Having given vent in those words, I felt greatly relieved.  Her ladyship honoured me by a little friendly pat on the shoulder.  I looked with righteous indignation at the Sergeant, to see what he thought of such a testimony as that.  The Sergeant looked back like a lamb, and seemed to like me better than ever.

My lady informed him that he might continue his statement.  “I understand,” she said, “that you have honestly done your best, in what you believe to be my interest.  I am ready to hear what you have to say next.”

“What I have to say next,” answered Sergeant Cuff, “relates to Rosanna Spearman.  I recognised the young woman, as your ladyship may remember, when she brought the washing-book into this room.  Up to that time I was inclined to doubt whether Miss Verinder had trusted her secret to any one.  When I saw Rosanna, I altered my mind.  I suspected her at once of being privy to the suppression of the Diamond.  The poor creature has met her death by a dreadful end, and I don’t want your ladyship to think, now she’s gone, that I was unduly hard on her.  If this had been a common case of thieving, I should have given Rosanna the benefit of the doubt just as freely as I should have given it to any of the other servants in the house.  Our experience of the Reformatory woman is, that when tried in service—­and when kindly and judiciously treated—­they prove themselves in the majority of cases to be honestly penitent, and honestly worthy of the pains taken with them.  But this was not a common case of thieving.  It was a case—­in my mind—­of a deeply planned fraud, with the owner of the Diamond at the bottom of it.  Holding this view, the first consideration which naturally presented itself to me, in connection with Rosanna, was this:  Would Miss Verinder be satisfied (begging your ladyship’s pardon) with leading us all to think that the Moonstone was merely lost?  Or would she go a step further, and delude us into believing that the Moonstone was stolen?  In the latter event there was Rosanna Spearman—­with the character of a thief—­ready to her hand; the person of all others to lead your ladyship off, and to lead me off, on a false scent.”

Was it possible (I asked myself) that he could put his case against Miss Rachel and Rosanna in a more horrid point of view than this?  It was possible, as you shall now see.

“I had another reason for suspecting the deceased woman,” he said, “which appears to me to have been stronger still.  Who would be the very person to help Miss Verinder in raising money privately on the Diamond?  Rosanna Spearman.  No young lady in Miss Verinder’s position could manage such a risky matter as that by herself.  A go-between she must have, and who so fit, I ask again, as Rosanna Spearman?  Your ladyship’s deceased housemaid was at the top of her profession when she was a thief.  She had relations, to my certain knowledge, with one of the few men in London (in the money-lending line) who would advance a large sum on such a notable jewel as the Moonstone, without asking awkward questions, or insisting on awkward conditions.  Bear this in mind, my lady; and now let me show you how my suspicions have been justified by Rosanna’s own acts, and by the plain inferences to be drawn from them.”