"That's a pity," says Sergeant Cuff. "How did it happen?"
He put the question to me. I answered that the women-servants had
crowded into the room on the previous morning, and that some of their
petticoats had done the mischief, "Superintendent Seegrave ordered them
out, sir," I added, "before they did any more harm."
"Right!" says Mr. Superintendent in his military way. "I ordered them
out. The petticoats did it, Sergeant--the petticoats did it."
"Did you notice which petticoat did it?" asked Sergeant Cuff, still
addressing himself, not to his brother-officer, but to me.
"No, sir."
He turned to Superintendent Seegrave upon that, and said, "You noticed,
I suppose?"
Mr. Superintendent looked a little taken aback; but he made the best
of it. "I can't charge my memory, Sergeant," he said, "a mere trifle--a
mere trifle."
Sergeant Cuff looked at Mr. Seegrave, as he had looked at the gravel
walks in the rosery, and gave us, in his melancholy way, the first taste
of his quality which we had had yet.
"I made a private inquiry last week, Mr. Superintendent," he said. "At
one end of the inquiry there was a murder, and at the other end there
was a spot of ink on a table cloth that nobody could account for.
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