lost, trust them for prophesying that it will
never be found again."

This view (which, I am bound to say, I
thought a probable view myself, on reflection)
seemed to relieve Mr. Franklin mightily: he
folded up his telegram, and dismissed the
subject. On my way to the stables, to order the
pony-chaise, I looked in at the servants' hall,
where they were at dinner. Rosanna Spearman
was not among them. On inquiry, I found
that she had been suddenly taken ill, and had
gone up-stairs to her own room to lie down.

"Curious! She looked well enough when I
saw her last," I remarked.

Penelope followed me out. " Don't talk in
that way before the rest of them, father," she
said. "You only make them harder on
Rosanna than ever. The poor thing is breaking
her heart about Mr. Franklin Blake."

Here was another view of the girl's conduct.
If it was possible for Penelope to be right, the
explanation of Rosanna's strange language and
behaviour might have been all in this—that she
didn't care what she said, so long as she could
surprise Mr. Franklin into speaking to her.
Granting that to be the right reading of the
riddle, it accounted, perhaps, for her flighty
self-conceited manner when she passed me in
the hall. Though he had only said three words,
still she had carried her point, and Mr. Franklin
had spoken to her.

I saw the pony harnessed myself. In the
infernal network of mysteries and uncertainties
that now surrounded us, I declare it was a relief
to observe how well the buckles and straps
understood each other! When you had seen the
pony backed into the shafts of the chaise, you
had seen something there was no doubt about.
And that, let me tell you, was becoming a treat
of the rarest kind in our household.

Going round with the chaise to the front
door, I found not only Mr. Franklin, but Mr.
Godfrey and Superintendent Seegrave also waiting
for me on the steps.

Mr. Superintendent's reflections (after failing
to find the Diamond in the servants' rooms or
boxes) had led him, it appeared, to an entirely
new conclusion. Still sticking to his first text,
namely, that somebody in the house had stolen
the jewel, our experienced officer was now of
opinion that the thief (he was wise enough not
to name poor Penelope, whatever he might
privately think of her!) had been acting in
concert with the Indians; and he accordingly
proposed shifting his inquiries to the jugglers
in the prison at Frizinghall. Hearing of this
new move, Mr. Franklin had volunteered to
take the Superintendent back to the town,
from which he could telegraph to London as
easily as from our station. Mr. Godfrey, still
devoutly believing in Mr. Seegrave, and greatly
interested in witnessing the examination of the
Indians, had begged leave to accompany the
officer to Frizinghall. One of the two inferior
policemen was to be left at the house, in case
anything happened. The other was to go
back with the Superintendent to the town.
So the four places in the pony-chaise were just
filled.

Before he took the reins to drive off, Mr.
Franklin walked me away a few steps out of
hearing of the others.

"I will wait to telegraph to London," he
said, " till I see what comes of our examination
of the Indians. My own conviction is, that
this muddle-headed local police-officer is as
much in the dark as ever, and is simply trying
to gain time. The idea of any of the servants
being in league with the Indians is a
preposterous absurdity, in my opinion. Keep about
the house, Betteredge, till I come back, and
try what you can make of Rosanna Spearman.
I don't ask you to do anything degrading to
your own self-respect, or anything cruel towards
the girl. I only ask you to exercise your
observation more carefully than usual. We will
make as light of it as we can before my aunt—
but this is a more important matter than you
may suppose."

"It's a matter of twenty thousand pounds,
sir," I said, thinking of the value of the
Diamond.

"It's a matter of quieting Rachel's mind,"
answered Mr. Franklin, gravely. " I am very
uneasy about her."

He left me suddenly, as if he desired to cut
short any further talk between us. I thought
I understood why. Further talk might have
let me into the secret of what Miss Rachel had
said to him on the terrace.

So they drove away to Frizinghall. I was
ready enough, in the girl's own interest, to
have a little talk with Rosanna in private. But
the needful opportunity failed to present itself.
She only came downstairs again at tea-time.
When she did appear, she was flighty and
excited, had what they call an hysterical attack,
took a dose of sal volatile by my lady's order,
and was sent back to her bed.

The day wore on to its end drearily and
miserably enough, I can tell you. Miss Rachel
still kept her room, declaring that she was too
ill to come down to dinner that day. My lady
was in such low spirits about her daughter,
that I could not bring myself to make her
additionally anxious, by reporting what Rosanna
Spearman had said to Mr. Franklin. Penelope
persisted in believing that she was to be forthwith
tried, sentenced, and transported for theft.
The other women took to their Bibles and
hynm-books, and looked as sour as verjuice over
their reading—a result, which I have observed,
in my sphere of life, to follow generally on the
performance of acts of piety at unaccustomed
periods of the day. As for me, I hadn't even
heart enough to open my Robinson Crusoe. I
went out into the yard, and, being hard up for
a little cheerful society, set my chair by the
kennels, and talked to the dogs.

Half an hour before dinner-time, the two
gentlemen came back from Frizinghall, having
arranged with Superintendent Seegrave that he
was to return to us the next day. They had
called on Mr. Murthwaite, the Indian traveller,