The Moonstone. Уилки Коллинз

as making a mountain out of a mole-hill. Good-morning."

      "There is also such a thing as making nothing out of a mole-hill, in consequence of your head being too high to see ​it." Having returned his brother-officer's compliments in those terms, Sergeant Cuff wheeled about, and walked away to the window by himself.

      Mr. Franklin and I waited to see what was coming next. The Sergeant stood at the window with his hands in his pockets, looking out, and whistling the tune of the Last Rose of Summer softly to himself. Later in the proceedings, I discovered that he only forgot his manners so far as to whistle, when his mind was hard at work, seeing its way inch by inch to its own private ends, on which occasions the Last Rose of Summer evidently helped and encouraged him. I suppose it fitted in somehow with his character. It reminded him, you see, of his favourite roses, and, as he whistled it, it was the most melancholy tune going.

      Turning from the window, after a minute or two, the Sergeant walked into the middle of the room, and stopped there, deep in thought, with his eyes on Miss Rachel's bedroom door. After a little he roused himself, nodded his head, as much as to say, "That will do!" and, addressing me; asked for ten minutes' conversation with my mistress at her ladyship's earliest convenience.

      Leaving the room with this message, I heard Mr. Franklin ask the Sergeant a question, and stopped to hear the answer also at the threshold of the door.

      "Can you guess yet," inquired Mr. Franklin, "who has stolen the Diamond?"

      "Nobody has stolen the diamond," answered Sergeant Cuff.

      We both started at that extraordinary view of the case, and both earnestly begged him to tell us what he meant.

      "Wait a little," said the Sergeant. "The pieces of the puzzle are not all put together yet."