THE MOONSTONE.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE WOMAN IN WHITE," &C. &C.

CHAPTER XV.

THE Sergeant remained silent, thinking his
own thoughts, till we entered the plantation of
firs which led to the quicksand. There he
roused himself, like a man whose mind
was made up, and spoke to me again.

"Mr. Betteredge," he said, "as you have
honoured me by taking an oar in my boat, and
as you may, I think, be of some assistance to me
before the evening is out, I see no use in our
mystifying one another any longer, and I
propose to set you an example of plain-speaking on
my side. You are determined to give me no
information to the prejudice of Rosanna Spearman,
because she has been a good girl to you,
and because you pity her heartily. Those
humane considerations do you a world of credit,
but they happen in this instance to be humane
considerations clean thrown away. Rosanna
Spearman is not in the slightest danger of
getting into trouble—no, not if I fix her with being
concerned in the disappearance of the Diamond,
on evidence which is as plain as the nose on
your face!"

"Do you mean that my lady won't prosecute?"
I asked.

"I mean that your lady can't prosecute,"
said the Sergeant. "Rosanna Spearman is
simply an instrument in the hands of another
person, and Rosanna Spearman will be held
harmless for that other person's sake."

He spoke like a man in earnest—there was no
denying that. Still, I felt something stirring
uneasily against him in my mind. "Can't you
give that other person a name?" I said.

"Can't you, Mr. Betteredge?"

"No."

Sergeant Cuff stood stock still, and surveyed
me with a look of melancholy interest.

"It's always a pleasure to me to be tender
towards human infirmity," he said. "I feel
particularly tender at the present moment, Mr.
Betteredge, towards you. And you, with the
same excellent motive, feel particularly tender
towards Rosanna Spearman, don't you? Do
you happen to know whether she has had a new
outfit of linen lately?"

What he meant by slipping in this extraordinary
question unawares, I was at a total loss
to imagine. Seeing no possible injury to
Rosanna if I owned the truth, I answered that
the girl had come to us rather sparely provided
with linen, and that my lady, in recompense for
her good conduct (I laid a stress on her good
conduct), had given her a new outfit not a
fortnight since.

"This is a miserable world," says the Sergeant.
"Human life, Mr. Betteredge, is a sort of target
—misfortune is always firing at it, and always
hitting the mark. But for that outfit, we should
have discovered a new nightgown or petticoat
among Rosanna's things, and have nailed her in
that way. You're not at a loss to follow me,
are you? You have examined the servants
yourself, and you know what discoveries two of
them made outside Rosanna's door. Surely
you know what the girl was about yesterday,
after she was taken ill? You can't guess?
Oh, dear me, it's as plain as that strip of
light there, at the end of the trees. At
eleven, on Thursday morning, Superintendent
Seegrave (who is a mass of human infirmity)
points out to all the women servants the
smear on the door. Rosanna has her own
reasons for suspecting her own things; she
takes the first opportunity of getting to her
room, finds the paint-stain on her nightgown, or
petticoat, or what not, shams ill, and slips away
to the town, gets the materials for making a
new petticoat or nightgown, makes it alone in
her room on the Thursday night, lights a fire
(not to destroy it; two of her fellow-servants
are prying outside her door, and she knows
better than to make a smell of burning, and to
have a lot of tinder to get rid of)—lights a fire,
I say, to dry and iron the substitute dress after
wringing it out, keeps the stained dress hidden
(probably on her), and is at this moment occupied
in making away with it, in some convenient
place, on that lonely bit of beach ahead of us.
I have traced her this evening to your fishing
village, and to one particular cottage, which we
may possibly have to visit, before we go back.
She stopped in the cottage for some time, and
she came out with (as I believe) something
hidden under her cloak. A cloak (on a woman's
back) is an emblem of charity—it covers a
multitude of sins. I saw her set off northwards
along the coast, after leaving the cottage. Is