I saw the Sergeant start as the shiver of the sand caught his eye. After
looking at it for a minute or so, he turned and came back to me.
"A treacherous place, Mr. Betteredge," he said; "and no signs of Rosanna
Spearman anywhere on the beach, look where you may."
He took me down lower on the shore, and I saw for myself that his
footsteps and mine were the only footsteps printed off on the sand.
"How does the fishing village bear, standing where we are now?" asked
Sergeant Cuff.
"Cobb's Hole," I answered (that being the name of the place), "bears as
near as may be, due south."
"I saw the girl this evening, walking northward along the shore, from
Cobb's Hole," said the Sergeant. "Consequently, she must have been
walking towards this place. Is Cobb's Hole on the other side of that
point of land there? And can we get to it--now it's low water--by the
beach?"
I answered, "Yes," to both those questions.
"If you'll excuse my suggesting it, we'll step out briskly," said the
Sergeant. "I want to find the place where she left the shore, before it
gets dark."
We had walked, I should say, a couple of hundred yards towards Cobb's
Hole, when Sergeant Cuff suddenly went down on his knees on the beach,
to all appearance seized with a sudden frenzy for saying his prayers.
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