e,
began to knock the balls about once more.

After what had passed between the Sergeant and me, I knew what it was
that he had left unspoken as well as he knew it himself.

Nothing but the tracing of the Moonstone to our second housemaid could
now raise Miss Rachel above the infamous suspicion that rested on her
in the mind of Sergeant Cuff. It was no longer a question of quieting
my young lady's nervous excitement; it was a question of proving her
innocence. If Rosanna had done nothing to compromise herself, the hope
which Mr. Franklin confessed to having felt would have been hard enough
on her in all conscience. But this was not the case. She had pretended
to be ill, and had gone secretly to Frizinghall. She had been up all
night, making something or destroying something, in private. And she had
been at the Shivering Sand, that evening, under circumstances which
were highly suspicious, to say the least of them. For all these reasons
(sorry as I was for Rosanna) I could not but think that Mr. Franklin's
way of looking at the matter was neither unnatural nor unreasonable, in
Mr. Franklin's position. I said a word to him to that effect.

"Yes, yes!" he said in return. "But there is just a chance--a very poor
one, certainly--that Rosanna's conduct may admit of some explanation
which we don't see at present. I hate hurting a woman's feelings,
Betteredge! Tell the poor creature what I told you to tell her. And if
she wants to speak to me--I don't care whether I get into a scrape or
not--send her to me in the library." With those kind words he laid down
the cue and left me.

Inquiry at the servants' offices informed me that Rosanna had retired to
her own room. She had declined all offers of assistance with thanks, and
had only asked to be left to rest in quiet. Here, therefore, was an end
of any confession on her part (supposing she really had a confession
to make) for that night. I reported the result to Mr. Franklin, who,
thereupon, left the library, and went up to bed.

I was putting the lights out, and making the windows fast, when Samuel
came in with news of the two guests whom I had left in my room.

The argument about the white moss rose had apparently come to an end at
last. The gardener had gone home, and Sergeant Cuff was nowhere to be
found in the lower regions of the house.

I looked into my room. Quite true--nothing was to be discovered there
but a couple of empty tumblers and a strong smell of hot grog.