As may be guessed, I passed a very perturbed four and twenty hours until my arranged interview with Miss Monk. Miss Destiny had not seen the glass eye in the drawing-room, and so far could prove nothing against her niece. I believe that, so far, she was speaking the truth, as if she had seen the eye, she would have only been too pleased to adduce its presence as a proof of Gertrude\'s guilt. But, as things were, what she knew was damning enough. She could swear to the girl\'s presence at Mootley on the evening of the murder, and to the ownership of the white cloak, worn by the lady who had stolen my motor car. Fortunately, from sheer shame, since Miss Monk was her niece, Miss Destiny promised to hold her tongue.

In the face of what the old woman had said and that I already knew, it seemed certain that Gertrude was guilty. Miss Destiny could even declare that her niece had possessed certain blue glass-headed hat-pins, with one of which the crime had been committed. Then again Gertrude wished to get the money, which, after all, was rightfully her own. It seemed probable--on the face of it--that while waiting with Anne Caldershaw for Miss Destiny\'s arrival, she had tried to learn what the ex-housekeeper knew as to the whereabouts of the money. Anne may have boasted that the secret was locked up in her glass eye, and then--well, I shuddered to think of what took place. Nine people out of ten would have pronounced Gertrude guilty with the greatest promptitude: but I happened to be the tenth, and I hesitated to give an opinion. But then I was in love, and my decision was biassed.

But I really could not believe that so lovely a girl was guilty. Besides, her demeanor was not that of a brazen criminal, and she had seemed really puzzled by my over-attentive gaze. Tossing and turning on my bed, I tried to see some ray of light, but all was utter darkness. The evidence was dead against Gertrude Monk, and her fate was in the hands of her vindictive aunt. Miss Destiny might hold her tongue for the time being, but it would take very little to set it wagging. And being a miser, she might try to blackmail her niece. My brain ached with trying to get at the truth. To Inspector Dredge it would have have been readily apparent; but in the face of stern facts I refused to believe the girl to be guilty.

Then there was Giles. During the night I thought a good deal of Giles, whom I had met that very evening when I returned to the Robin Redbreast. He was remaining there for the night, and informed me that he had come over to Burwain that day in order to see Striver about the lease of the corner shop.

"You see, Mr. Vance," said Giles, shortly before I retired to bed, and while we were in the bar, "my wife wants to have a shop of her own, so I thought I would get Mr. Striver to make over the lease of Mrs. Caldershaw\'s shop to me. My wife is set on having it, and I think Mr. Striver will agree to the terms I propose."

"You have seen him, then?"

"Yes, sir. I went to his house to-day and found he was at the Lodge, working in the garden. I sought him out there and we had a talk, just before Miss Destiny came to bother him. I went away then, and afterwards you came."

"Oh," my mind swiftly ran over the events of the day, "then you were in the grounds of the Lodge before I arrived?"

"Yes, Mr. Vance," said Giles, readily enough. "Mr. Striver wasn\'t in the garden at the time, as he had gone round to the back of the house. I walked up to the front door and asked for him. The servant sent a message, and we were talking over our deal when the little old lady arrived. She spoilt the business, for the time being; but I saw Mr. Striver this evening, and we have arranged about the matter. My wife will have the shop."

I thought a good deal about this conversation when in bed. Giles had been alone in the grounds of The Lodge and had gone up to the house to seek for Striver. Might he not have placed the eye on the table, since he could easily do so, when the middle French window was open. But then I had absolutely no reason to suspect Giles, as the glass eye would be meaningless to him. But stop! Would it indeed be meaningless? Certainly Mrs. Giles had denied that she knew about Mrs. Caldershaw\'s glass eye, but then she had admitted that the ex-housekeeper had said she would never die in her bed. In one way or another Mrs. Giles may have learned the secret of the hidden money, and thus Giles might have killed Mrs. Caldershaw to obtain the glass eye which was the clue. But after reflection I dismissed this theory as utterly ridiculous. Giles could not have gained possession of the hat-pin belonging--according to Miss Destiny--to Gertrude Monk; and certainly, having the eye, would not come over to Burwain to leave it in the drawing-room of The Lodge. Giles, on the face of it, was utterly innocent. Yet it was strange that he should have been in the grounds of the Jacobean house nearly at the time I had seen the glass eye, and that [it] had disappeared. If Giles had not placed it there, he might have taken it.

"No! no! no! no!" I muttered in drowsy tones; "it\'s absurd. Giles has nothing to do with the matter. He merely came over to arrange about the shop. He did not place the glass eye there: nor did Striver. If Striver had possessed the eye he would have gained possession of the money. Besides, he was not at Mootley until the funeral took place. Mr. Monk! He\'s innocent enough, as he was in London when the crime was committed. Moreover, if he possessed the eye, he also would be in possession of the fortune. Gertrude is the only person to whom suspicion points. I shall insist upon a full explanation to-morrow. I alone can save her if she is guilty." And then I fell into a troubled sleep, reproaching myself for daring to doubt my divinity.

Giles departed next morning before I arose, and I did not see him again. Haunted still by undefined suspicions, I regretted his departure, and determined later to look him up at Mootley. Of course, the mere idea of thinking that the respectable sturdy greengrocer was guilty seemed ridiculous, but in my anxiety to save Gertrude from danger I was willing to sacrifice anyone and everyone. To such a state does love bring the most just of mankind.

By the midday post I received an impetuous letter from Cannington, who informed me that he had snaffled--the word is his own--a couple of weeks\' leave. For the present he was staying with his aunt, Lady Denham, because Mabel wished it, but proposed, when I came up, to take rooms at a hotel, where he would--as he put it--be less tied by the leg. Then he went on to say that I had remained long enough at Burwain, and that if I did not come to him he would come to me, like Mahomet and the proverbial mountain. Bearing in mind Mr. Monk\'s aspirations for a titled son-in-law, this was the last thing I desired, so I arranged promptly in my own mind to accept his invitation. Besides, after my interview with Gertrude, in which I hoped to come to an understanding, there would be no need for me to remain at Burwain. Her story might send me farther afield in search of new clues.

Reading between the lines of Cannington\'s letter, I saw that he was devoured with curiosity concerning Miss Monk. He knew that I had fallen in love with the portrait, and as he had always regarded me as a particularly staid, sedate personage, he naturally doubted if I would carry on so fantastic a romance. However, he evidently had his suspicions, since I chose to linger in a dull country village, and therefore was desperately anxious to see the lady who could thus move my elderly heart. As Cannington was a most pertinacious mortal, I wrote by the next post that I would be in London next week, and then would have much to tell him about the case. And as a matter of fact I did wish to have some safe person with whom to discuss matters. I could always rely on Cannington to hold his tongue, even if his advice did not prove to be particularly good. At all events the boy could always be relied upon to keep silent, which was more than I could say for many people I know. So to Cannington I resolved to confide the full tale of my discoveries, and--in the interests of my wooing--I ended my letter with a repetition of the fact that I was coming to see him. Had I not emphasized this the boy might have appeared the next day to make inquiries.

After posting this letter I consulted with Mrs. Gilfin about afternoon tea, and that able old creature bustled about to some purpose. She arranged flowers in my sitting room, stoked the fire, dusted the furniture unnecessarily, and spread a truly gorgeous tea for my visitor. I protested that neither one of us could eat so many cakes and buns and jam and bread as loaded the table. Mrs. Gilfin--who had some idea of my state of mind--admitted with a beaming smile that love did spoil the appetite. But she objected to the presence of my second portmanteau in the sitting-room.

"It do spile the looks of things," said Mrs. Gilfin; "why not put it in the bedroom, Master Cyrus?"

"I have use for it here, Cuckoo," I answered, and so I had, for in it was snugly folded the celebrated cloak, which I proposed to show to Gertrude when the time came for explanations.

At four o\'clock all was spic and span, as the room was as comfortable as the afternoon tea was tempting. Miss Monk duly arrived--this time without Puddles as an escort--and looked more beautiful than ever in her plain dress. Poor girl, she nearly always wore the same frock, which showed how very short in cash Mr. Monk kept her. She should have been arrayed in silk attire, and I inwardly swore, when establishing her in a deep-seated armchair by the fire, that some day she should be, at my expense. Meantime I handed her a cup of tea, and piled her with thin bread and butter, much to Mrs. Gilfin\'s satisfaction. That good lady had looked in to see that we were comfortable. "Eat all you can, miss," urged Mrs. Gilfin, "you don\'t look as fat as you ought to be."

Gertrude shuddered. "I don\'t want to grow fat," said she, laughing.

"There\'s worse things than fat," said Mrs. Gilfin sensibly. "Lean people with wrinkles are never so nice as them without. If Miss Destiny had more flesh on her bones she be more popular," and after delivering herself of this dictum the landlady departed with a fat chuckle.

Gertrude\'s face clouded when her aunt was mentioned. I noticed this and commented thereon. "You are not fond of Miss Destiny," I remarked.

"I have little reason to be," she replied with a nervous air. "Aunt Julia----"

"Is that her name?"

"Yes. Julia Destiny--a strange name, isn\'t it? Well, then, she has always behaved harshly to me. Even when I was a child she never liked me, and since Uncle Gabriel left me this fortune she has scarcely been able to bear the sight of me. Then this morning----"

"What about this morning?" I asked, seeing her hesitation.

"Aunt Julia came to me and said all manner of dreadful things. Even if you had not arranged this afternoon tea, Mr. Vance, I should have come to see you. I need a friend more than ever."

I privately thought--and I was right in thinking so--that Miss Destiny had been making herself disagreeable over the visit to Mootley, and perhaps had added threats. However I said nothing for the moment, as I wished Gertrude to tell her story in her own way. "Take some cake and another cup of tea," I murmured sympathetically, "then we can talk."

Gertrude handed me her cup. "I can\'t eat or drink anything more, thank you, Mr. Vance. I want to speak seriously to you. No one can hear us, I hope?"

I glanced at the door and window; both were closed. "No one can hear us," I assented, taking the chair opposite to her, "and you can depend upon my being secret about whatever you choose to tell me; you know that."

"Yes." She ............