He too went his way into the house.  For the moment, Miss Rachel had completely unmanned him.  Judge from that, how fond he must have been of her!

Sergeant Cuff and I were left face to face, at the bottom of the steps.  The Sergeant stood with his face set towards a gap in the trees, commanding a view of one of the windings of the drive which led from the house.  He had his hands in his pockets, and he was softly whistling “The Last Rose of Summer” to himself.

“There’s a time for everything,” I said savagely enough.  “This isn’t a time for whistling.”

At that moment, the carriage appeared in the distance, through the gap, on its way to the lodge-gate.  There was another man, besides Samuel, plainly visible in the rumble behind.

“All right!” said the Sergeant to himself.  He turned round to me.  “It’s no time for whistling, Mr. Betteredge, as you say.  It’s time to take this business in hand, now, without sparing anybody.  We’ll begin with Rosanna Spearman.  Where is Joyce?”

We both called for Joyce, and received no answer.  I sent one of the stable-boys to look for him.

“You heard what I said to Miss Verinder?” remarked the Sergeant, while we were waiting.  “And you saw how she received it?  I tell her plainly that her leaving us will be an obstacle in the way of my recovering her Diamond—­and she leaves, in the face of that statement!  Your young lady has got a travelling companion in her mother’s carriage, Mr. Betteredge—­and the name of it is, the Moonstone.”

I said nothing.  I only held on like death to my belief in Miss Rachel.

The stable-boy came back, followed—­very unwillingly, as it appeared to me—­by Joyce.

“Where is Rosanna Spearman?” asked Sergeant Cuff.

“I can’t account for it, sir,” Joyce began; “and I am very sorry.  But somehow or other——­”

“Before I went to Frizinghall,” said the Sergeant, cutting him short, “I told you to keep your eyes on Rosanna Spearman, without allowing her to discover that she was being watched.  Do you mean to tell me that you have let her give you the slip?”

“I am afraid, sir,” says Joyce, beginning to tremble, “that I was perhaps a little too careful not to let her discover me.  There are such a many passages in the lower parts of this house——­”

“How long is it since you missed her?”

“Nigh on an hour since, sir.”

“You can go back to your regular business at Frizinghall,” said the Sergeant, speaking just as composedly as ever, in his usual quiet and dreary way.  “I don’t think your talents are at all in our line, Mr. Joyce.  Your present form of employment is a trifle beyond you.  Good morning.”

The man slunk off.  I find it very difficult to describe how I was affected by the discovery that Rosanna Spearman was missing.  I seemed to be in fifty different minds about it, all at the same time.  In that state, I stood staring at Sergeant Cuff—­and my powers of language quite failed me.