There the letter ended. Before presenting the cheque, I asked Sergeant
Cuff if he had any remark to make.
"It's no part of my duty, Mr. Betteredge," he answered, "to make remarks
on a case, when I have done with it."
I tossed the cheque across the table to him. "Do you believe in THAT
part of her ladyship's letter?" I said, indignantly.
The Sergeant looked at the cheque, and lifted up his dismal eyebrows in
acknowledgment of her ladyship's liberality.
"This is such a generous estimate of the value of my time," he said,
"that I feel bound to make some return for it. I'll bear in mind the
amount in this cheque, Mr. Betteredge, when the occasion comes round for
remembering it."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Her ladyship has smoothed matters over for the present very cleverly,"
said the Sergeant. "But THIS family scandal is of the sort that bursts
up again when you least expect it. We shall have more detective-business
on our hands, sir, before the Moonstone is many months older."
If those words meant anything, and if the manner in which he spoke them
meant anything--it came to this. My mistress's letter had proved, to
his mind, that Miss Rachel was hardened enough to resist the strongest
appeal that could be addressed to her, and that she had deceived her own
mother (good God, under what circumstances!) by a series of abominable
lies. How other people, in my place, might have replied to the Sergeant,
I don't know. I answered what he said in these plain terms: "Sergeant Cuff, I consider your last observation as an insult to my lady
and her daughter!"
"Mr. Betteredge, consider it as a warning to yourself, and you will be
nearer the mark."
Hot and angry as I was, the infernal confidence with which he gave me
that answer closed my lips.
I walked to the window to compose myself. The rain had given over;
and, who should I see in the court-yard, but Mr. Begbie, the gardener,
waiting outside to continue the dog-rose controversy with Sergeant Cuff.
"My compliments to the Sairgent," said Mr. Begbie, the moment he set
eyes on me. "If he's minded to walk to the station, I'm agreeable to go
with him."
"What!" cries the Sergeant, behind me, "are you not convinced yet?"
"The de'il a bit I'm convinced!" answered Mr. Begbie.
"Then I'll walk to the station!" says the Sergeant.
"Then I'll meet you at the gate!" says Mr. Begbie.
I was angry enough, as you know--but how was any man's anger to hold out
against such an interruption as this? Sergeant Cuff noticed the change
in me, and encouraged it by a word in season. "Come! come!" he said,
"why not treat my view of the case as her ladyship treats it? Why not
say, the circumstances have fatally misled me?"