I went straight to the point. "Miss Destiny, I don't for one moment suppose that you would like to see Miss Monk become Striver's wife." "Why not. He has looks, if not birth; and money, if not position." "The thing's absurd. A lady marry a gardener." "Other ladies have done so and have been happy," she persisted. "Besides Gertrude may not be able to help herself." "What do you mean by that?" "Nothing and everything," she replied enigmatically. "Mr. Striver is in possession of all Anne's private papers," she hesitated. "Well? well? well?" I said impatiently. "Ask Gertrude," she snapped out. "Ask what?" Miss Destiny winced, and her black eyes twinkled again. "Ask her to be your wife, Mr. Vance, else you will find her Mrs. Striver before six months are ended. Now don't ask questions here," she pointed to her flat bosom, "ask them of Gertrude. Again I say, Joseph has Anne Caldershaw's private papers." "Well?" I was more bewildered than ever. "That is all," said Miss Destiny, and dropping one of her old-fashioned curtseys, she trotted off, laughing malignantly like a wicked fairy. What the terrible old woman meant I could not imagine, but I determined to take her advice and ask questions in the right quarter. I had now been some time at Burwain, and, as yet, had learned nothing likely to throw light on the darkness of the Mootley murder. Striver evidently had made up his mind to stay where he was as gardener at The Lodge, and although we never spoke, he always eyed me savagely when I paid a visit to the mansion. It is true that Gertrude did not invite me into the house, and always saw me in the garden; but that I should dare to come and worship at his private shrine was quite enough to make Striver desperately angry. And in his working clothes the fellow looked handsomer than ever. I really wondered that Gertrude did not fall in love with him, as he was by way of being a rustic Apollo, and was possessed of some education. But she was always extremely cool to him, and scarcely displayed more warmth towards me. A most inscrutable girl. I could not make her out, for try as I would the secret of her _noli-me-tangere_ attitude baffled and disconcerted me. "My father is returning for a few days this evening," said Gertrude to me when we met by chance on the village green. "I should like to meet him," I said promptly. "Why?" she demanded with her usual directness. It was a difficult question to answer. "I admire his daughter," was my lame reply. "Surely you can understand----" "That you are talking nonsense," she interrupted quickly. "Yes I can," she stopped for a moment, then went on impetuously, "I wish you would go away." "I see no reason why I should," I remonstrated. "I do. I do. You are not hot; you are not cold; you are neither fowl, fish, nor good red-herring. Go away," and turning on her heel she walked away so swiftly that I had no time to ask further questions.