lace you and I have just come from, without
leaving any marks on the sand to trace her by. Shall we say that she
walked through the water from this point till she got to that ledge of
rocks behind us, and came back the same way, and then took to the beach
again where those two heel marks are still left? Yes, we'll say that. It
seems to fit in with my notion that she had something under her cloak,
when she left the cottage. No! not something to destroy--for, in that
case, where would have been the need of all these precautions to prevent
my tracing the place at which her walk ended? Something to hide is, I
think, the better guess of the two. Perhaps, if we go on to the cottage,
we may find out what that something is?"

At this proposal, my detective-fever suddenly cooled. "You don't want
me," I said. "What good can I do?"

"The longer I know you, Mr. Betteredge," said the Sergeant, "the more
virtues I discover. Modesty--oh dear me, how rare modesty is in this
world! and how much of that rarity you possess! If I go alone to the
cottage, the people's tongues will be tied at the first question I
put to them. If I go with you, I go introduced by a justly respected
neighbour, and a flow of conversation is the necessary result. It
strikes me in that light; how does it strike you?"

Not having an answer of the needful smartness as ready as I could have
wished, I tried to gain time by asking him what cottage he wanted to go
to.

On the Sergeant describing the place, I recognised it as a cottage
inhabited by a fisherman named Yolland, with his wife and two grown-up
children, a son and a daughter. If you will look back, you will find
that, in first presenting Rosanna Spearman to your notice, I have
described her as occasionally varying her walk to the Shivering Sand, by
a visit to some friends of hers at Cobb's Hole. Those friends were the
Yollands--respectable, worthy people, a credit to the neighbourhood.
Rosanna's acquaintance with them had begun by means of the daughter, who
was afflicted with a misshapen foot, and who was known in our parts by
the name of Limping Lucy. The two deformed girls had, I suppose, a
kind of fellow-feeling for each other. Anyway, the Yollands and Rosanna
always appeared to get on together, at the few chances they had of
meeting, in a pleasant and friendly manner. The fact of Sergeant Cuff
having traced the girl to THEIR cottage, set the matter of my helping
his inquiries in quite a new light. Ros