"Prove what you say," I cried, but she only trotted about the room, tremulous with anger and jealousy. I determined to enrage her still further, as if she completely lost her temper she might unexpectedly come out with all she knew. I was therefore pointedly rude. "The fact is, Miss Destiny, you are jealous of your niece's beauty." "Me!" she quavered, and her eyes flamed, "me jealous?" "Yes, you are also annoyed because your niece has Gabriel Monk's money." "Has she? If she has, she committed murder to get it." "That's a lie." "You forget, sir, that you speak to a lady." "I do not," I retorted, still carrying out my plan, "I am speaking to a jealous old woman who is trying to harm an innocent girl." This last speech brought about the desired result. "Innocent!" she cried, and stamped her foot, "if she is innocent, what was she doing at Anne Caldershaw's on the night of the murder." "She was not there." "Yes she was; yes she was; yes she was," chattered Miss Destiny, thrusting her angry face close up to mine. "I said nothing about it at the inquest, as I did not wish to get her into trouble. But now that you dare to say I am jealous of that--that minx"--she brought out the word with a gasp. "I shall speak out, and I dare Gertrude to contradict me. I arranged to meet her at Anne's house at five o'clock. I started on the previous day in the trap with Lucinda, and stopped the night with a friend at Saxham. Next day I went on, but owing to the state of the roads and the slowness of the horse I did not reach Anne's house until after the crime was committed. But Gertrude intended to go to Murchester, and thence walk to Anne's house on the day when the murder took place. I am sure that she was at Mootley at five o'clock to keep the appointment. And it was after that time that Anne was stabbed with the hat-pin. A hat-pin with a blue glass head," cried Miss Destiny triumphantly. "I gave Gertrude three pins like that myself as a Christmas present last year. Now you see, she is guilty." It certainly looked like it, but I declined to admit even the shadow of a suspicion. "I don't see," said I, tartly, and controlling myself with an effort. "Miss Monk may have called at five o'clock and not finding you there may have returned to Burwain by the evening train." "Oh, did she," mocked Miss Destiny cruelly, "then what about the blue glass-headed hat-pin? What about her presence at Mootley about the time Anne was killed? What about the lady who stole your motor car?" "You can't prove the lady was Miss Monk?" "Yes I can. That man Giles said the lady wore a white cloak. I saw her with the white cloak myself. And Gertrude had such a white cloak." "Really," I said bantering, although these proofs of guilt made me tremble; "perhaps you recognized Miss Monk when the motor car nearly collided with your cart--I beg pardon--your trap."