That paint had been EIGHT HOURS DRY, Mr.Superintendent, when you supposed that the women-servants' petticoats smeared it." First knock-down blow for Mr.Seegrave! If he had not suspected poor Penelope, I should have pitied him.
Having settled the question of the paint, Sergeant Cuff, from that moment, gave his brother-officer up as a bad job--and addressed himself to Mr.Franklin, as the more promising assistant of the two.
"It's quite on the cards, sir," he said, "that you have put the clue into our hands." As the words passed his lips, the bedroom door opened, and Miss Rachel came out among us suddenly.
She addressed herself to the Sergeant, without appearing to notice (or to heed) that he was a perfect stranger to her.
"Did you say," she asked, pointing to Mr.Franklin, "that HE had put the clue into your hands ?" ("This is Miss Verinder," I whispered, behind the Sergeant.) "That gentleman, miss," says the Sergeant--with his steely-grey eyes carefully studying my young lady's face--"has possibly put the clue into our hands." She turned for one moment, and tried to look at Mr.Franklin.I say, tried, for she suddenly looked away again before their eyes met.

There seemed to be some strange disturbance in her mind.

She coloured up, and then she turned pale again.

With the paleness, there came a new look into her face--a look which it startled me to see.
"Having answered your question, miss," says the Sergeant, "I beg leave to make an inquiry in my turn.

There is a smear on the painting of your door, here.