"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." Gertrude shook her head. "I feel as though that money would bring us a curse, Cyrus. Already it has caused a murder and no end of unhappiness. Besides, you can never read the cipher." "I should try, dear, and if I fail there is a clever friend of mine who can unravel anything. As to the money, or rather the diamonds, they are rightfully yours and ought to be in your hands. Get the eye and----"