"Any news of Miss Verinder's keys?" asked the Sergeant.

"My young lady refuses to have her wardrobe examined."

"Ah!" said the Sergeant.

His voice was not quite in such a perfect state of discipline as his

face. When he said "Ah!" he said it in the tone of a man who had heard

something which he expected to hear. He half angered and half frightened

me--why, I couldn't tell, but he did it.

"Must the search be given up?" I asked.

"Yes," said the Sergeant, "the search must be given up, because your

young lady refuses to submit to it like the rest. We must examine all

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the wardrobes in the house or none. Send Mr. Ablewhite's portmanteau

to London by the next train, and return the washing-book, with my

compliments and thanks, to the young woman who brought it in."

He laid the washing-book on the table, and taking out his penknife,

began to trim his nails.

"You don't seem to be much disappointed," I said.

"No," said Sergeant Cuff; "I am not much disappointed."

I tried to make him explain himself.

"Why should Miss Rachel put an obstacle in your way?" I inquired. "Isn't

it her interest to help you?"

"Wait a little, Mr. Betteredge--wait a little."

Cleverer heads than mine might have seen his drift. Or a person less

fond of Miss Rachel than I was, might have seen his drift. My lady's

horror of him might (as I have since thought) have meant that she saw

his drift (as the scripture says) "in a glass darkly." I didn't see it

yet--that's all I know.

"What's to be done next?" I asked.

Sergeant Cuff finished the nail on which he was then at work, looked at

it for a moment with a melancholy interest, and put up his penknife.

"Come out into the garden," he said, "and let's have a look at the

roses."




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