‘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. Report, on coming out: ‘Sergeant Cuff is much to be pitied. He must have been crossed in love, father, when he was a young man.’ The first housemaid followed Penelope. Remained, like my lady’s maid, a long time. Report, on coming out: ‘I didn’t enter her ladyship’s service, Mr. Betteredge, to be doubted to my face by a low police-officer!’ Rosanna Spearman went next. Remained longer than any of them. No report on coming out—dead silence, and lips as pale as ashes. Samuel, the footman, followed Rosanna. Remained a minute or two. Report, on coming out: ‘Whoever blacks Sergeant Cuff’s boots ought to be ashamed of himself.’ Nancy, the kitchenmaid, went last. Remained a minute or two. Report, on coming out: ‘Sergeant Cuff has a heart; he doesn’t cut jokes, Mr. Betteredge, with a poor hard-working girl.’
Going into the Court of Justice, when it was all over, to hear if there were any further commands for me, I found the Sergeant at his old trick—looking out of window, and whistling ‘The Last Rose of Summer’ to himself.
‘Any discoveries, sir?’ I inquired.
‘If Rosanna Spearman asks leave to go out,’ said the Sergeant, ‘let the poor thing go; but let me know first.’
I might as well have held my tongue about Rosanna and Mr. Franklin! It was plain enough; the unfortunate girl had fallen under Sergeant Cuff’s suspicions, in spite of all I could do to prevent it.
‘I hope you don’t think Rosanna is concerned in the loss of the Diamond?’ I ventured to say.
The corners of the Sergeant’s melancholy mouth curled up, and he looked hard in my face, just as he had looked in the garden.
‘I think I had better not tell you, Mr. Betteredge,’ he said. ‘You might lose your head, you know, for the second time.’
I began to doubt whether I had been one too many for the celebrated Cuff, after all! It was rather a relief to me that we were interrupted here by a knock at the door, and a message from the cook. Rosanna Spearman had asked to go out, for the usual reason, that her head was bad, and she wanted a breath of fresh air. At a sign from the Sergeant, I said, Yes. ‘Which is the servants’ way out?’ he asked, when the messenger had gone. I showed him the servants’ way out. ‘Lock the door of your room,’ says the Sergeant; ‘and if anybody asks for me, say I’m in there, composing my mind.’ He curled up again at the corners of the lips, and disappeared.
Left alone, under those circumstances, a devouring curiosity pushed me on to make some discoveries for myself.
It was plain that Sergeant Cuff’s suspicions of Rosanna had been roused by something that he had found out at his examination of the servants in my room. Now, the only two servants (excepting Rosanna herself) who had remained under examination for any length of time, were my lady’s own maid and the first housemaid, those two being also the women who had taken the lead in persecuting their unfortunate fellow-servant from the first. Reaching these conclusions, I looked in on them, casually as it might be, in the servants’ hall, and, finding tea going forward, instantly invited myself to that meal. (For, nota bene, a drop of tea is to a woman’s tongue what a drop of oil is to a wasting lamp.)
My reliance on the tea-pot, as an ally, did not go unrewarded. In less than half an hour I knew as much as the Sergeant himself.
My lady’s maid and the housemaid had, it appeared, neither of them believed in Rosanna’s illness of the previous day. These two devils—I ask your pardon; but how else can you describe a couple of spiteful women?—had stolen up-stairs, at intervals during the Thursday afternoon; had tried Rosanna’s door, and found it locked; had knocked, and not been answered; had listened, and not heard a sound inside. When the girl had come down to tea, and had been sent up, still out of sorts, to bed again, the two devils aforesaid had tried her door once more, and found it locked; had looked at the keyhole, and found it stopped up; had seen a light under the door at midnight, and had heard the crackling of a fire (a fire in a servant’s bed-room in the month ofJune!) at four in the morning. All this they had told Sergeant Cuff, who, in return for their anxiety to enlighten him, had eyed them with sour and suspicious looks, and had shown them plainly that he didn’t believe either one or the other. Hence, the unfavourable reports of him which these two women had brought out with them from the examination. Hence, also (without reckoning the influence of the tea-pot), their readiness to let their tongues run to any length on the subject of the Sergeant’s ungracious behaviour to them.
Having had some experience of the great Cuff’s roundabout ways, and having last seen him evidently bent on following Rosanna privately when she went out for her walk, it seemed clear to me that he had thought it unadvisable to let the lady’s maid and the housemaid know how materially they had helped him. They were just the sort of women, if he had treated their evidence as trustworthy, to have been puffed up by it, and to have said or done something which would have put Rosanna Spearman on her guard.
I walked out in the fine summer afternoon, very sorry for the poor girl, and very uneasy in my mind at the turn things had taken. Drifting towards the shrubbery, some time later, there I met Mr. Franklin. After returning from seeing his cousin off at the station, he had been with my lady, holding a long conversation with her. She had told him of Miss Rachel’s unaccountable refusal to let her wardrobe be examined; and had put him in such low spirits about my young lady, that he seemed to shrink from speaking on the subject. The family temper appeared in his face that evening, for the first time in my experience of him.
‘Well, Betteredge,’ he said, ‘how does the atmosphere of mystery and suspicion in which we are all living now agree with you? Do you remember that morning when I first came here with the Moonstone? I wish to God we had thrown it into the quicksand!’
After breaking out in that way, he abstained from speaking again until he had composed himself. We walked silently, side by side, for a minute or two, and then he asked me what had become of Sergeant Cuff. It was impossible to put Mr. Franklin off with the excuse of the Sergeant being in my room, composing his mind. I told him exactly what had happened, mentioning particularly what my lady’s maid and the housemaid had said about Rosanna Spearman.
Mr. Franklin’s clear head saw the turn the Sergeant’s suspicions had taken, in the twinkling of an eye.