Cuff looked through the evergreen arch on our
left, spied out our rosery, and walked straight
in, with the first appearance of anything like
interest that he had shown yet. To the
gardener's astonishment, and to my disgust, this
celebrated policeman proved to be quite a mine
of learning on the trumpery subject of rose-
gardens.

"Ah, you've got the right exposure here to
the south and sou'-west," says the Sergeant,
with a wag of his grizzled head, and a streak of
pleasure in his melancholy voice. " This is the
shape for a rosery—nothing like a circle set in
a square. Yes, yes; with walks between all
the beds. But they oughtn't to be gravel walks
like these. Grass, Mr. Gardener—grass walks
between your roses; gravel's too hard for them.
That's a sweet pretty bed of white roses and
blush roses. They always mix well together,
don't they? Here's the white musk rose, Mr.
Betteredge—our old English rose holding up its
head along with the best and the newest of
them. Pretty dear!" says the Sergeant, fondling
the Musk Rose with his lanky fingers,
and speaking to it as if he was speaking to a
child.

This was a nice sort of man to recover Miss
Rachel's Diamond, and to find out the thief who
stole it!

"You seem to be fond of roses, Sergeant?" I
remarked.

"I haven't much time to be fond of anything,"
says Sergeant Cuff. " But, when I have a
moment's fondness to bestow, most times, Mr.
Betteredge, the roses get it. I began my life
among them in my father's nursery garden, and
I shall end my life among them, it I can. Yes.
One of these days (please God) I shall retire
from catching thieves, and try my hand at growing
roses. There will be grass walks, Mr.
Gardener, between my beds," says the Sergeant,
on whose mind the gravel paths of our rosery
seemed to dwell unpleasantly.

"It seems an odd taste, sir," I ventured to
say, " for a man in your line of life."

"If you will look about you (which most
people won't do)," says Sergeant Cuff, "you
will see that the nature of a man's tastes is,
most times, as opposite as possible to the nature
of a man's business. Show me any two things
more opposite one from the other than a rose
and a thief; and I'll correct my tastes
accordingly—if it isn't too late at my time of life.
You find the damask rose a goodish stock for
most of the tender sorts, don't you, Mr.
Gardener? Ah! I thought so. Here's a lady
coming. Is it Lady Verinder?"

He had seen her before either I or the
gardener had seen he—r though we knew which
way to look, and he didn't. I began to think
him rather a quicker man than he appeared to
be at first sight.

The Sergeant's appearance, or the Sergeant's
errand—one or both—seemed to cause my lady
some little embarrassment. She was, for the
first time in all my experience of her, at a loss
what to say at an interview with a stranger.

Sergeant Cuff put her at her ease directly. He
asked if any other person had been employed
about the robbery before we sent for him; and
hearing that another person had been called in,
and was now in the house, begged leave to
speak to him before anything else was done.

My lady led the way back. Before he followed
her, the Sergeant relieved his mind on the subject
of the gravel walks by a parting word to
the gardener. " Get her ladyship to try grass,"
he said, with a sour look at the paths. " No
gravel! no gravel!"

Why Superintendent Seegrave should have
appeared to be several sizes smaller than life,
on being presented to Sergeant Cuff, I can't
undertake to explain. I can only state the fact.
They retired together; and remained a weary
long time shut up from all mortal intrusion.
When they came out, Mr. Superintendent was
excited, and Mr. Sergeant was yawning.

"The Sergeant wishes to see Miss Verinder's
sitting-room," says Mr. Seegrave, addressing
me with great pomp and eagerness. "The
Sergeant may have some questions to ask. Attend
the Sergeant, if you please!"

While I was being ordered about in this way,
I looked at the great Cuff. The great Cuff, on
his side, looked at Superintendent Seegrave in
that quietly expecting way which I have already
noticed. I can't affirm that he was on the
watch for his brother-officer's speedy appearance
in the character of an Ass—I can only say that
I strongly suspected it.

I led the way up-stairs. The Sergeant went
softly all over the Indian cabinet and all round
the " boudoir;" asking questions (occasionally
only of Mr. Superintendent, and continually of
me), the drift of which I believe to have been
equally unintelligible to both of us. In due
time, his course brought him to the door, and
put him face to face with the decorative
painting that you know of. He laid one lean
inquiring finger on the small smear, just under
the lock, which Superintendent Seegrave had
already noticed, when he reproved the women-
servants for all crowding together into the
room.

"That's a pity," says Sergeant Cuff. " How
did it happen?"

He put the question to me. I answered that
the women-servants had crowded into the room
on the previous morning, and that some of their
petticoats had done the mischief. "Superintendent
Seegrave ordered them out, sir," I
added, " before they did any more harm."

"Right!" says Mr. Superintendent in his
military way. " I ordered them out. The
petticoats did it, Sergeant—the petticoats did
it."

"Did you notice which petticoat did it?"
asked Sergeant Cuff, still addressing himself,
not to his brother-officer, but to me.

"No, sir."

He turned to Superintendent Seegrave upon
that, and said, " You noticed, I suppose?"

Mr. Superintendent looked a little taken
but he made the best of it. " I can't