ere; blooming in his garden,
clustering over his door, looking in at his windows. Far from the crimes
and the mysteries of the great city, the illustrious thief-taker was
placidly living out the last Sybarite years of his life, smothered in
roses!

A decent elderly woman opened the gate to me, and at once annihilated
all the hopes I had built on securing the assistance of Sergeant Cuff.
He had started, only the day before, on a journey to Ireland.

"Has he gone there on business?" I asked.

The woman smiled. "He has only one business now, sir," she said;
"and that's roses. Some great man's gardener in Ireland has found out
something new in the growing of roses--and Mr. Cuff's away to inquire
into it."

"Do you know when he will be back?"

"It's quite uncertain, sir. Mr. Cuff said he should come back directly,
or be away some time, just according as he found the new discovery worth
nothing, or worth looking into. If you have any message to leave for
him, I'll take care, sir, that he gets it."

I gave her my card, having first written on it in pencil: "I have
something to say about the Moonstone. Let me hear from you as soon
as you get back." That done, there was nothing left but to submit to
circumstances, and return to London.

In the irritable condition of my mind, at the time of which I am now
writing, the abortive result of my journey to the Sergeant's cottage
simply aggravated the restless impulse in me to be doing something. On
the day of my return from Dorking, I determined that the next morning
should find me bent on a new effort at forcing my way, through all
obstacles, from the darkness to the light.

What form was my next experiment to take?

If the excellent Betteredge had been present while I was considering
that question, and if he had been let into the secret of my thoughts, he
would, no doubt, have declared that the German side of me was, on this
occasion, my uppermost side. To speak seriously, it is perhaps possible
that my German training was in some degree responsible for the labyrinth
of useless speculations in which I now involved myself. For the greater
part of the night, I sat smoking, and building up theories, one more
profoundly improbable than another. When I did get to sleep, my
waking fancies pursued me in dreams. I rose the next morning, with
Objective-Subjective and Subjective-Objective inextricably entangled
together in my mind; and I began the day which was to witness my next
e