The letter went on to say that, finding he would make no impression on Gertrude with me beside her, Striver had taken the eye to America in order to lay a trap for Monk. But he swore solemnly that Monk did not possess the eye, "unless," wrote Striver, "he placed it on the drawing-room table. I think myself that he is innocent, as I watched him all the time he was talking to my aunt. He did not leave the shop, but after a quarter of an hour he went away down the road. I believe he left his motor car at Murchester and walked over. Hence--as no one came to the corner shop on that afternoon--his visit was not noticed. After he departed I went back to the bedroom to lie down, and told my aunt I was weary. She did not come up the stairs and I did not go down them. She went into the back room, and I lay down again in the bedroom. Then--but I shall not tell you the truth now. When the time comes you shall know all, and Gertrude need have no fear that she will ever be troubled again by the Mootley murder." "Thank God for that," said Gertrude; "but who is guilty?" I shrugged my shoulders. "We must wait until Striver speaks out. Perhaps he killed his aunt himself, and wished to escape abroad before confessing. But let us read the rest of his letter," and I continued. The writer went on to say that he intended to leave England, as he had plenty of money. He could not return to Burwain to see Gertrude the wife of another, so probably he would go to Australia. "Very foolish of him to tell us that, seeing he may be guilty," I said. "Cyrus, he knows that he can trust us," she said rebukingly. "I am sorry for the poor man. He is making amends." "I shall say so when I hear that he has told the truth about the murder," I remarked grimly. "How he intends to do so I can't say. But, look, Gertrude, do you see how he finishes? Your father, after getting rid of the cipher coin in the river, came back and took all his things away. He told Striver--here it is--that he was returning to America and would never come to England again. Well"----I paused. "Poor papa," sighed Gertrude, "why could he not have come down and asked me to help him? After all, he is my father, and I could never be hard on him." "I don't think he is worthy of your regrets," I said, for really Mr. Walter Monk's behavior sickened me, "but, as he has departed, there is no use your going up to see him to-morrow about the eye." "Especially as the eye is now destroyed," said Gertrude, taking up the paper, "and the cipher is set down here. What do you make of it, Cyrus?" I put Striver's letter into my pocket--there was no more writing after the information of Mr. Monk's departure for America--and bent over the paper. "It's a bird in the middle of a lot of dust," I said. "Dust." Gertrude pointed out two of the specks. "Then dust has wings." "Oh, then it's a bird midst a cloud of insects." "And these odd signs?" "An 'A' reversed, and an 'S' turned in the wrong direction."