"I hear you!" Tammie shouted back.
"When's the turn of the tide?"
"In an hour's time."
We both looked at our watches.
"We can go round by the coast, Mr. Franklin," said Betteredge; "and get
to the quicksand in that way with plenty of time to spare. What do you
say, sir?"
"Come along!"
On our way to the Shivering Sand, I applied to Betteredge to revive
my memory of events (as affecting Rosanna Spearman) at the period of
Sergeant Cuff's inquiry. With my old friend's help, I soon had the
succession of circumstances clearly registered in my mind. Rosanna's
journey to Frizinghall, when the whole household believed her to be ill
in her own room--Rosanna's mysterious employment of the night-time with
her door locked, and her candle burning till the morning--Rosanna's
suspicious purchase of the japanned tin case, and the two dog's chains
from Mrs. Yolland--the Sergeant's positive conviction that Rosanna had
hidden something at the Shivering Sand, and the Sergeant's absolute
ignorance as to what that something might be--all these strange results
of the abortive inquiry into the loss of the Moonstone were clearly
present to me again, when we reached the quicksand, and walked out
together on the low ledge of rocks called the South Spit.
With Betteredge's help, I soon stood in the right position to see the
Beacon and the Coast-guard flagstaff in a line together. Following
the memorandum as our guide, we next laid my stick in the necessary
direction, as neatly as we could, on the uneven surface of the rocks.
And then we looked at our watches once more.
It wanted nearly twenty minutes yet of the turn of the tide. I suggested
waiting through this interval on the beach, instead of on the wet and
slippery surface of the rocks. Having reached the dry sand, I prepared
to sit down; and, greatly to my surprise, Betteredge prepared to leave
me.
"What are you going away for?" I asked.
"Look at the letter again, sir, and you will see."
A glance at the letter reminded me that I was charged, when I made my
discovery, to make it alone.
"It's hard enough for me to leave you, at such a time as this," said
Betteredge. "But she died a dreadful death, poor soul--and I feel a kind
of call on me, Mr. Franklin, to humour that fancy of hers. Besides,"
he added, confidentially, "there's nothing in the letter against
your letting out the secret afterwards. I'll hang about in the fir
plantation, and wait till you pick me up. Don't be longer than you can
help, sir. The detective-fever isn't an easy disease to deal with, under
THESE circumstances."
With that parting caution, he left me.
The interval of expectation, short as it was when reckoned by the
measure of time, assumed formidable proportions when reckoned by
the measure of suspense. This was one of the occasions on which the
invaluable habit of smoking becomes especially precious and consolatory.
I lit a cigar, and sat down on the slope of the beach.