Mr. Luker pass something to the sailor with
the black beard."

"Why didn't you tell Mr. Bruff what you
saw?"

"I hadn't time to tell anybody, sir, the
sailor went out in such a hurry."

"And you ran out after him— eh?"

"Yes, sir."

"Gooseberry, " said the Sergeant, patting
his head, "you have got something in that
small skull of yours and it isn't cotton-wool.
I am greatly pleased with you, so far."

The boy blushed with pleasure. Sergeant
Cuff went on.

"Well? and what did the sailor do, when he
got into the street?"

"He called a cab, sir."

"And what did you do?"

"Held on behind, and run after it."

Before the Sergeant could put his next
question, another visitor was announced— the head
clerk from Mr. Bruff's office.

Feeling the importance of not interrupting
Sergeant Cuff's examination of the boy, I
received the clerk in another room. He came
with bad news of his employer. The agitation
and excitement of the last two days had proved
too much for Mr. Bruff. He had awoke that
morning with an attack of gout; he was
confined to his room at Hampstead; and, in the
present critical condition of our affairs, he was
very uneasy at being compelled to leave me
without the advice and assistance of an
experienced person. The chief clerk had received
orders to hold himself at my disposal, and was
willing to do his best to replace Mr. Bruff.

I wrote at once to quiet the old gentleman's
mind, by telling him of Sergeant Cuff's visit:
adding that Gooseberry was at that moment
under examination; and promising to inform
Mr. Bruff, either personally or by letter, of
whatever might occur later in the day. Having
despatched the clerk to Hampstead with my
note, I returned to the room which I had left,
and found Sergeant Cuff at the fireplace, in the
act of ringing the bell.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Blake," said the
Sergeant.  " I was just going to send word by
your servant that I wanted to speak to you.
There isn't a doubt on my mind that this boy—
this most meritorious boy," added the Sergeant,
patting Gooseberry on the head, " has followed
the right man. Precious time has been lost,
sir, through your unfortunately not being at
home at half past ten last night. The only
thing to do, now, is to send for a cab
immediately."

In five minutes more, Sergeant Cuff and I
(with Gooseberry on the box to guide the
driver) were on our way eastward, towards the
City.

"One of these days," said the Sergeant,
pointing through the front window of the cab,
"that boy will do great things in my late
profession. He is the brightest and cleverest
little chap I have met with, for many a long
year past. You shall hear the substance, Mr.
Blake, of what he told me while you were out
of the room. You were present, I think, when
he mentioned that he held on behind the cab,
and ran after it?"

"Yes."

"Well, sir, the cab went from Lombard
Street to the Tower Wharf. The sailor with
the black beard got out, and spoke to the
steward of the Rotterdam steamboat, which
was to start the next morning. He asked if he
could be allowed to go on board at once, and
sleep in his berth over-night. The steward said,
No. The cabins, and berths, and bedding were
all to have a thorough cleaning that evening,
and no passenger could be allowed to come on
board, before the morning. The sailor turned
round, and left the wharf. When he got into
the street again, the boy noticed for the first
time, a man dressed like a respectable mechanic,
walking on the opposite side of the road, and
apparently keeping the sailor in view. The
sailor stopped at an eating-house in the
neighbourhood, and went in. The boy— not being able
to make up his mind, at the moment hung
about among some other boys, staring at the
good things in the eating-house window. He
noticed the mechanic, waiting, as he himself
was waiting— but still on the opposite side of
the street. After a minute, a cab came by
slowly, and stopped where the mechanic was
standing. The boy could only see plainly one
person in the cab, who leaned forward at the
window to speak to the mechanic. He described
that person, Mr. Blake, without any
prompting from me, as having a dark face, like
the face of an Indian."

It was plain, by this time, that Mr. Bruff
and I had made another mistake. The sailor
with the black beard was clearly not a spy in
the service of the Indian conspiracy. Was he,
by any possibility, the man who had got the
Diamond?

"After a little," pursued the Sergeant, " the
cab moved on slowly down the street. The
mechanic crossed the road, and went into the
eating-house. The boy waited outside till he
was hungry and tired— and then went into the
eating-house, in his turn. He had a shilling in
his pocket; and he dined sumptuously, he tells
me, on a black-pudding, an eel-pie, and a bottle
of ginger-beer. What can a boy not digest?
The substance in question has never been
found yet."

"What did he see in the eating-house?" I
asked.

"Well, Mr. Blake, he saw the sailor reading
the newspaper at one table, and the mechanic
reading the newspaper at another. It was dusk
before the sailor got up, and left the place. He
looked about him suspiciously when he got out
into the street. The boy—being a boy— passed
unnoticed. The mechanic had not come out
yet. The sailor walked on, looking about him,
and apparently not very certain of where he was
going next. The mechanic appeared once more,
on the opposite side of the road. The sailor
went on, till he got to Shore Lane, leading into