Striver laughed again. "It's shaped exactly like a small sea-shell: simply a curve of thin glass, convex and concave, and fits into the socket like a--a--what shall I say?--like a cupping-glass." "Humph! In that case, it would be impossible to conceal a piece of paper behind it without damage." "Of course, taking also into consideration the smallness of the eye. The only thing I can think of," he added, half to himself, "is that there is a plan or some writing on the back part, which reveals the whereabouts of this money." "But there's no space to write in," I objected, considerably interested. "Why not. Writing done with a magnifying-glass, you know. I have seen the Lord's Prayer written on a sixpence." I nodded. "There may be something in what you say," I admitted, "and, as it appears that Mrs. Caldershaw was murdered for the sake of the eye, it must have some value. Perhaps," I added with a brilliant afterthought, "she hid a diamond behind it." "It would have to be a very large diamond to bring in fifty thousand pounds," said Striver, seriously. "No, I believe that the eye is simply a clue to this treasure." "Treasure?" "Well, money, jewels, gold, bank-notes, what not. All I know is that my aunt certainly mentioned fifty thousand pounds to my father." "Why didn't she secure the treasure herself?" "Perhaps she did and has buried it somewhere. Well, never mind," he turned over the papers again, "come what may, I must find the eye." "You won't find it there," I said, rising to take my leave, and with one eye on Miss Monk's photograph. "Better get the police to trace the white-cloaked lady, since you believe she has taken it." "I don't see who else could have committed the murder and have stolen the glass eye," said Striver decisively. "In one way or another, she must be found, somehow." "And then----?" "Then she must deliver up the glass eye." "And be hanged." "I don't want to go so far as that," he muttered nervously. "Of course, she is a woman." "And being so, is clever enough not to be caught. I daresay she will learn the secret of Mrs. Caldershaw, procure the fortune, and bolt to America." I moved towards the door, and Striver straightened himself to show me out. Then with an apparent afterthought I drew his attention to the smiling face of Miss Monk. "I admire that," said I, pointing. The effect was somewhat unexpected. "Why?" he asked roughly, and flushed scarlet through his fair skin, looking more handsome than ever. "Why?" I stared at him in surprise. "Why not? you should ask. It is a very lovely face, and I admire it as a work of art." "Oh, as a work of art. That's all right," he retorted quickly, "but it happens to be the photograph of a real person." "Miss Gertrude Monk." "How do you know that?" demanded the young man, again flushing angrily. "Miss Destiny told me that the photograph was one of her niece. I suppose, Mr. Striver, you would not mind my buying it."