave thecase secure at its anchorage till the present proceedings have cometo an end; after which she can privately pull it up again out of itshiding-place, at her own leisure and convenience. All perfectly plain,so far. But," says the Sergeant, with the first tone of impatience inhis voice that I had heard yet, "the mystery is--what the devil has shehidden in the tin case?"

  I thought to myself, "The Moonstone!" But I only said to Sergeant Cuff,"Can't you guess?"

  "It's not the Diamond," says the Sergeant. "The whole experience of mylife is at fault, if Rosanna Spearman has got the Diamond."

  On hearing those words, the infernal detective-fever began, I suppose,to burn in me again. At any rate, I forgot myself in the interest ofguessing this new riddle. I said rashly, "The stained dress!"

  Sergeant Cuff stopped short in the dark, and laid his hand on my arm.

  "Is anything thrown into that quicksand of yours, ever thrown up on thesurface again?" he asked.

  "Never," I answered. "Light or heavy whatever goes into the Shiveri
ngSand is sucked down, and seen no more."

  "Does Rosanna Spearman know that?"

  "She knows it as well as I do."

  "Then," says the Sergeant, "what on earth has she got to do but to tieup a bit of stone in the stained dress and throw it into the quicksand?There isn't the shadow of a reason why she should have hidden it--andyet she must have hidden it. Query," says the Sergeant, walking onagain, "is the paint-stained dress a petticoat or a night-gown? or is itsomething else which there is a reason for preserving at any risk? Mr.Betteredge, if nothing occurs to prevent it, I must go to Frizinghallto-morrow, and discover what she bought in the town, when she privatelygot the materials for making the substitute dress. It's a risk toleave the house, as things are now--but it's a worse risk still to stiranother step in this matter in the dark. Excuse my being a little out oftemper; I'm degraded in my own estimation--I have let Rosanna Spearmanpuzzle me."

  When we got back, the servants were at supper. The first person we sawin the outer yard was the policeman whom Superintendent Seegrave hadleft at the Sergeant's disposal. The Sergeant asked if Rosanna Spearmanhad returned. Yes. When? Nearly an hour since. What had she done? Shehad gone up-stairs to take off her bonnet and cloak--and she was now atsupper quietly with the rest.

  Without making any remark, Sergeant Cuff walked on, sinking lower andlower in his own estimation, to the back of the house. Missing theentrance in the dark, he went on (in spite of my calling to him) tillhe was stopped by a wicket-gate which led into the garden. When I joinedhim to bring him back by the right way, I found that he was looking upattentively at one particular window, on the bed-room floor, at the backof the house.

  Looking up, in my turn, I discovered that the object of hiscontemplation was the window of Miss Rachel's room, and that lights werepassing backwards and forwards there as if something unusual was goingon.

  "Isn't that Miss Verinder's room?" asked Sergeant Cuff.

  I replied that it was, and invited him to go in with me to supper. TheSergeant remained in his place, and said something about enjoying thesmell of the garden at night. I left him to his enjoyment. Just as Iwas turning in at the door, I heard "The Last Rose of Summer" at thewicket-gate. Sergeant Cuff had made another discovery! And my younglady's window was at the bottom of it this time!

  The latter reflection took me back again to the Sergeant, with a politeintimation that I could not find it in my heart to leave him by himself."Is there anything you don't understand up there?" I added, pointing toMiss Rachel's window.

  Judging by his voice, Sergeant Cuff had suddenly risen again to theright place in his own estimation. "You are great people for betting inYorkshire, are you not?" he asked.

  "Well?" I said. "Suppose we are?"

  "If I was a Yorkshireman," proceeded the Sergeant, taking my arm, "Iwould lay you an even sovereign, Mr. Betteredge, that your young ladyhas suddenly resolved to leave the house. If I won on that event, Ishould offer to lay another sovereign, that the idea has occurred to herwithin the last hour." The first of the Sergeant's guesses startled me.The second mixed itself up somehow in my head with the report we hadheard from the policeman, that Rosanna Spearman had returned from thesands with in the last hour. The two together had a curious effect onme as we went in to supper. I shook off Sergeant Cuff's arm, and,forgetting my manners, pushed by him through the door to make my owninquiries for myself.

  Samuel, the footman, was the first person I met in the passage.

  "Her ladyship is waiting to see you and Sergeant Cuff," he said, beforeI could put any questions to him.

  "How long has she been waiting?" asked the Sergeant's voice behind me.

  "For the last hour, sir."

  There it was again! Rosanna had come back; Miss Rachel had taken someresolution out of the common; and my lady had been waiting to see theSergeant--all within the last hour! It was not pleasant to find thesevery different persons and things linking themselves together in thisway. I went on upstairs, without looking at Sergeant Cuff, or speakingto him. My hand took a sudden fit of trembling as I lifted it to knockat my mistress's door.

  "I shouldn't be surprised," whispered the Sergeant over my shoulder,"if a scandal was to burst up in the house to-night. Don't be alarmed! Ihave put the muzzle on worse family difficulties than this, in my time."

  As he said the words I heard my mistress's voice calling to us to comein.