I professed myself convinced by it
accordingly.
We went on to Cobb's Hole, seeing the footsteps on the sand, as long as
the light lasted.
On reaching the cottage, the fisherman and his son proved to be out in
the boat; and Limping Lucy, always weak and weary, was resting on her
bed up-stairs. Good Mrs. Yolland received us alone in her kitchen. When
she heard that Sergeant Cuff was a celebrated character in London, she
clapped a bottle of Dutch gin and a couple of clean pipes on the table,
and stared as if she could never see enough of him.
I sat quiet in a corner, waiting to hear how the Sergeant would find his
way to the subject of Rosanna Spearman. His usual roundabout manner of
going to work proved, on this occasion, to be more roundabout than ever.
How he managed it is more than I could tell at the time, and more than
I can tell now. But this is certain, he began with the Royal Family, the
Primitive Methodists, and the price of fish; and he got from that
(in his dismal, underground way) to the loss of the Moonstone, the
spitefulness of our first house-maid, and the hard behaviour of the
women-servants generally towards Rosanna Spearman.
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