There it glared at me--the glass eye for which I sought. As Striver had said, it was a mere shell, on the outward curve of which was depicted the pupil and the iris of a gray eye, the white portion of the fabric being delicately streaked with thin red veins. Uttering an ejaculation I tipped it over with my finger, and just had time to see that there was a piece of silver the size of a threepenny bit--and perhaps indeed a threepenny bit--fastened inside the concave, when I heard Mr. Monk\'s voice calling me on the terrace. It flashed across me in an instant that he must not see the eye, which apparently Gertrude had carelessly left lying on the table. I should have picked it up to slip into my pocket, but the sight was so very unexpected that I had not my presence of mind and stepped back again on to the terrace, leaving the sinister object on the table. At the same moment Mr. Monk coming round the corner of the terrace, slipped his arm within my own. "I heard your voice," he said gently and it guided me towards the corner, "come and see the green-house. There are some orchids there I should like you to examine. I am fond of these weird plants. Such a well-bred taste, too," added Mr. Monk, languidly. "The love of a man for orchids is like the love of a woman for lace."

I replied mechanically, for my head was in a whirl, and submitted to be led to a far distant corner of the garden where the greenhouses nestled under the red brick wall. Here, while Mr. Monk discoursed learnedly on flowers,--about which he knew less than nothing,--I wondered in my own mind what might be the meaning of my discovery. The glass eye could have been left in the drawing-room by no one but Gertrude, since I already possessed her cloak to show--what I had hitherto shrunk from acknowledging even to myself--that she was the lady who had stolen my motor-car. Then again, she was the one person who had a right to the fifty thousand pounds when found. I groaned. It really seemed that my pearl amongst woman was guilty of theft and murder. And yet, even at the eleventh hour, I could not make up my mind to believe that she was guilty.

Mr. Monk mistook my groan for weariness, and became offended. "I fear you don\'t take much interest in flowers, Mr. Vance," he said, glaring at me through his pince-nez.

"Oh, yes; they interest me; pray proceed," I said, hastily.

"No. The air of this place is so dense that it gives me a headache. The day is uncommonly warm for this season of the year. Let us return to the house. I have a new song I should like to show you. To-morrow I return to London, and shall not see you for some time."

"Oh, I can call on you when I go back to town," I said idly, for my brain was still preoccupied with the glass eye problem.

"No! No! Pardon me, no," said Mr. Monk decidedly and hastily. "I am going away for a few weeks to the Continent--on business of course."

"Business," I echoed, "I thought you were free, Mr. Monk."

He sighed and shrugged his shoulders, as we slowly walked across the lawn towards the shallow steps of the terrace. "I have five hundred a year," he declared, "and what is that, a mere pittance. I have to allow Gertrude something and have this house to keep up. Also my flat in London has to be rented. I can\'t do that on ten pounds a week."

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him why he did not remain at Burwain and play the part of a country gentleman, to reduce his expenditure, when he proceeded. "Yes, I am in business of a sort, connected with commissions on loans. That is, you will understand, Mr. Vance, I am not a money lender--far from it. I simply find people who have no money and who want it and agree to procure them money from those who possess it, on condition that I have a ten per cent commission. In a word I induce my many friends to benefit each other and so benefit myself. Come Mr. Vance, you are a rising dramatist who should be better known in the West End. Suppose you allow me--at ten per cent--to arrange a loan for you to produce one of your better class plays."

"I have no security," I objected.

"I can arrange that," said Mr. Monk with an airy wave of his hand, "and if you can find that eye," I started violently, but he did not appear to notice, "and get the fifty thousand pounds, I shall let you have the money myself at the same percentage. I shall not charge any commission," he ended generously, quite forgetting that he was proposing to gamble with his daughter\'s money. But that obtuseness was Mr. Monk all over.

"If I could see you in town,"--

"Later on: later on," he said hastily mounting the steps, "say in three or four months when I return from the Continent. Then we can have a talk."

"Your address is?"--

He interrupted again. "I shall see you here: I shall see you here. It will be much more convenient for me," and he passed through the French window into the drawing-room.

Mr. Monk puzzled me, as I did not understand why he should refuse to see me on his--so to speak--business premises, seeing he desired to speak with me on a business matter. However, all his froth and small talk were driven out of my head by my discovery that the glass eye had disappeared from the small table. I suppose Gertrude had put it into her pocket, as she was in the room arranging some flowers in a vase. I glanced at her keenly, but she appeared to be perfectly cool.

"Where is your aunt?" asked Monk, looking around.

"She has gone home again: she only came to see if she could get Joseph to attend to her place," said Gertrude, busy with her flowers, "good-morning, Mr. Vance."

"Good-morning," I answered looking hard at her--so hard that she blushed becomingly, but certainly not guiltily.

"What is the matter?" she asked, putting her hand to her head, "is my hair out of order?"

"No--o--o--o," I said hesitatingly, for her coolness amazed me. "I was only delighted to see you looking so well."

She blushed again. "Thank you," was her laughing reply, "for that compliment you shall have a flower," and she actually handed me a late rosebud.

I placed it in my button-hole, feeling quite bewildered. It was impossible that she could be guilty, and yet the eye had certainly been on the table, and perhaps had found a place in her pocket.

Meanwhile Mr. Monk was fuming with injured egotism at being left out of the conversation. "Attend to me, Gertrude, if you please," he said sharply. "I wish you would tell your aunt that I disapprove of her trying to get Joseph to attend to her garden. She will not pay him, and the man can\'t work for nothing."

"Oh, I think he can," said Miss Monk, putting the vase of now-arranged flowers on the mantelpiece. "Mrs. Caldershaw left him quite a fortune for a man in his station of life. But why don\'t you speak to my aunt yourself."

"No! no! no! She upsets my nerves. We always quarrel."

"Exactly what happens when I speak to her" rejoined Gertrude with a shrug; "so I am never pleased when she comes here. It\'s your fault, papa; when you are away she never calls. I really think she must be in love with you, dear. You had better take care, papa. Since the Deceased Wife\'s Sister\'s Bill is law now, aunty may wish to marry you."

Monk laughed, and smiled, not ill-pleased by this tribute to his looks. "I shall chose a younger wife than your aunt, my dear. The stepmother I may give you will be young and charming."

His daughter looked at him in dismay. "Papa, are you thinking of marrying again?" she demanded quickly.

"No, my love. I am too poor to marry; but if I met a rich woman, well----" he stopped, pulled up his collar, glanced in a near mirror and adjusted his tie, apparently thinking he was worthy to be wooed by an heiress.

Gertrude laughed, more at ease in her mind. "It would be foolish to marry at your age, papa. You have a comfortable house and a good income, so why not enjoy yourself as you are doing now."

But it appeared that she had said the wrong thing, since her father was excessively touchy. "At my age, Gertrude," he remarked in an offended tone, "you forget that I am still comparatively young, and that when you marry I shall be very solitary. As to my income, it is a mere pittance to a man of my artistic tastes."

His daughter might have reminded him that he spent most of his income on himself, and kept her on next to nothing. But she passed over the whole speech save one remark: "I shall never marry, papa," she said quietly.

"Why not? why not?" fumed Mr. Monk, startled.

"No one will have me," she said demurely.

"Oh," her father laughed, "that is all right; I haven\'t been unmindful of you, my child, when in town. There are one or two men to whom I must introduce you with a view to matrimony. I shall arrange----"

"Please don\'t, papa; I prefer to arrange the question of marriage myself."

"Foolish, foolish child," said Monk, his touchy temper again getting the better of him, "you shall do as I tell you else you will place me in the disagreeable position of Lear," and he walked out of the room just like a child, annoyed because the bad naughty table has hurt it.

"Oh, dear me, how easily papa is offended," sighed Gertrude, shrugging when he banged the door, "this must be unpleasant for you, Mr. Vance."

"What must be?"

"These family jars."

"Oh, dear, no, don\'t think that," I answered easily. "I see you have to humor your father."

"He\'s a dear father, Mr. Vance, but sometimes he is difficult to deal with; I offend him without meaning to, he is so sensitive."

I thought the man selfish myself, but it was none of my business to say so, therefore I dropped the subject and asked Miss Monk to grant me a favor.

"I wish you to come to tea to-morrow at the inn. Mrs. Gilfin will play the part of chaperon, if your father can\'t come."

"I don\'t think papa can, as he is going back to London in the morning. I accept with pleasure."

"Shall I ask your aunt."

"Oh, no, please don\'t. I would rather Mrs. Gilfin were present. Not that it needs anyone to play propriety, as I am sure you can behave yourself. At what time do you want me to come?"

"Four o\'clock, unless you like to come earlier and go for a drive in my motor."

"No. I shall come to The Robin Redbreast at four. I wish to ask your advice on a very important subject."

"To renew our conversation of the night when your father entered so unexpectedly?"

"Yes. As I said then, I want a friend."

"And I said----"

"I know what you said. If you say it again, I shall begin to think I must have a chaperon for your proposed tea after all. Now you must go. I have heaps and heaps of housework to do. Also I must pack papa\'s portmanteau."

I internally blessed Mr. Monk and his confounded portmanteau, then took my departure, as I had entered, by the middle window. As I passed out I could not help glancing again at the table whereon I had seen the glass eye. Miss Monk saw my inquiring gaze and came forward. "Have you lost anything?"

I was more confounded than ever. "No--nothing," I said hurriedly. "Good-day," and I departed at top speed, entirely at sea as regard............