your sea-shore here considered a fine specimen
of marine landscape, Mr. Betteredge?"

I answered, "Yes," as shortly as might be.

"Tastes differ," says Sergeant Cuff. " Looking
at it from my point of view, I never saw
a marine landscape that I admired less. If
you happen to be following another person
along your sea-coast, and if that person happens
to look round, there isn't a scrap of cover to
hide you anywhere. I had to choose between
taking Rosanna in custody on suspicion, or
leaving her, for the time being, with her little
game in her own hands. For reasons, which I
won't trouble you with, I decided on making
any sacrifice rather than give the alarm as soon as
to-night to a certain person who shall be nameless
between us. I came back to the house to
ask you to take me to the north end of the
beach by another way. Sand—in respect of
its printing off people's footsteps—is one of
the best detective officers I know. If we
don't meet with Rosanna Spearman by coming
round on her this way, the sand may tell us
what she has been at, if the light only lasts
long enough. Here is the sand. If you will
excuse my suggesting it—suppose you hold
your tongue, and let me go first?"

If there is such a thing known at the doctor's
shop as a detective-fever, that disease had now
got fast hold of your humble servant.
Sergeant Cuff went on between the hillocks of
sand, down to the beach. I followed him (with
my heart in my mouth); and waited at a
little distance for what was to happen next.

As it, turned out, I found myself standing
nearly in the same place where Rosanna Spearman
and I had been talking together when
Mr. Franklin suddenly appeared before us, on
arriving at our house from London. While
my eyes were watching the Sergeant, my mind
wandered away in spite of me to what had
passed, on that former occasion, between
Rosanna and me. I declare I almost felt the poor
thing slip her hand again into mine, and give it
a little grateful squeeze to thank me for speaking
kindly to her. I declare I almost heard her
voice telling me again that the Shivering Sand
seemed to draw her to it, against her own will,
whenever she went out—almost saw her face
brighter again, as it brightened when she first
set eyes upon Mr. Franklin coming briskly out
on us from among the hillocks. My spirits fell
lower and lower as I thought of these things—
and the view of the lonesome little bay, when I
looked about to rouse myself, only served to
make me feel more uneasy still.

The last of the evening light was fading away;
and over all the desolate place there hung a still
and awful calm. The heave of the main ocean
on the great sand-bank out in the bay, was a
heave that made no sound. The inner sea lay
lost and dim, without a breath of wind to stir
it. Patches of nasty ooze floated, yellow-white,
on the dead surface of the water. Scum and
slime shone faintly in certain places, where the
last of the light still caught them on the two great
spits of rock jutting out, north and south, into
the sea. It was now the time of the turn of
the tide: and even as I stood there waiting, the
broad brown face of the quicksand began to
dimple and quiver—the only moving thing in
all the horrid place.

I saw the Sergeant start as the shiver of the
sand caught his eye. After looking at it for a
minute or so, he turned and came back to me.

"A treacherous place, Mr. Betteredge," he
said; "and no signs of Rosanna Spearman
anywhere on the bead), look where you may."

He took me down lower on the shore, and I
saw for myself that his footsteps and mine were
the only footsteps printed off on the sand.

"How does the fishing village bear, standing
where we are now?" asked Sergeant Cuff.

"Cobb's Hole," I answered (that being the
name of the place), "bears as near as may be,
due south."

"I saw the girl this evening, walking northward
along the shore, from Cobb's Hole," said
the Sergeant. " Consequently, she must have
been walking towards this place. Is Cobb's
Hole on the other side of that point of land
there? And can we get to it—now it's low
water—by the beach?"

I answered, "Yes," to both those questions.

"If you'll excuse my suggesting it, we'll step
out briskly," said the Sergeant. "I want to
find the place where she left the shore, before it
gets dark."

We had walked, I should say, a couple of
hundred yards towards Cobb's Hole, when
Sergeant Cuff suddenly went down on his knees
on the beach, to all appearance seized with a
sudden frenzy for saying his prayers.

"There's something to be said for your
marine landscape here, after all," remarked the
Sergeant. "Here are a woman's footsteps, Mr.
Betteredge! Let us call them Rosanna's
footsteps, until we find evidence to the contrary that
we can't resist. Very confused footsteps, you
will please to observe—purposely confused, I
should say. Ah, poor soul, she understands the
detective virtues of sand as well as I do! But
hasn't she been in rather too great a hurry to
tread out the marks thoroughly? I think she has.
Here's one footstep going from Cobb's Hole; and
here is another going back to it. Isn't that the
toe of her shoe pointing straight to the water's
edge? And don't I see two heel-marks further
down the beach, close at the water's edge also?
I don't want to hurt your feelings, but I'm
afraid Rosanna is sly. It looks as if she had
determined to get to that place you and I have
just come from, without leaving any marks on
the sand to trace her by. Shall we say that she
walked through the water from this point till
she got to that ledge of rocks behind us, and
came back the same way, and then took
to the beach again where those two heel-marks
are still left. Yes, we'll say that. It seems to
fit in with my notion that she had something
under her cloak, when she left the cottage. No!
not something to destroy—for, in that case,
where would have been the need of all these
precautions to prevent my tracing the place at
which her walk ended? Something to hide is,
I think, the better guess of the two. Perhaps,