THIRD NARRATIVE
3. CHAPTER III
(continued)
Just as I had read the last words--underlined in the original--
I heard the voice of Betteredge behind me. The inventor of the
detective-fever had completely succumbed to that irresistible malady.
"I can't stand it any longer, Mr. Franklin. What does her letter say?
For mercy's sake, sir, tell us, what does her letter say?"
I handed him the letter, and the memorandum. He read the first without
appearing to be much interested in it. But the second--the memorandum--
produced a strong impression on him.
"The Sergeant said it!" cried Betteredge. "From first to last, sir,
the Sergeant said she had got a memorandum of the hiding-place.
And here it is! Lord save us, Mr. Franklin, here is the secret
that puzzled everybody, from the great Cuff downwards,
ready and waiting, as one may say, to show itself to YOU!
It's the ebb now, sir, as anybody may see for themselves.
How long will it be till the turn of the tide?" He looked up,
and observed a lad at work, at some little distance from us,
mending a net. "Tammie Bright!" he shouted at the top of
his voice.
"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.
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