the shrubbery; and I heard him say softly to
himself, "Hullo!"

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"A touch of the rheumatics in my back,"
said the Sergeant, in a loud voice, as if he
wanted some third person to hear us. "We
shall have a change in the weather before
long."

A few steps further brought us to the corner
of the house. Turning off sharp to the right,
we entered on the terrace, and went down, by
the steps in the middle, into the garden below.
Sergeant Cuff stopped there, in the open space,
where we could see round us on every side.

"About that young person, Rosanna Spearman?"
he said. "It isn't very likely, with her
personal appearance, that she has got a lover.
But, for the girl's own sake, I must ask you at
once whether she has provided herself with a
sweetheart, poor wretch, like the rest of them?"

What on earth did he mean, under present
circumstances, by putting such a question to
me as that? I stared at him, instead of answering
him.

"I saw Rosanna Spearman hiding in the
shrubbery as we went by," said the Sergeant.

"When you said 'Hullo'?"

"Yes—when I said, 'Hullo.' If there's a
sweetheart in the case, the hiding doesn't much
matter. If there isn't—as things are in this
house—the hiding is a highly suspicious
circumstance, and it will be my painful duty to
act on it accordingly."

What, in God's name, was I to say to him?
I knew the shrubbery was Mr. Franklin's
favourite walk; I knew he would most likely
turn that way when he came back from the
station; I knew that Penelope had over and
over again caught her fellow-servant hanging
about there, and had always declared to me that
Rosanna's object was to attract Mr. Franklin's
attention. If my daughter was right, she might
well have been lying in wait for Mr. Franklin's
return when the Serjeant noticed her. I was
put between the two difficulties of mentioning
Penelope's fanciful notion as if it was mine, or
of leaving an unfortunate creature to suffer the
consequences, the very serious consequences, of
exciting the suspicion of Sergeant Cuff. Out
of pure pity for the girl—on my soul and my
character, out of pure pity for the girl—I gave
the Sergeant the necessary explanations, and
told him that Rosanna had been mad enough to
set her heart on Mr. Franklin Blake.

Sergeant Cuff never laughed. On the few
occasions when anything amused him, he curled
up a little at the corners of the lips, nothing
more. He curled up now.

"Hadn't you better say she's mad enough to
be an ugly girl and only a servant?" he asked.
"The falling in love with a gentleman of Mr.
Franklin Blake's manners and appearance
doesn't seem to me to be the maddest part of
her conduct by any means. However, I'm glad
the thing is cleared up: it relieves one's mind
to have things cleared up. Yes, I'll keep it a
secret, Mr. Betteredge. I like to be tender
to human infirmity—though I don't get many
chances of exercising that virtue in my line of
life. You think Mr. Franklin Blake hasn't got
a suspicion of the girl's fancy for him? Ah! he
would have found it out fast enough if she had
been nice-looking. The ugly women have a bad
time of it in this world; let's hope it will be made
up to them in another. You have got a nice
garden there, and a well-kept lawn. See for
yourself how much better the flowers look with
grass about them instead of gravel. No, thank
you. I won't take a rose. It goes to my heart
to break them off the stem. Just as it goes to
your heart, you know, when there's something
wrong in the servants' hall. Did you notice
anything you couldn't account for in any of
the servants when the loss of the Diamond was
first found out?"

I had got on very fairly well with Sergeant
Cuff so far. But the slyness with which he
slipped in that last question put me on my
guard. In plain English, I didn't at all relish
the notion of helping his inquiries, when those
inquiries took him (in the capacity of snake in
the grass) among my fellow-servants.

"I noticed nothing," I said, "except that
we all lost our heads together, myself included."

"Oh," says the Sergeant, "that's all you have
to tell me, is it?"

I answered, with (as I flattered myself) an
unmoved countenance, "That is all."

Sergeant Cuff's dismal eyes looked me hard
in the face.

"Mr. Betteredge," he said, "have you any
objection to oblige me by shaking hands? I
have taken an extraordinary liking to you."

(Why he should have chosen the exact moment
when I was deceiving him to give me that proof
of his good opinion is beyond all comprehension!
I felt a little proud—I really did feel a little
proud of having been one too many at last for
the celebrated Cuff!)

We went back to the house; the Sergeant
requesting that I would give him a room to
himself, and then send in the servants (the
indoor servants only), one after another, in the
order of their rank, from first to last.

I showed Sergeant Cuff into my own room,
and then called the servants together in the
hall. Rosanna Spearman appeared among them,
much as usual. She was as quick in her way
as the Sergeant in his, and I suspect she had
heard what he said to me about the servants in
general, just before he discovered her. There she
was, at any rate, looking as if she had never heard
of such a place as the shrubbery in her life.

I sent them in, one by one, as desired. The
cook was the first to enter the Court of Justice,
otherwise my room. She remained but a
short time. Report, on coming out: "Sergeant
Cuff is depressed in his spirits; but Sergeant
Cuff is a perfect gentleman." My lady's own
maid followed. Remained much longer.
Report, on coming out: "If Sergeant Cuff doesn't
believe a respectable woman, he might keep
his opinion to himself, at any rate!" Penelope
went next. Remained only a moment or two.