I sat quiet in a corner, waiting to hear how the Sergeant would find his

way to the subject of Rosanna Spearman. His usual roundabout manner of

going to work proved, on this occasion, to be more roundabout than ever.

How he managed it is more than I could tell at the time, and more than

I can tell now. But this is certain, he began with the Royal Family, the

Primitive Methodists, and the price of fish; and he got from that

(in his dismal, underground way) to the loss of the Moonstone, the

spitefulness of our first house-maid, and the hard behaviour of the

women-servants generally towards Rosanna Spearman. Having reached his

subject in this fashion, he described himself as making his inquiries

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about the lost Diamond, partly with a view to find it, and partly

for the purpose of clearing Rosanna from the unjust suspicions of her

enemies in the house. In about a quarter of an hour from the time when

we entered the kitchen, good Mrs. Yolland was persuaded that she was

talking to Rosanna's best friend, and was pressing Sergeant Cuff to

comfort his stomach and revive his spirits out of the Dutch bottle.

Being firmly persuaded that the Sergeant was wasting his breath to no

purpose on Mrs. Yolland, I sat enjoying the talk between them, much as

I have sat, in my time, enjoying a stage play. The great Cuff showed a

wonderful patience; trying his luck drearily this way and that way, and

firing shot after shot, as it were, at random, on the chance of

hitting the mark. Everything to Rosanna's credit, nothing to Rosanna's

prejudice--that was how it ended, try as he might; with Mrs. Yolland

talking nineteen to the dozen, and placing the most entire confidence

in him. His last effort was made, when we had looked at our watches, and

had got on our legs previous to taking leave.

"I shall now wish you good-night, ma'am," says the Sergeant. "And

I shall only say, at parting, that Rosanna Spearman has a sincere

well-wisher in myself, your obedient servant. But, oh dear me! she will

never get on in her present place; and my advice to her is--leave it."

"Bless your heart alive! she is GOING to leave it!" cries Mrs. Yolland.

(NOTA BENE--I translate Mrs. Yolland out of the Yorkshire language into

the English language. When I tell you that the all-accomplished Cuff

was every now and then puzzled to understand her until I helped him, you

will draw your own conclusions as to what your state of mind would be if

I reported her in her native tongue.) Rosanna Spearman going to leave us! I pricked up my ears at that. It

seemed strange, to say the least of it, that she should have given no

warning, in the first place, to my lady or to me. A certain doubt came

up in my mind whether Sergeant Cuff's last random shot might not have

hit the mark. I began to question whether my share in the proceedings

was quite as harmless a one as I had thought it. It might be all in the

way of the Sergeant's business to mystify an honest woman by wrapping

her round in a network of lies but it was my duty to have remembered,

as a good Protestant, that the father of lies is the Devil--and that

mischief and the Devil are never far apart. Beginning to smell mischief

in the air, I tried to take Sergeant Cuff out. He sat down again

instantly, and asked for a little drop of comfort out of the Dutch

bottle. Mrs Yolland sat down opposite to him, and gave him his nip. I

went on to the door, excessively uncomfortable, and said I thought I

must bid them good-night--and yet I didn't go.




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