I usually invent my plots, arrange my business and consider my circumstances when in bed, which is by far the best place for such thought-work. Alone in the darkness of the silent hours, there is no external influence to prevent concentration, therefore conclusions of the best can be reached speedier than in the daytime. On the night of my arrival at Burwain, I took advantage of the opportunity to think hard and long. It was necessary that matters should be adjusted clearly in my own mind before I could hope to deal with the situation. After Mrs. Gilfin\'s report, I desired more than ever to make Gertrude Monk my wife, but there were obstacles in the way, which only deliberate and continuous action could remove. A clear understanding of the position was decidedly imperative.

I now began to see that Anne Caldershaw\'s hint to her brother had reference to the missing monies of Gabriel Monk. Certainly, even if he had saved every penny of his income for eighty years, he would not have accumulated fifty thousand pounds: but it was more than probable that his visits to London were connected with various investments, and that in one way or another he had gained the fortune mentioned by Mrs. Caldershaw. But--as I asked myself frequently--if Monk had invested the money, why was it not discoverable, since investments cannot very well be concealed. On reflection I decided that the man being a genuine miser, loving the color and weight and feel of gold, had probably turned his investments, whatever they might be, into hard cash, and had hidden this carefully away. In some way Mrs. Caldershaw had learned the whereabouts of the specie, and the missing eye indicated the hiding-place. The money, by Gabriel Monk\'s will, belonged to Gertrude Monk, but the ex-housekeeper wished her nephew to get it, and so had left him the clue to the place where it was concealed. Perhaps she knew that Striver loved her young mistress, and thought that if he married her, after acquiring the fortune, that justice would be done. She wished, as the saying is, to kill two birds with one stone.

But two things puzzled me greatly in connection with the matter. In the first place it was odd that Mrs. Caldershaw, aware of the whereabouts of the money, should not have laid hands on it, and in the second it was difficult to understand how she could arrange that her glass eye should be a clue to its possession. Then I began to believe that the dead woman had removed the coin from where the miser had hidden it, and had drawn a plan of its new resting-place, which she had concealed behind the eye. But having regard to the shell-like shape of the eye, as described by Joseph Striver, the plan could not be delineated on a piece of paper however small, as there was no shield at the back of the artificial eyes to protect it from wear and tear. The plan, I fancied, as did Mr. Striver, was drawn on the inward curve of the eye itself, although it was difficult to imagine that the details had not been obliterated by the moisture of the flesh. But this last conjecture was for the moment beside the matter. What I knew was that Mrs. Caldershaw\'s glass eye indicated the whereabouts of fifty thousand pounds belonging by will to Gertrude Monk. To find that treasure and marry the girl was what I determined to do. And to manage this, it was necessary to prevent the fortune from falling into Striver\'s hands, by getting the glass eye into my own possession. That was no easy task, on account of the obscurity which involved the murder and the theft which had led to the murder.

Of course Gertrude Monk knew that she was legally entitled to her uncle\'s money, so it was possible, that having learned Mrs. Caldershaw\'s secret, she had gone to Mootley to insist upon the eye being given up, for the purpose of obtaining her rights. But in that case, she would scarcely have murdered the woman, since all she had to do was to compel Mrs. Caldershaw by law to confess the truth. It might be that she had quarrelled with the old woman, who would not be inclined to disarrange her plans for the well-being of her nephew; but I did not think that a girl with so lovely a face and so high a character--as Mrs. Gilfin avouched for--would have stooped to committing a crime. Had she done so and had obtained the money, her conscience would not permit her to rest. Therefore I acquitted the young lady of homicide, and cast about in my mind to think, who could possibly have slain Mrs. Caldershaw for the sake of the fortune.

Miss Destiny certainly grudged her niece the money, and being a miser would have been glad to acquire it, but she was too frail a little woman to commit the murder. Also, at the time, she was driving to Mootley, and had not yet reached the place, as the story of her encounter with my looted motor car clearly proved. She had established an indefeasible alibi. Mr. Walter Monk was in London at the time of the murder: Mr. Joseph Striver was at Burwain, and I could think of no other person who would be driven to murder Mrs. Caldershaw for her secret. The more I thought of the matter the more complex did it become. All I could do--I decided this about three o\'clock in the morning--was to revert to my original decision and play a waiting game. Then I fell asleep and woke at nine o\'clock with a headache, the result of over-thinking.

However, a cold bath, a good breakfast, and a half-hour\'s gossip with the landlady banished my pains, and somewhere about eleven I walked forth to spy out the land. I wished to call on Miss Destiny, and through her, to gain an introduction to her niece. Once in touch with Miss Monk, I might learn in some cautious way, how her cloak came to be in the field. Certainly on the fact of it, I fancied she had worn it herself and had stolen my Rippler, but it was just possible that she had given it to Mrs. Caldershaw, and had not been near Mootley at all. In which case, I, began to wonder more than ever, who was the clever woman who had taken possession of it. But such wondering was futile, as I had no certain facts to go upon. Gertrude Monk alone could give the clue, seeing that the cloak, whether worn by herself or not, was her property.

There was little difficulty in finding the abode of Miss Destiny who appeared to be as well-known in Burwain as St. Paul\'s Cathedral is in the metropolis. Her miserly character appeared to be common talk, and when I reached the end of the village and sighted her cottage I could well understand why it was no secret. A gentlewoman with a certain amount of money, however small, would never have dwelt in such a hovel, unless she grudged every farthing to render it sightly and comfortable. For Miss Destiny had her abode in a tiny house of galvanized tin, standing some distance from the main road, and almost hidden by a dank growth of tall weeds, and shrubs and neglected trees. A sod fence fringed the roadway, and therein was placed midway a rickety wooden gate with a broken hinge. From this a crooked pathway made by feet and worn by feet and preserved as an entrance by feet, meandered to the green-painted front door. On either side docks and darnells and brambles and coarse grasses and weeds flourished in profusion breast-high. And overhanging the tin shed--it could scarcely be called a cottage--were two gigantic elms, which dropped their decayed branches on the roof and round the walls, where they lay to add to the sordid confusion of the place. Viewing this desolation, I could only think of the chateau of the Yellow Dwarf, as described by Madame D\'Aulnoy.

I walked up the sodden path--the tin shed seemed to have been built in a swamp, so oozy was the ground--and rapped smartly at the narrow front door. On either side were two small windows, through the glass of which I caught a glimpse of iron bars, which proved that Miss Destiny had made necessary provision against burglars. What struck me as odd was the absence of a chimney, but I had no time to consider this, for shortly I heard the rattle of a chain and the sound of bolts being drawn back. Then the door was opened an inch or two to reveal the dull eyes and mustached lip of Lucinda. The expression of her face was aggressive and watchful.

"What do you want?" she demanded in her beautiful voice, which struck me anew as singularly sympathetic despite her rough greeting.

"I am Mr. Cyrus Vance, who was at Mootley," I explained elaborately, "and I wish to see Miss Destiny."

Before I ended my request I heard a little, low, fluttering laugh, and Lucinda, opening the door widely, moved aside to show the tiny figure of her mistress with outstretched hands. "Prince Charming come in search of the Sleeping Beauty," cried Miss Destiny, romantically, "and all because he saw a portrait of the lady. Come in, Mr. Vance, come in. I can promise you flesh and blood this time, my dear adventurer."

There was little change about the old lady. She still wore the threadbare black silk dress, though without the velvet mantle, and her snow-white hair was still piled up after the fashion of Louis XVI\'s ill-fated queen.

I thrilled when I heard her words, as I guessed that I had arrived in a happy moment, and that Miss Destiny\'s niece, the goddess of my dreams, was seated within that pauper house. Even Lucinda grinned in a friendly way, as she saw the color come and go in my face. With all my self-control I could not suppress that sign of emotion.

"Prince Charming," said Miss Destiny, introducing me directly into a bare sitting-room, for there was no passage in the cottage, "yet me present you to The Sleeping Beauty," and she looked more like a fairy godmother than ever as she clapped her skinny hands.

Gertrude Monk was seated in a well-worn horsehair armchair, near the oil stove which did duty as a fireplace to warm the bleak room. She was plainly dressed in blue serge, with a toque of the same on her dark head, and had a muff and boa of silver-fox fur. Nothing could have been more Puritanic than her array, but the close-fitting frock showed off her fine figure to advantage, and she looked uncommonly handsome. I have already described her from her photograph, so there is no need to go over old ground, but she was even more beautiful and unapproachable than I had believed her to be, and looked more like the goddess Diana than ever. The sole thing I found lacking to complete her perfection was color, for her face was the hue of old ivory, and even her lips looked pale. Also there was a troubled look in her large dark eyes, and she welcomed me with some embarrassment. But this last probably was due to the oddity of our introduction, since Miss Destiny had evidently informed her of my admiration for her portrait.

"I am glad to meet you, Mr. Vance," she said sedately and with a stately bow of her head, "my aunt informed me of your connection with the sad death of my old nurse."

"I think my connection with the matter is public property, Miss Monk," I said, nervously, "for my name has been in all the papers."

"As a playwright that should please you," she said coldly, "anything for an advertisement. Well, tell us what has been discovered?"

"Nothing as far as I know, Miss Monk."

"Oh!" she raised her fine eyebrows. "I understood," she glanced at Miss Destiny, "that you promised to come and inform my aunt of any new developments. As you are here, I thought that something had been discovered."

"Nothing has been discovered, Miss Monk. I simply came here to see an old servant of my mother\'s, who keeps The Robin Redbreast, and intend to stay for a few days." Of course this was a white lie, but I had to make some excuse, for her troubled eyes were searching my face intently.

"Mrs. Gilfin," said she, a smile relaxing the corners of her mouth and heaving what I took to be a sigh of relief, "I am fond of Mrs. Gilfin."

"And she is fond of you, Miss Monk. Had she never spoken to you about me?"

"No," was the reply, so my artful question, failed in its effect. Then the conversation languished, and Miss Destiny babbled to excuse her lack of hospitality. Lucinda had left the room.

"I should give you a cup of tea, Gertrude............