Here was a discovery! Well might I talk about the disappearing eye, for it vanished every time it was found. It had disappeared out of Mrs. Caldershaw\'s head when she was murdered; it had disappeared from the drawing-room table, and now it had disappeared from the watch case of Mr. Walter Monk. And this final vanishing seemed to be the strangest of all. I could not understand how it had taken place since I was in the room and the closed case was on the table all the time. Striver could not have secured the eye, for I had held him in conversation.

Then I remembered that Mr. Monk had been hunting the smoking-room for a magnifying glass in order to decipher the inscription. Engaged with the repentant gardener, I had paid very little attention to his movements, so it was probable that when my back was turned he had taken the opportunity to slip the incriminating eye into his pocket. Also I recalled the fact that he had handed me the closed case himself, recommending me to get a magnifying glass from a jeweller. Had I been clever enough to mistrust him--as I had every reason to--I should there and then have opened the case to see that the eye was safe. But I had not done so, and now, in the train, when Monk was out of reach, I discovered the loss.

Of course I guessed that he had taken it, so as to obviate any accusation being brought against himself, and probably by this time he had got rid of it for ever. It was useless for me to do what I settled on the spur of the moment to do, and return by the next train to London from one of the intermediate stations. Monk would only lie, and I could not force him to surrender the eye--always presuming that he had not destroyed it--by threatening to tell the police. The fulfilment of such a threat meant danger to Gertrude, and he would simply laugh in my face. There was nothing for it but to continue my journey to Burwain and consult with Gertrude. If I placed the matter before her, she might see a way out of the dilemma.

And it was a dilemma, for I had not found time to decipher what was on the threepenny bit, and so could not hope to find the hidden money. If I only knew what kind of a cryptogram Gabriel Monk had engraved on that piece of silver, I felt certain that in one way or another I could read the same. Failing my own capability, I knew a man in London who possessed a Poe-like talent for unravelling such puzzles. And for Gertrude\'s sake I desired to find her fortune, since Mr. Monk--now that he had nothing to gain, and knew that his daughter loved him no longer--might withdraw the money he allowed her. He might even sell the house and grounds, for though the income was entailed the property was not. Then Gertrude would be homeless and penniless until her father died and the five hundred a year by the entail reverted to her. No wonder I was vexed at the loss of the eye.

On arriving at Burwain, Mrs. Gilfin informed me that Lord Cannington had been inquiring for me, and, failing my company, had passed the day in Weston\'s yard. I did not get to the inn until seven o\'clock, so Weston, always working late, had not put in an appearance. Then I found--and to my great satisfaction--that Dicky had gone in his motor to Tarhaven with Cannington to dine and sleep at the Buckingham Hotel. The boy had left a note asking me to come over also when I returned, but I sent a wire from the village post-office, excusing myself on the ground of fatigue, and sat down to my dinner. Afterwards--about eight o\'clock, in fact--I walked to The Lodge to explain my absence to Gertrude.

She was in the quaint drawing-room, arrayed in a dinner dress of some soft, white, clinging material, and looked almost as pale as her frock. There were dark rings round her eyes, and a weary look on her face. Without a word she came forward to kiss me, and sighed as she laid her head on my breast.

"What is the matter, my own?" I asked, kissing the soft dark hair.

"I am so tired," she whispered. "I have had a white night, as the French call it, and all day I have been longing to talk to you. Why have you not been to see me, Cyrus? What took you to London? I was so disappointed when I received your note. I wanted you so much--so very, very much."

"What for, dear?"

"I made up my mind last night to tell you everything."

"What if I know everything already?"

Gertrude withdrew from my arms and looked at me in a frightened way. "What do you know? What have you learned?"

"Dear," I took her hand and led her to a chair near the fire, "sit down, for I have much to tell you. I have been to London in answer to a telegram from your father."

She rose from the seat in which I had placed her. "Oh," she exclaimed in a fright, "has he returned to England? How foolish, when----" She stopped.

"When what, Gertrude?" I asked, looking at her keenly.

"If you know all, you must know why I wish my father to remain absent from England," she replied, sinking to the chair with a white face.

"Never mind what I know, tell me."

"My father," she began, and then her voice died away in her throat and she cast a frightened look at the door.

I knelt at her feet and took her cold hands within my own. "We are quite safe, dearest. Tell me, tell me, trust me fully." I knew pretty well what she was about to say, but wished her to voluntarily give me her full confidence.

"It was my father I saw through the door," she whispered, bending over me anxiously, "he called to see Anne on that day. She came back and told me he was there. I did not wish to meet him, as already I had caught a glimpse of his face. Therefore I ran out of the back door, leaving my cloak behind me."

"Why did you not wish to meet him?"

"Because he would have insisted upon knowing why I had come to Mootley. If he had learned what I had found in the diary he would have got the secret from Anne, and then the money would have passed into his possession, to make bad use of. I thought it better to go, and I fled on the impulse of the moment. I had no time to think."

"Dear, I believe that your father knew Mrs. Caldershaw possessed the secret, else why should he have come to see her."

"Then you guessed that I was shielding him?"

"Yes, I guessed, and now I know for certain."

"Who told you, Cyrus?"

"Your father himself."

Gertrude rose unsteadily to her feet, grasping my arm. "But--but," she stammered, "has he confessed that he is guilty."

I rose also and at the same moment. "No, dear. He is the last man to confess anything that would get him into trouble. He swears that he is innocent."

"Oh, I hope so--I think he must be." She clasped her hands and her eyes shone in her pale face like twin stars. "Papa is foolish and--as I see now--selfish. But he would never commit so cruel a murder."

"I think he would do anything, provided he was not found out," I said in a cynical manner. "Of course you left before the termination of his interview with Mrs. Caldershaw, so you can\'t say for certain if he is innocent or guilty. But Striver accuses him."

"Striver," she grasped my arm again in her fright, "and he was concealed in the bedroom, but he was asleep. He said that he was asleep."

"He woke--according to his story--at the sound of voices, and saw your father in the shop. He accuses him of the murder because he found the glass eye amongst your father\'s luggage in America."

"In America. Has Joseph been to America?"

"Yes. He followed your father there to force him to insist upon the marriage--which he apparently intended to bring about by threatening you. Then he found--so he says--the glass eye in your father\'s dressing-bag and accused him. To keep Striver quiet, your father made him his secretary and brought him back to England. This morning I received a wire from your father asking for my assistance. I went up and"--I shrugged--"that is all."

"It is only the beginning," said Gertrude quickly. "Sit down and tell me all about your interview. First--to set my mind at rest--is my father guilty?"

I reflected. "I really can\'t say. Sometimes I think he is and again I think he is not. There is much to be said for both opinions. Striver--if anyone--knows the truth, and yet he only bases his accusation on the finding of the glass eye."

"But surely," said Gertrude, in great agitation, "that is strong evidence."

"Yes," I assented dryly, "if it were true. But I believe that Striver stole the glass eye from yonder table and took it to America to frighten your father into helping with the marriage. If he had real, true evidence against Mr. Monk, he would not have resorted to faked evidence with the glass eye. On those grounds I believe that your father is innocent."

"Oh, what a relief!" She sighed and sat down.

"On the other hand," I continued quietly, "your father has made me change my opinion by stealing the eye again."

"What do you mean, Cyrus?"

I took my seat beside her and gained possession of her hands. Then I related all that had taken place in the Stratford Street rooms. She interrupted me frequently with ejaculations. When I had finished, she appeared more struck with Striver\'s sudden collapse than with any other portion of my narrative.

"He knows the truth and he will save my good name," she said slowly to herself, "that would seem as though Joseph knows for certain that my father is innocent, since his name is my name."

"Not exactly, my dear. His name, by Act of Parliament, is Marr, and yours is Monk. But when you change it to Vance," I gathered her into my arms to kiss her fondly, "there will be no need for Striver to bother."

"There will always be a need until the truth becomes known," murmured Gertrude anxiously. "I shall never be safe from my aunt\'s threats until the assassin of Anne is found."

"Well, then, let us leave it to Striver," I said cheerfully. "He is ready to behave decently, now that he finds you will never be his wife. Meanwhile, I want you to go to London to-morrow and see your father."

Gertrude shrank from the suggestion. "Oh, I don\'t want to see him again after he has treated me so badly. Besides, he must be angry with me."

"Never mind. You are strong enough to face his anger, which is sure to be of a puny kind. I wish you to see him, so that you may regain the glass eye, which I feel certain he took out of the case when my back was turned."

"Why do you want the glass eye?"

"To read the cipher, and find the money.&............