A certain great traveller, who understood the Indians and their
language, had figured in Mr. Seegrave's report, hadn't he? Very well.
Did I know the gentleman's name and address? Very well again. Would
I write them on the back of my lady's message? Much obliged to me.
Sergeant Cuff would look that gentleman up, when he went to Frizinghall
in the morning.
"Do you expect anything to come of it?" I asked. "Superintendent
Seegrave found the Indians as innocent as the babe unborn."
"Superintendent Seegrave has been proved wrong, up to this time, in all
his conclusions," answered the Sergeant. "It may be worth while to
find out to-morrow whether Superintendent Seegrave was wrong about the
Indians as well." With that he turned to Mr. Begbie, and took up
the argument again exactly at the place where it had left off. "This
question between us is a question of soils and seasons, and patience
and pains, Mr. Gardener. Now let me put it to you from another point of
view. You take your white moss rose----"
By that time, I had closed the door on them, and was out of hearing of
the rest of the dispute.
In the passage, I met Penelope hanging about, and asked what she was
waiting for.
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