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 night-gown, 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 your
sea-shore here considered a fine specimen of marine landscape, Mr.
Betteredge?"