"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

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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.




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