Having brought his investigation to this
point, Sergeant Cuff discovered that such a
person as Superintendent Seegrave was still left
in the room, upon which he summed up the
proceedings for his brother-officer's benefit, as
follows:

"This trifle of yours, Mr. Superintendent,"
says the Sergeant, pointing to the place on the
door, " has grown a little in importance since
you noticed it last. At the present stage of
the inquiry there are, as I take it, three
discoveries to make, starting from that smear.
Find out (first) whether there is any article of
dress in this house with the smear of the paint
on it. Find out (second) who that dress
belongs to. Find out (third) how the person
can account for having been in this room, and
smeared the paint, between midnight and three
in the morning. If the person can't satisfy
you, you haven't far to look for the hand that
has got the Diamond. I'll work this by myself,
if you please, and detain you no longer from
your regular business in the town. You have
got one of your men here, I see. Leave him
here at my disposal, in case I want him—and
allow me to wish you good morning."

Superintendent Seegrave's respect for the
Sergeant was great; but his respect for
himself was greater still. Hit hard by the
celebrated Cuff, he hit back smartly, to the best of
his ability, on leaving the room.

"I have abstained from expressing any
opinion, so far," says Mr. Superintendent, with
his military voice still in good working order.
"I have now only one remark to offer, on leaving
this case in your hands. There is such a
thing, Sergeant, as making a mountain out of a
molehill. Good morning."

"There is also such a thing as making
nothing out of a molehill, in consequence of
your head being too high to see it." Having
returned his brother-officer's compliment 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."

OLD STORIES RE-TOLD.

ECLIPSE.

ON the 1st of April, 1764, during an eclipse
of the sun, Spiletta, a celebrated mare of
illustrious descent, gave birth, in the Duke of
Cumberland's stables in the Isle of Dogs, to a
little chestnut colt. The eclipse being
generally considered by the stud-manager and the
anxious grooms as having some mysterious
reference to the colt's future career, the
Duke at once named the little chestnut stranger
"Eclipse"—and as Eclipse he was henceforward
known. He was of a light chesnut colour, his off
hind leg white from nearly the top of the shank
to the foot; and he had a white blaze from his
forehead to his nose. His dam, Spiletta, was a
bay mare, bred by Sir Robert Eden, and got by
Regulus out of Mother Western. Though she
only started once, and was then beaten by
another child of Regulus, Spiletta was of royal
origin and of desert blood. On her father's
side she sprang from the Godolphin barb and
Lister Turk; on her mother's side, from one of
Oliver Cromwell's barb mares. Marske, the
sire of Eclipse, was also of the noblest blood.
He was descended from Bartlett's Childers, and
traced back to Lord Fairfax's Morocco barb.
About the time of the Commonwealth, speed
became the great desideratum of the breeders,
instead of bulk; as armour had dropped
off the horse-soldier piece by piece, the old
Flemish war-horse had become obsolete; and
breeders, with an eye to the demands of the
army, directed their attention more to fleetness.
Marske only ran about six times, and
in those six times was only thrice victorious.
He was sold, on the Duke of Cumberland's
death, for a very trifling sum, and was
afterwards purchased by a Mr. Wildman for only
twenty guineas, and to the infinite contentment
of the seller. But when Eclipse became
illustrious, his father became illustrious too, and
was purchased by the Earl of Abingdon for a
thousand guineas. The produce of this
renowned horse, won in twenty-two years,
amounted to seventy-one thousand two hundred
and five pounds ten shillings, besides the Salisbury
silver bowl, the Epsom cup, twenty-eight
hogsheads of claret at Newmarket, the Ipswich
gold cup, and the Newmarket whip.

The Duke of Cumberland, the patron of