Having reached that point, I looked up, and asked Sergeant Cuff what he thought of the letter, so far?

“I should only offend you if I expressed my opinion,” answered the Sergeant.  “Go on, Mr. Betteredge,” he said, with the most exasperating resignation, “go on.”

When I remembered that this man had had the audacity to complain of our gardener’s obstinacy, my tongue itched to “go on” in other words than my mistress’s.  This time, however, my Christianity held firm.  I proceeded steadily with her ladyship’s letter: 

“Having appealed to Miss Verinder in the manner which the officer thought most desirable, I spoke to her next in the manner which I myself thought most likely to impress her.  On two different occasions, before my daughter left my roof, I privately warned her that she was exposing herself to suspicion of the most unendurable and most degrading kind.  I have now told her, in the plainest terms, that my apprehensions have been realised.

“Her answer to this, on her own solemn affirmation, is as plain as words can be.  In the first place, she owes no money privately to any living creature.  In the second place, the Diamond is not now, and never has been, in her possession, since she put it into her cabinet on Wednesday night.

“The confidence which my daughter has placed in me goes no further than this.  She maintains an obstinate silence, when I ask her if she can explain the disappearance of the Diamond.  She refuses, with tears, when I appeal to her to speak out for my sake.  ’The day will come when you will know why I am careless about being suspected, and why I am silent even to you.  I have done much to make my mother pity me—­nothing to make my mother blush for me.’  Those are my daughter’s own words.

“After what has passed between the officer and me, I think—­stranger as he is—­that he should be made acquainted with what Miss Verinder has said, as well as you.  Read my letter to him, and then place in his hands the cheque which I enclose.  In resigning all further claim on his services, I have only to say that I am convinced of his honesty and his intelligence; but I am more firmly persuaded than ever, that the circumstances, in this case, have fatally misled him.”

There the letter ended.  Before presenting the cheque, I asked Sergeant Cuff if he had any remark to make.

“It’s no part of my duty, Mr. Betteredge,” he answered, “to make remarks on a case, when I have done with it.”

I tossed the cheque across the table to him.  “Do you believe in that part of her ladyship’s letter?” I said, indignantly.

The Sergeant looked at the cheque, and lifted up his dismal eyebrows in acknowledgment of her ladyship’s liberality.

“This is such a generous estimate of the value of my time,” he said, “that I feel bound to make some return for it.  I’ll bear in mind the amount in this cheque, Mr. Betteredge, when the occasion comes round for remembering it.”