I could have seen Gertrude before leaving for London, but I did not think it wise to do so. She would certainly ask questions, and if, by chance, I let slip that my visit was to her father, trouble would ensue. When had he returned from America? Why had he returned from America? For what reason did he wish to see me? Where was the letter or telegram, which I had received? These questions Gertrude would assuredly ask, and if I answered them truthfully, she would probably insist upon coming with me. That would be impossible, as her presence would only complicate matters. And Heaven knows they were sufficiently complicated as it was.

For this reason I simply sent a note saying that I had been called to London on business, and drove over to Tarhaven in Mrs. Gilfin\'s trap to catch the midday train. I just managed to escape Cannington, whom I saw in the street, as I drove up to the station, and was glad that he had not noticed me. I did not wish to enter into further explanations, and invent theories, and conjecture possibilities. So many lies were being told and so many secrets were being kept, that it was difficult to understand the actual position of affairs. The corner shop at Mootley seemed to have been a kind of rendezvous for all manner of people, and on that fatal evening Mrs. Caldershaw appeared to have held quite a reception. Gertrude, her father, Striver, and Miss Destiny had all been making for that goal, and the consequence of their presence--in a broad sense I speak--had been the death of the old woman. The sole person whose innocence could be proved beyond all doubt was Miss Destiny, as she had not arrived until I had discovered the body of Mrs. Caldershaw. Of course I truly believed that Gertrude was innocent, but the police might have taken a different view. For this reason I was anxious to learn the exact state of things with regard to Striver and Monk. In my opinion one of the two was guilty, and I anxiously waited for three o\'clock to learn the absolute truth. Then, being enlightened, I should know how to act.

At three o\'clock I drove in a taxi to Stratford Street, and was admitted by a demure-looking man in black--Monk\'s valet, I suppose--to the flat. Apparently the servant expected my arrival, for he led me directly into the Moorish smoking-room where I had previously been. Striver and Mr. Monk were both present, seated in opposite chairs and glowering--as the Scotch say--at one another. They resembled a couple of ill-tempered dogs chained together. Monk, I thought, looked haggard and worn and anxious, quite different to his usual complacent self. But Striver\'s handsome face wore a determined, confident expression. I judged that he was master of the situation. This augured ill for Monk\'s innocence. As soon as I entered the elder man, quivering with nervousness, rose quickly to his feet and rushed forward to clasp my hand. "I am so glad you have come, Vance," he said, dropping his affected speech. "I need your assistance in dealing with this--this-- blackmailer."

"That\'s a lie," growled Striver, who looked dangerous, and probably was; "why don\'t you introduce me as your secretary?"

"Yes," cried Monk, his under lip twitching, "that\'s what he calls himself, Vance--my secretary. He followed after me to New York, and has been in my company ever since. To explain his presence I called him my secretary. But he is a blackguard--a blackmailer."

"I have never asked you for a shilling," retorted Striver with a shrug.

"No, you ask me for what I value more--the hand of my child."

I sat down and laughed outright, in spite of the seriousness of the situation. "Hasn\'t Mr. Striver given up hope in that quarter?"

"No, I haven\'t," snarled the gardener, "nor shall I. I intend to marry Gertrude."

"Miss Monk, to you, if you please. As to your marrying her, that is out of the question. She is engaged to me, and I don\'t intend to give her up. Now, Mr. Striver, I haven\'t come here to listen to bombast and froth, but to hear facts. For what reason do you persecute Mr. Monk?"

"I don\'t persecute him. I just followed him to New York to ask his help in marrying Ger--well, Miss Monk, if you will have it so."

"Mr. Monk can\'t help you there," I said calmly. "We\'ll see about that," said Striver, with an evil look.

"Of course. That is why I am here. Mr. Monk, would you mind giving me a cigar, please? I recommend one to you also, Striver. Smoking may soothe your nerves."

"Mind your own business."

"Oh, your nerves are my business, since they may lead you into making mischief. Thank you, Mr. Monk," I said, taking the cigar he passed me. "A light, please." I struck a match. "Now," I ended, when comfortably smoking, "let me hear all about it."

"All about what?" demanded Striver, annoyed by my coolness.

"About the means you propose to use in forcing Mr. Monk into supporting your preposterous desire to marry his daughter."

"He is guilty of my aunt\'s murder."

"It is a lie, a lie," cried Monk, sitting down and clasping his hands.

"Last time we had the pleasure of speaking together, Mr. Striver," I said easily, "you accused Miss Monk; now you assert her father to be the guilty person. On what grounds do you base your last accusation? I know those on which you base your first, and I told you to tell them to the police. Instead of doing this you attempt to coerce an old man. I had some sympathy with you, because you loved in vain; now I have none, as I think you are simply a scoundrel, using illegal means to accomplish the impossible."

"How dare you!"--he sprang to his feet with flashing eyes--"how----"

"That will do, my man," I interrupted coldly, "sit down, and speak when I ask you questions."

"I\'ll break your head," he muttered between his teeth, but obeyed.

I laughed. "I think we tried physical conclusions at The Lodge, and you got the worst of it. Hold your tongue, confound you," I commanded sternly. "Mr. Monk!" I turned to my future father-in-law, who was shivering with apprehension, "you say that this person accuses you of murdering Anne Caldershaw?"

"Yes, he does. He came here and learned that I had gone to America and followed. He has never left me since."

"Why didn\'t you kick him out?"

"I couldn\'t, I couldn\'t," said Monk, shivering again, while Striver sneered. "He threatened to tell the police. I kept him near me as my supposed secretary, and have been compelled to pay his expenses."

"Oh, you can easily do that, Mr. Wentworth Marr," scoffed Striver, "seeing that you have secured the fifty thousand pounds which rightfully belongs to your daughter, Miss Gertrude."

"What?" I cried, alive with curiosity.

"It\'s not true," said Monk hastily, and his face grew red with anger, "the money I have comes from my Australian cousin, whose name I took in accordance with the conditions laid down in the will. I told you so."

"Yes, and I did not believe you." "Mr. Vance--" Striver shifted his position so as to face me--"I truly believed when I left Burwain that Miss Gertrude was guilty, on the grounds I explained to you at The Lodge. I came to London to see Mr. Monk, whom I knew to be masquerading as Marr----"

"I did not masquerade," broke in Monk indignantly.

"Shut up," said Striver contemptuously, "and let me tell my story in my own way or it will be the worse for you."

"No threats, Striver. Tell me the story without side issues; I am aware that you learned about Mr. Monk\'s change of name. You doubtless came here to say that if he didn\'t help you to marry Miss Gertrude you would denounce her to the police."

"Yes, I did," said Striver sullenly, "but I learned from the caretaker of these rooms that Mr. Monk--Marr, the man called him--had gone to New York, and had left an address to which his letters were to be forwarded. I got that address----"

"The caretaker had no right to give it to you," cried Monk indignantly.

"Oh, a little money soon makes that sort of person speak," sneered the gardener. "However, I had no difficulty in learning where Mr. Monk was stopping in New York. I had plenty of cash, with my aunt\'s legacy and my own income, to say nothing of the sale of the corner shop lease to Giles, so I determined to follow. I reached New York in due course, and compelled Mr. Monk to take me as his secretary, so that I could keep him under my eye."

Monk groaned. "I have had a cruel time with you; a cruel time."

"Better than you deserve. I swear," added Striver, turning again to me, "that I never believed Mr. Monk to be guilty until I found the eye."

"What?" I sprang to my feet in sheer astonishment. "You found the eye?"

Monk, changing alternately from white to red with nervous fear, would have burst out into emphatic denial, but Striver cast such a black look in his direction that the words died on his lips. Then the gardener took out of his pocket a small morocco case, such as jewellers use to enclose watches, and passed it along to me. I opened it silently, and there, on the puffy white silk, lay a glass eye. "I found that," said Striver slowly, "while searching the luggage of Mr. Monk."

"You had no right to search my luggage," whimpered Monk, "it was most unfair."

"Unfair be hanged! You were so certain that Miss Gertrude was innocent, and talked so much about defending her with your life that I began to suspect you of the deed. I hunted, when you were out, amongst your luggage and papers for some proof of your guilt. I found my aunt\'s glass eye."

"I never saw it before," cried Monk, rising in his excitement; "you placed it amongst my papers to incriminate me."

"Mr. Vance," said Striver coldly, "look at the initials on the outside of that case. You will see they are Wentworth Marr\'s initials--W. M. They also stand for Walter Monk," ended Striver with a sneer, and when I glanced at the case I saw that he spoke the truth.

"The case is mine, I admit," said Monk, trying to speak calmly, "it was in my dressing-case----"

"Where I found it, containing the eye," put in Striver sharply.

"You did not, you did not. The case was empty, as I was wearing the watch--this watch." Monk jerked a golden chronometer out of his waistcoat pocket. "The jeweller, whose address is inside the case, can prove that the watch was in it when he sold it to me."

"I daresay," sneered Striver quietly, "but you wore the watch and placed the eye in the empty case. Yes, and with that eye you learned the secret of the whereabouts of Miss Gertrude\'s fifty thousand pounds, and you have been living on it under the name of Wentworth Marr. The story of your Australian legacy and Australian cousin is a mere invention."

"I tell you I have spoken the truth. I deny everything."

"Do you deny that you were in Mrs. Caldershaw\'s shop?" I asked, preventing Striver from speaking by a gesture.

Monk stared and winced. "How do you know that?"

"Mr. Wentworth Marr was at Murchester on the day when the crime was committed. He came down in his motor and stopped at the Lion Hotel. He left a card for Lord Cannington at Murchester Barracks. He also went to Mootley to see Anne Caldershaw."

"You can\'t prove that," said Monk, and wiped the perspiration from his brow nervously. "I admit that I did motor down to Murchester to ask Cannington to influence his sister in my favor. I called in the afternoon and left a card. Then I stopped the night at the Lion Hotel, and returned to town the next morning."

"And after you found that Cannington was absent--about three o\'clock, that was--you went to Mootley to see Anne Caldershaw."

"Prove it, prove it."

"I daresay Mr. Striver can prove it. He was concealed upstairs."

"I was asleep for a time," said Striver abruptly, "but I woke in time to see Mr. Monk. I peered down the stairs and saw him talking to my aunt in the shop. The sound of their voices raised high woke me up. They were quarrelling."

"I don\'t deny that I was there," said Monk, wiping his face again, "but I want to know how Vance learned my whereabouts. It\'s a guess based on my leaving the card on Cannington."

"It is not," I said sharply; "your daughter was in the back room and saw you through the open door. She refused to tell me this, but as she said that the sight of a certain person drove her hastily out of the back door, so hastily that she left her cloak behind her, I believe that person was you, Mr. Monk."

"I was simply calling on Mrs. Caldershaw. There was no reason why Gertrude should not say so, although I did not know that she was there."

"She believed that you were guilty because of your presence there, and did not tell me, even though I pressed her. You are the sole person she would shield at the risk of losing her liberty, though you aren\'t worth it, Mr. Monk. Am I not right?"

"I admitted that you were right. Striver saw me, and Gertrude saw me. I cannot deny my presence in the shop. But that does not prove me to be guilty of murder."

"How, then," asked Striver, "did you become possessed of the eye?"

"The last time that I saw the eye was in Mrs. Caldershaw\'s head," snapped Monk, whose nerves were entirel............