"Miss Verinder appears to be a little out of
temper about the loss of her Diamond,"
remarked the Sergeant. " It's a valuable jewel.
Natural enough! natural enough!"

Here was the excuse that I had made for her
(when she forgot herself before Superintendent
Seegrave, on the previous day) being made for
her over again, by a man who couldn't have had
my interest in making it—for he was a perfect
stranger! A kind of cold shudder ran through
me, which I couldn't account for at the time.
I know, now, that I must have got my first
suspicion, at that moment, of a new light (and
a horrid light) having suddenly fallen on the
case, in the mind of Sergeant Cuff—purely and
entirely in consequence of what he had seen in
Miss Rachel, and heard from Miss Rachel, at
that first interview between them.

"A young lady's tongue is a privileged
member, sir," says the Sergeant to Mr. Franklin.
"Let us forget what has passed, and go straight
on with this business. Thanks to you, we know
when the paint was dry. The next thing to
discover is when the paint was last seen without
that smear. You have got a head on your
shoulders—and you understand what I mean."

Mr. Franklin composed himself, and came
back with an effort from Miss Rachel to the
matter in hand.

"I think I do understand," he said. " The
more we narrow the question of time, the more
we also narrow the field of inquiry."

"That's it, sir," said the Sergeant. " Did
you notice your work here, on the Wednesday
afternoon, after you had done it?"

Mr. Franklin shook his head, and answered,
"I can't say I did."

"Did you?" inquired Sergeant Cuff, turning
to me.

"I can't say I did either, sir."

"Who was the last person in the room, the
last thing on Wednesday night?"

"Miss Rachel, I suppose, sir."

Mr. Franklin struck in there, " Or possibly
your daughter, Betteredge." He turned to
Sergeant Cuff, and explained that my daughter
was Miss Verinder's maid.

"Mr. Betteredge, ask your daughter to step
up. Stop!" says the Sergeant, taking me
away to the window, out of earshot. " Your
Superintendent here," he went on, in a whisper,
"has made a pretty full report to me of the
manner in which he has managed this case.
Among other things, lie has, by his own
confession, set the servants' backs up. It's very
important to smooth them down again. Tell
your daughter, and tell the rest of them, these
two things, with my compliments: First, that I
have no evidence before me, yet, that the
Diamond has been stolen; I only know that the
Diamond has been lost. Second, that my business
here with the servants is simply to ask them to
lay their heads together and help me to find it."

My experience of the women-servants, when
Superintendent Seegrave laid his embargo on
their rooms, came in handy here.

"May I make so bold, Sergeant, as to tell
the women a third thing?" I asked. "Are
they free (with your compliments) to fidget up
and downstairs, and whisk in and out of their
bedrooms, if the fit takes them?"

"Perfectly free," says the Sergeant.

"That will smooth them down, sir," I
remarked, " from the cook to the scullion."

"Go, and do it at once, Mr. Betteredge."

I did it in less than five minutes. There was
only one difficulty when I came to the bit about
the bedrooms. It took a pretty stiff exertion
of my authority, as chief, to prevent the whole
of the female household from following me and
Penelope upstairs, in the character of volunteer
witnesses in a burning fever of anxiety to help
Sergeant Cuff.

The Sergeant seemed to approve of Penelope.
He became a trifle less dreary; and he looked
much as he had looked when he noticed the
white musk rose in the flower-garden. Here
is my daughter's evidence, as drawn off from
her by the Sergeant. She gave it, I think, very
prettily—but, there! she is my child all over:
nothing of her mother in her; Lord bless you,
nothing of her mother in her!

Penelope examined: Took a lively interest in
the painting on the door, having helped to mix
the colours. Noticed the bit of work under
the lock, because it was the last bit done. Had
seen it, some hours afterwards, without a smear.
Had left it, as late as twelve at night, without
a smear. Had, at that hour, wished her young
lady good night in the bedroom; had heard the
clock strike in the " boudoir;" had her hand at
the time on the handle of the painted door;
knew the paint was wet (having helped to mix
the colours, as aforesaid); took particular pains
not to touch it; could swear that she held up
the skirts of her dress, and that there was no
smear on the paint then; could not swear that
her dress mightn't have touched it accidentally
in going out; remembered the dress she had
on, because it was new, a present from Miss
Rachel; her father remembered, and could speak
to it, too; could, and would, and did fetch it;
dress recognised by her father as the dress she
wore that night; skirts examined, a long job
from the size of them; not the ghost of a
paint-stain discovered anywhere. End of
Penelope's evidence—and very pretty and convincing,
too. Signed, Gabriel Betteredge.

The Sergeant's next proceeding was to question
me about any large dogs in the house who
might have got into the room, and done the
mischief with a whisk of their tails. Hearing
that this was impossible, he next sent for a
magnifying-glass, and tried how the smear looked,
seen that way. No skin-mark (as of a human
hand) printed off on the paint. All the signs
visible—signs which told that the paint had
been smeared by some loose article of
somebody's dress touching it in going by. That
somebody (putting together Penelope's
evidence and Mr. Franklin's evidence) must have
been in the room, and done the mischief,
between midnight and three o'clock on the
Thursday morning.