However, the case stood thus: Monk had returned to America, or at all events had left England; Striver also had taken his departure, and the jewels which belonged to Gertrude had disappeared. The gardener intended--so he said--to tell the truth and unmask the assassin of his aunt, but unless he intended to denounce himself when at a safe distance, I could not imagine what he intended to say. So far as I could see there was nothing to do but to wait some communication from Striver. Meanwhile I urged Gertrude to marry me during the first month of the New Year. "But I am afraid to marry you until the truth about Anne's murder is known, Cyrus," she objected. "Aunt Julia still threatens me." "Let us go and see your aunt now," I said. It was next morning that this conversation took place. "We can explain matters to her, and she will be forced to see that you are innocent. After all, she only desires the half share of the fortune. When she learns it is lost she will hold her tongue, having nothing to gain by talking." Anxious to end all suspense, Gertrude agreed, and we paid an early visit to Miss Destiny. In the cold greyness of the day her tin house looked more dismal than usual, and as we walked through the jungle path I wondered how a lady bred and born could live in so miserable a place. She was not rich, certainly, but she could have afforded a better dwelling. Yet I daresay she was happy enough in her sordid home, since all she cared for was money, and, so long as she possessed actual gold to gloat over, cared little for the comforts it could bring. It was a strange way of finding happiness. Miss Destiny opened the door herself, as Lucinda--it appeared, from what she said--had gone to buy some food in the village. The little old lady was dressed in her usual threadbare black silk, with the addition of a knitted woollen shawl over her spare shoulders. She looked extremely shabby: also pinched and haggard. But her black eyes were as bright as ever, and she seemed to possess considerable vitality in her wiry frame. "The lovers," she said, with a shrill laugh, and inviting us to enter. "So it is not to be Joseph after all, my dear Gertrude." "It never was Joseph," replied her niece quietly. "Aunt Julia, I have asked Cyrus to come and see you about this threat you used to me." "Threat!" Miss Destiny raised her eyebrows. "My dear child, I used no threat." "You said that if Gertrude did not give you half of her fifty thousand pounds when found, that you would tell the police she had been to Mootley." "Oh, I really didn't mean that, Mr. Vance," said Miss Destiny, cringing. "It was only a joke on my part." "Then you don't accuse me of murder?" asked Gertrude, bluntly. "No, dear. Certainly not." "And you don't want half Gertrude's fortune?" I questioned.