"I shall tell them to the police," said the gardener, rising. "You can't do that," struck in Gertrude, "without incriminating yourself." "Oh, indeed," said I lightly; "perhaps you will explain, Striver. You see, I am treating you with all justice." "I don't want your justice," he said rudely. "Ah!" I retorted meaningly, "perhaps you want the justice of a British jury, Striver. Come, out with it." The young man clenched his fists. "If I ruin myself, I shall ruin her. You shan't have her if I can't." "Allow me to tell you, Striver," I said, repressing Gertrude, "that all this bombast has no effect on me. Prove your accusation." "You can't without incriminating yourself," repeated Gertrude, drawing a breath. "Cyrus, he told me that----" "I'll tell him," interrupted the gardener fiercely. "I know that I run the risk of standing in the dock. But you, Miss Monk, will be by my side. It's my love for you which makes me risk my neck." "So that you can put a rope round the neck of the woman you love," I said cheerfully, although I confess that the man's decisive tone made me uneasy. "That is an affectionate way of acting." "Well, are you going to confess?" "I am not afraid to confess," said Striver, in thick tones, but more composed. "You can't make use of my confession without proving her"--he pointed to Gertrude--"to be a murderess and a thief." "A lie, a lie," moaned the girl. "I have been very patient with you, Striver," I said, suppressing my anger with an effort, "but if you call Miss Monk names I'll knock your teeth down your throat." "I'm not afraid of you, Mr. Vance." "No; you're afraid of the police." "And so is she," he pointed again. "I am not," denied Gertrude, and stood up calm and unflinching to deny it. "Oh, damn your fencing, come to the point. Forgive me for swearing, Gertrude, but this long-winded ass would provoke a saint." Striver took no notice of the insult. He plunged, with a gasp, directly into the middle of his story, and I soon saw how it was that he did not dare to denounce Gertrude. "My aunt wished me to marry Miss Monk," he said rapidly, and with his eyes on the carpet--he was standing up, by the way--"and as I loved her I wished for nothing better. My aunt said that she could give me Gabriel Monk's money after her death, as she had concealed its whereabouts in her glass eye." "Oh," I said, half to myself, "so I was right." "Yes, you were right," assented Striver quickly. "I wanted my aunt to show me the eye when she was alive, but she always refused and said that it would remain in her head until she died." "A violent death, Mr. Striver." "Yes. She always declared that because of this secret she would not die in her bed. She was afraid that Miss Monk would kill her." "Oh, rubbish!" I interrupted impatiently. "Miss Monk would not kill a fly, as you well know. Mrs. Caldershaw must have been mad." "I think she was," murmured Gertrude, clinging to me.