At three o'clock I drove in a taxi to Stratford Street, and was admitted by a demure-looking man in black--Monk's valet, I suppose--to the flat. Apparently the servant expected my arrival, for he led me directly into the Moorish smoking-room where I had previously been. Striver and Mr. Monk were both present, seated in opposite chairs and glowering--as the Scotch say--at one another. They resembled a couple of ill-tempered dogs chained together. Monk, I thought, looked haggard and worn and anxious, quite different to his usual complacent self. But Striver's handsome face wore a determined, confident expression. I judged that he was master of the situation. This augured ill for Monk's innocence. As soon as I entered the elder man, quivering with nervousness, rose quickly to his feet and rushed forward to clasp my hand. "I am so glad you have come, Vance," he said, dropping his affected speech. "I need your assistance in dealing with this--this-- blackmailer." "That's a lie," growled Striver, who looked dangerous, and probably was; "why don't you introduce me as your secretary?" "Yes," cried Monk, his under lip twitching, "that's what he calls himself, Vance--my secretary. He followed after me to New York, and has been in my company ever since. To explain his presence I called him my secretary. But he is a blackguard--a blackmailer." "I have never asked you for a shilling," retorted Striver with a shrug. "No, you ask me for what I value more--the hand of my child." I sat down and laughed outright, in spite of the seriousness of the situation. "Hasn't Mr. Striver given up hope in that quarter?" "No, I haven't," snarled the gardener, "nor shall I. I intend to marry Gertrude." "Miss Monk, to you, if you please. As to your marrying her, that is out of the question. She is engaged to me, and I don't intend to give her up. Now, Mr. Striver, I haven't come here to listen to bombast and froth, but to hear facts. For what reason do you persecute Mr. Monk?" "I don't persecute him. I just followed him to New York to ask his help in marrying Ger--well, Miss Monk, if you will have it so." "Mr. Monk can't help you there," I said calmly. "We'll see about that," said Striver, with an evil look. "Of course. That is why I am here. Mr. Monk, would you mind giving me a cigar, please? I recommend one to you also, Striver. Smoking may soothe your nerves." "Mind your own business." "Oh, your nerves are my business, since they may lead you into making mischief. Thank you, Mr. Monk," I said, taking the cigar he passed me. "A light, please." I struck a match. "Now," I ended, when comfortably smoking, "let me hear all about it." "All about what?" demanded Striver, annoyed by my coolness. "About the means you propose to use in forcing Mr. Monk into supporting your preposterous desire to marry his daughter." "He is guilty of my aunt's murder." "It is a lie, a lie," cried Monk, sitting down and clasping his hands.