When he said "Ah!" he said it in the tone of a man who had heard
something which he expected to hear. He half angered and half frightened
me--why, I couldn't tell, but he did it.
"Must the search be given up?" I asked.
"Yes," said the Sergeant, "the search must be given up, because your
young lady refuses to submit to it like the rest. We must examine all
the wardrobes in the house or none. Send Mr. Ablewhite's portmanteau
to London by the next train, and return the washing-book, with my
compliments and thanks, to the young woman who brought it in."
He laid the washing-book on the table, and taking out his penknife,
began to trim his nails.
"You don't seem to be much disappointed," I said.
"No," said Sergeant Cuff; "I am not much disappointed."
I tried to make him explain himself.
"Why should Miss Rachel put an obstacle in your way?" I inquired. "Isn't
it her interest to help you?"
"Wait a little, Mr. Betteredge--wait a little."
Cleverer heads than mine might have seen his drift. Or a person less
fond of Miss Rachel than I was, might have seen his drift. My lady's
horror of him might (as I have since thought) have meant that she saw
his drift (as the scripture says) "in a glass darkly.
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