Who had removed the diamonds? That was my thought for the next twenty-four hours, but I could not answer my own question. I certainly remembered how Striver insisted that Mr. Monk had secured possession of the fortune. But only by getting possession of the eye could he learn where the jewels were hidden; and by Striver's own showing he had not been thus fortunate. Only when destroying the eye had he had it in his hands, and then, instead of reading the cipher, he had thrown the coin upon which it was written into the Thames. Moreover, for many months Monk had been masquerading as Wentworth Marr, and had possessed the money to keep up the farce. Undoubtedly--as I thought, after much reflection--the story of Australian legacy must be true. Mr. Monk, on the face of it, could not have looted the beam of its valuable contents.
But what astonished me was that Monk should have thrown away the coin, although it was natural enough that he should have destroyed the eye. But why did he not at least attempt to read the cipher? It seemed to be an extremely easy one, as the repetition of the beam's carving on the coin suggested the Latin motto. The reversed letters suggested a little hard thinking, but presented no great obstacle. The late Gabriel Monk had cut away the inscribed board, and behind had hollowed out a place for the reception of the diamonds--in a bag, I presume. Also he had cut out the first and last letters of the saying in circular form, and to these had attached pieces of iron. When the letters were placed straightly these pieces of iron caught on to the inner part of the beam, and so held the inscribed board; when reversed, they released the same. It was ingenious but not difficult of solution, and I wondered that Monk had not read the cipher. If he had, he certainly would have guessed that the beam in The Lodge smoking-room held the jewels, and in that event would have searched. On this assumption I thought that the man could not have examined the cipher. But why he should not have done so puzzled me considerably.
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.
Miss Destiny's eyes narrowed and she looked venomous. "I certainly should have half the money. Gabriel said that he would leave me a legacy, and he did not. Yet I slaved for many years looking after his house."
"You got board and lodging for your services," said Gertrude coldly.
"I ought to have got a legacy," insisted Miss Destiny. "Gabriel promised me some money. But he left his income and the property to Walter and the rest of his savings to you. You owe me half, and I mean to have half. I don't say, dear," added Miss Destiny significantly, "that you murdered Anne. But if the police knew that you had paid her a visit to ask about the eye you might be asked unpleasant questions."
"I did not ask about the eye, because I did not know until later that the eye contained the cipher," said Gertrude calmly, "but after reading the diary I certainly went to ask Anne to give me the cipher, so that I might find what rightfully belonged to me."
"Half of it only," snapped Miss Destiny, "and you certainly ran away with Mr. Vance's motor car, because I saw you myself in your white cloak. If you are innocent--mind, I don't accuse you of murder--but if you are innocent, why did you run away so strangely?--a guilty conscience: a guilty conscience, my dear."
"Miss Destiny," I said indignantly, for the malice of the little creature annoyed me, "it was Joseph Striver who wore Gertrude's cloak and ran off with my car. He told us so himself."
"So you say," she sneered.
"And I say more. Listen," and forthwith I related all that had been discovered, down to the destruction of the glass eye and the throwing away of the silver coin by Walter Monk. Miss Destiny listened unbelievingly, and with a sneer. Apparently she did not credit a single word of what I was saying. But when I came to the end she interrupted me with a scream.
"The eye destroyed, the eye destroyed!" she cried, starting to her feet with surprising activity. "Oh, what a fool, what a fool! Now the fortune can never be discovered."
"It has been discovered," put in Gertrude.
"What!" Miss Destiny wheeled round venomously and eagerly. "You have found the diamonds you told me that Gabriel mentioned in his diary?"
"We have found the hiding-place," I said sharply. "Striver sent me a copy of the cipher, which he took when the eye--as I have told you--was in his possession."
"Then give me half, give me half!" shrieked Miss Destiny. "If you don't I'll go to the police. I swear I'll go to the police. I don't believe this young man's lies. You were in the house and you--you--you----" She choked with anger.
Gertrude arose, revolted by this exhibition of sordid greed, and could not speak. I answered for her. "The jewels are gone, Miss Destiny," I said quietly.
"Gone!" Her shrill voice fell to a mere whisper, and the wild light of avarice died out of her black eyes. "Gone! impossible!" then her face lighted up again fiercely. "This is a lie to cheat me of my share!" she shouted.
"Even if the jewels had been found," I remarked, in a cool, level voice, "you would have had none of them, since they belonged to Gertrude. I am strong enough to save her from your malice. Either Striver or Walter Monk is guilty. If you go to the police I shall go also, and tell what I have told you----"
Gertrude caught my arm. "No, Cyrus, no. My father----"
"Dear, this is not the time for half measures. You did your best to save your father by refusing to tell me. But if he is guilty he must be brought to book, if only to thwart this woman's evil intentions."
"Oh, have done with your chatter," cried Miss Destiny, stamping like a small fury. "Tell me the truth. Are the jewels indeed gone?"
"Yes. You will never see them again."
"Who took them? I insist upon knowing who took them?"
"I don't know. If I did I would get them back again."
"Then hunt for Joseph Striver," said Miss Destiny furiously, "he is the thief."
"Impossible. He sent me the cipher."
"Yes," she sneered, "after he had stolen the jewels he could easily send you the cipher. But he had the eye, by your own showing. He must have read the cipher. He had taken the fortune. Oh," she shook her fists in the air, "I wish these two hands were at his throat."
The little creature looked so evil, as she shook and quivered in the sordid room, that I touched Gertrude's shoulder. "Go away, dear. This is no sight for you." Then, when she obeyed me and passed outside, I turned to Miss Destiny. "You will understand that the jewels are lost for ever."
"I'll hunt the thief down; I'll hunt him down," she breathed savagely.
"Even if you do, the half share will not come to you. I will look after Gertrude's interest."
Miss Destiny laughed shrilly. "Ah, you marry her for her money. What love!"
"Gertrude at present has no money, nor do I want any money with her. But if Striver has the jewels he shall be forced to give them up. Meanwhile, if you say a word to anyone against Gertrude I shall tell my story."
"I'll say no word until the jewels are in Gertrude's possession. It is not worth my while to say anything until then. But when she has the fortune I shall have my half, or she shall hang."
"You are mad," I said, recoiling from her venomous looks.
"Yes; mad at being tricked and cheated by Joseph Striver. Oh, I know the man. I might have guessed that he would not keep faith with me. The fortune is gone, the fortune is gone," and she dropped into a chair.
"Yes," I said, with my hand on the door; "therefore hold your tongue."
Miss Destiny only crouched in the chair rocking herself to and fro. "The fortune is gone," she moaned; "twenty-five thousand pounds was to have been my share. I have lost twenty-five thousand pounds. Oh me! oh me!" And leaving her still weeping and wailing over the loss I departed.
Whether Miss Destiny was right or wrong regarding Striver's possession of the diamonds I could not say. Day after day went by and the gardener did not appear to denounce the assassin of his aunt as he had arranged to do. Nor could he be found anywhere, although I employed a detective to search for him. We discovered that Mr. Monk had given up the lease of his chambers and had sold his furniture. He had disappeared to America, and evidently had no intention of returning. But his lawyer still continued to pay Gertrude enough to keep The Lodge going and herself in clothes. But Striver had vanished like a water bubble; he had dissolved into thin air, and all we could do was to wait until he chose to reappear. I pointed out to Gertrude that, Miss Destiny's mouth being closed--she would not speak until the jewels were recovered, a very remote contingency--and her father along with the gardener having passed out of our lives, it would be best to get married. Then we could leave Burwain and settle in London. As Mrs. Vance she would forget all the storms of the past, and with me as her companion could journey under brighter skies. But Gertrude refused steadily.
"Until my name is absolutely cleared by the assassin of Anne Caldershaw being brought to justice, I shall remain as I am, at The Lodge."
"And what if the assassin is your father, Gertrude?" I asked.
"I don't believe it," she replied firmly. "Papa is weak and selfish, but he would never murder an old woman so cruelly. I believe that Striver is guilty, and has got my fortune, as Aunt Julia says."
"In that case he'll never tell the truth."
"He said that he would save my good name, and I believe that he loves me enough to do so. Wait, Cyrus, wait; the end will come and the truth will come to light. Only then can I marry you."
With this promise I was forced to be content, and remained at the Robin Redbreast, which seemed likely to become my permanent home. With Gertrude I spent a quiet Christmas, as Cannington had to return to his duties at Murchester, and Weston was invited to spend the festive season at Lady Denham's country house. There he saw a great deal of Mabel, and she relented from her attitude of snubbing him, for he came back during the first week of the New Year with a joyful light in his eyes.
"Congratulate me, Vance. Mabel has accepted me as her husband."
"Oh," I shook his hand warmly, "I congratulate you with all my heart, since you have secured a charming wife. But can I congratulate Mabel on the possession of an absent-minded husband?"
"Oh, I am not so bad as I was," said Weston, with quite a new ring in his voice. "I have had my lesson, Vance, and see that Mabel requires some attention: in fact, a very great deal. When we marry she shall do as she pleases, and have all the money she wishes to spend."
"I think she would rather have love," I said gravely.
"I give her love," he snapped rather crossly. "I'll be with her morn, noon, and night if she wishes. All I have to do is to launch my airship, and then I shall marry Mabel and be happy ever afterwards."
"Having solved the problem of flying?" I queried.
"I really believe that I shall do so," he said, his face lighting up. "Come and see my airship, Vance. Next week I intend to try a flight. It's nearly ready. I have asked a reporter down from London, and will admit the public into the yard, and we shall have a great day."
"Is Mabel coming?"
His face fell. "No; she says she is jealous of my airship. But she will come down to take a trip in it when I make a successful flight. I asked Cannington, but he can't get away from Murchester. Never mind. You will be there, and you can bring Miss Monk."
"Thanks, but we sha'n't trust ourselves in your confounded balloon."
"It's not a balloon," flared up Dicky angrily, and for the rest of the evening he explained his ideas. I was not sufficiently an engineer to appreciate the cleverness of them.
During the week before Weston's trial flight, a rumor ran through the village, which surprised everyone. It was said that Miss Destiny intended to go away from Burwain. As she had lived in the village all her life and seemed to be as deeply rooted as a tree, it appeared strange that in her old age she should venture to seek fresh fields and pastures new. But I guessed that she intended to go in search of Striver, whom she believed had possession of the jewels. I tried to get speech with her, but she would not admit me into her house, nor would she come to The Lodge in response to an invitation from Gertrude. I wished to learn if she knew the whereabouts of the ex-gardener, since I guessed she was bent upon finding him. But I could not learn where she was going, although Lucinda set the rumor afloat in the village that her mistress intended to leave Burwain. But I could guess the devouring flame of avarice in Miss Destiny's heart which made her thus uproot herself. She would go through fire and water to get the jewels, which she believed Striver possessed, and I found myself pitying the man, guilty as I believed him to be, when I thought of that halting Nemesis of a witch coming up to his side. Miss Destiny was starting on the chase, and she would never stop hunting until she pulled down her quarry. Death alone would end her pursuit.
However, the days passed by and she still lingered in her miserable home. Burwain began to wear quite a festive air during those early January weeks, for reporters came from London to inspect the airship, and many idle people gathered outside the yard to pick up chance information. Dicky showed me his craft at a private view, and explained the mechanism to me, with certain reservations touching upon his particular method of flying. His secrets, I understood, had to do with the steering of the vessel, and with some way he had of driving her forward in the teeth of the wind. I am so ignorant of technical terms that I cannot explain much that he told me: nor would it be fair, since inventors do not wish their ideas to be stolen. But I grew almost as excited as Dicky when the great day arrived.
It was a Tuesday morning, fine and sunny, with scarcely a breath of wind, and the inventor could have secured no finer weather for his attempt. A crowd of people from Tarhaven and Gattlingsands and other places came to see the experiment, and quite a number of reporters had appeared, representing the most popular London journals. The gates of the yard were thrown open, and a considerable crowd gathered within the hitherto inviolated precincts. Amongst them I walked, with Gertrude beside me. Everyone in the village was there, I verily believe, to see the novelty of an airship taking flight. Even fat John Gilfin, with his nearly as stout wife, waddled along, looking at the queer machine bulking largely in the middle of the yard.
The airship consisted of a slim, cigar-shaped bag, netted over. From this a long narrow trough of basketwork was slung, at each end of which was a propeller. The light machinery to drive this was in the middle, but this being hidden under a bonnet of tin, I could not see what was used to set the wheels working. That was one of Weston's secrets. The inventor himself was busy in the trough adjusting various parts of the gear, and shouting out orders to different workmen. The whole ship itself was bound to earth by sundry ropes and was tugging and straining at them like a thing of life. When those ropes were loosened the ship would flash up into the air like a released bird, and then Dicky, seated behind his machine in the basketwork cradle, would show his skill in steering it this way and the other. As the wind was extremely faint, he would have every advantage. I forgot to say that there were steering vans like wings spreading from the trough, and these could be raised or lowered at will. But, wanting technical knowledge, as I have explained, I fear my description of the famous craft is not particularly good. It was an airship, that was all I knew, and I was curious to see it climb the sky.
Amongst the crowd I unexpectedly saw the quaint little figure of Miss Destiny, dressed in black as usual. I pointed her out to Gertrude, and we tried to get near her, as I was still curious to learn if she had any idea of Striver's whereabouts. But she kept her keen eyes on our every movement and dodged us with such success that we never could approach her.
"What can she be afraid of?" asked Gertrude, perplexed.
"She's afraid of being asked questions," I replied.
"I believe she knows where that man is to be found--though Lord only knows how she can have learned his whereabouts. She intends to run him down and get the jewels all to herself."
"But what will she do with them?" asked Gertrude, bewildered.
"Gloat over them," I replied shortly, "but see, the airship will soon be on the point of starting. Six ropes," I added, pressing forward, "if it needs that strength to hold down yon huge bag of gas, I wonder how Weston proposes to reach earth again. He'll have to remain a sky bird for ever."
The interest of the crowd became intense as four of the ropes were loosened and the airship strained desperately at the remaining two. Weston, as he afterwards informed me, had a method of releasing, or separating the gas in some way, whereby he could descend if he chose. Then, by connecting up the gas again in the cigar-shaped bag, he could ascend. I do not exactly understand how it was managed, but it had to do with the transmission of gas from the upper bag to a lower one under the trough, which I only noticed when the four ropes let the ship float a trifle high.
Although interested in the airship I was much more taken up with the movements of Miss Destiny. She likewise became absorbed in the start of the strange craft, and forgot for the moment to keep her eyes on us. I drew Gertrude's arm within my own and stole forward to where she was pressing gently through the watching crowd. Gertrude uttered an ejaculation, and pointed towards the gate.
"There is Lucinda," she said, in startled tones, "and two policemen with her."
I looked, and sure enough Lucinda walked beside a stern-faced man in plain clothes, whom I knew. He was none other than my old friend, Inspector Dredge of Murchester. Behind walked two burly policemen, and they all four came steadily towards the crowd gathered round the airship.
"What can be the matter?" whispered Gertrude agitated.
I thrilled, as a premonition of what the presence of Dredge meant, flashed into my mind. However I had little time for consideration, as the second rope was released from the ground and Weston curled it up within the car. Only one rope remained to be loosened. As Weston laid his hand on it to draw it up, giving the signal to the men below to let go, Lucinda's cry, wild and shrill arose.
"Fly, mistress, fly! They're after you: they'll get you: they'll----" a policeman's hand on her mouth stopped her further speech.
Miss Destiny, who was immediately in front of me, turned quickly at the sound of the girl's voice. Her face grew deathly white when she saw the Inspector forcing his way towards her, and she looked round like a trapped animal. Heedless of the roaring of the crowd, excited by the sight, Dredge came up to Miss Destiny and laid a heavy hand on her shoulder. "I arrest you in the name of the King for the murder of Anne----"
He got no further. Miss Destiny with a sudden snarl twisted out of his grip, at the very moment Weston gave the signal for the men below to loosen the last rope. Being in the fore front of the crowd, she sprang into the open space and ran forward.
"Take me with you, take me with you," she screamed, and, as the men let go of the rope, she grabbed hold of it with desperate and inconceivable quickness.
The next moment the airship shot up into the radiant sky, and at the end of the rope, which dangled from the car under Weston's hands, Miss Destiny spun like a spider. She uttered no sound, she made no movement, but hung on desperately while the ship soared. I caught a glimpse of the amazement on Weston's face as it lessened before my eyes. A shout of terror at the little woman's terrible position came from the crowd. Dredge stood where he was, paralyzed, and Gertrude screamed with fright. Lucinda beat her hands in despair.
The ship soared and swung to the right, and that black figure still clung to the rope. Weston--as we could see--was making preparations to descend, but owing to some difficulty could not get his gear to work. By this time the ship was at a considerable height, and everyone was watching with terror the happening of this midair tragedy. How Miss Destiny hung on so long I could not guess: she seemed to have the strength of a fiend. Suddenly a gust of wind caught the ship, as she receded, and the rope, with the little figure twisting at the end, swung towards the rear of the car. In a second it was in the grip of the stern propeller, and we saw the sudden jerk of the rope upward. A moment later and it was jerked out of the gripping hands of Anne Caldershaw's murderess. She fell, a speck through the blue sky, and a groan went up from the crowd at the sight of that terrible death.
So Miss Destiny was the criminal after all, and her confession alone revealed what had taken place in Anne Caldershaw's back room, shortly before I had arrived in my motor car to search for adventure. Inspector Dredge came to The Lodge that same evening to relate all that had taken place, and to inform us how he had come to Burwain. The little woman's body was found broken in pieces on the outskirts of Tarhaven, and small wonder, considering the terrible height from which she had fallen. We did not hear until the next day what Weston thought, as his airship proved to be unmanageable, and drifted over toward the island of Grain, where he managed to descend. There he remained for the night, and came back by train to Burwain in the afternoon of the ensuing day. But neither Gertrude nor I troubled about Weston's failure or absence. We were far too much taken up with the story told by Inspector Dredge.
"As you were so much connected with the matter, Mr. Vance," said the stern-faced man, when he appeared at four o'clock in the drawing-room of The Lodge, "it is only fair that you should know the truth."
"I also am connected with the matter, Mr. Inspector," said Gertrude, "for I----"
He interrupted her with a grave bow. "I know what you would say, miss. You were in the back room, and left your cloak there, which was afterwards worn by Joseph Striver when he escaped in Mr. Vance's motor car. No blame attaches to you, miss, and I quite understand that you did not care to incriminate yourself by coming to explain to me. Yet, if you had done so," he ended, with rebukeful emphasis, "we might have arrived earlier at the truth."
"Who told you all this?" I asked curiously.
"Striver himself--by letter, that is," said Dredge, bringing out some papers from the pocket of his overcoat. "He is an accomplice after the fact. Miss Destiny, who actually committed the crime is dead, and her body--or what remains of it--lies at Tarhaven waiting the inquest, which will be held to-morrow. But Joseph will be searched for and arrested, as he knew the truth all along."
"Why did he not tell it?" asked Gertrude anxiously.
"I think you are to blame, Miss, or rather your sweet looks, Miss. Striver wished to use what he had learned in order to marry you."
"But what did he learn?" I asked, while Gertrude blushed at the complimentary tone of the officer.
"I am coming to that," said Dredge calmly, "all in good time, Mr. Vance. Two days ago I received a letter from Joseph Striver. It stated that he was sailing from a certain port to some foreign land, which he refused to name."
"Where is the letter written from?"
"There is no address given, Mr. Vance, but the postmark is that of London. It was posted at the General Post Office, so Striver has covered up his tracks very carefully. By this time he is doubtless on the high seas, and it will be difficult to trace him."
"Well?" I demanded impatiently, "and what did he say in his letter?"
Dredge took out an epistle--written on foolscap, as had been the one to me--and spread it out on the table. "There is no need to read it," he said gravely, "as I know the contents by heart."
"Yes; go on." Gertrude and myself were all attention.
"Striver writes that he came to see his aunt, knowing that Miss Monk was due for a visit. He was informed of this fact by Miss Destiny. Striver went up to the bedroom, while his aunt talked to Miss Monk who then arrived. Afterwards, Walter Monk entered the shop, and his daughter--you Miss," said the Inspector with a dry nod, "departed by the back door."
"I did not wish to meet my father," said Gertrude in low tones.
"So I understand from Striver's letter," said Dredge still dryly. "Well then, it appears that Mr. Monk also knew of his daughter's visit to Mrs. Caldershaw through Miss Destiny----"
"But why should she have told everyone that I was going?" asked Gertrude in an indignant voice.
"Can't you guess, Miss?" asked Dredge pityingly. "Miss Destiny went over to Mootley with the intention of murdering the woman."
"For what reason," I asked, anxious to be fully satisfied.
The Inspector heaved a sigh at my apparent stupidity. "You, Miss," he said to Gertrude, "had told Miss Destiny of your discovery of the diary and of your intention to ask Mrs. Caldershaw for the cipher. Your aunt, Miss, then guessed from sundry remarks that Mrs. Caldershaw had let fall, that the cipher was contained in the false eye worn by the woman. Miss Destiny determined to get that eye even at the cost of murder, and so told several people of your proposed visit, so that she might throw the blame on them."
"Do you mean to say," questioned Gertrude horrified, "that my aunt deliberately intended to have me accused of murder?"
"You, or Striver, or your father," assented Dredge coolly, "she had to save her own skin somehow you see, Miss, but to continue, Striver was wakened from sleep by a quarrel between Mrs. Caldershaw and Mr. Monk, as he waited the cipher, which she refused to give up----"
"Did he know that it was hidden in the eye?" I interrupted.
"I don't think so. He did not say so, from what Striver overheard. But he could not get what he wanted, and therefore went away, and walked back to Murchester as he had come. He called himself"--Dredge referred to the letter--"Mr. Wentworth Marr."
"Yes, yes, we know that," I said hastily.
"It seems to me, Mr. Vance, that you know much which you have not told me."
"I had my reasons, and very good ones," said I stiffly.
"No reasons should prevent your helping the police in the execution of their duty," said Dredge, with an official air. "However, as things have turned out for the best, we can let that pass. When Mr. Monk departed," he continued, taking up the thread of his narrative, "Striver told his aunt that he wanted to sleep, and returned to the bedroom. There he really did fall asleep, but before doing so he heard the voice of Miss Destiny."
"But she did not arrive until after the murder," I exclaimed.
"She arrived long before, as you will read in her confession," said Dredge grimly. "Let me proceed in due order, if you please. Striver stole down the stairs, as he was anxious to learn what Miss Destiny had to say to his aunt. He heard her ask for the cipher. Mrs. Caldershaw refused to give it up, saying she had it hidden in her false left eye, which would never leave her head until she was dead."
"Ah!" said Gertrude, "so that is how Aunt Julia learned about the eye."
"I think she knew it before," replied Dredge with a shrug. "However, when Striver learned about the eye, he retreated to the bedroom and threw himself on the bed to think how he could get it. Then he fell asleep. When he awoke it was quite dark and----"
"We know the rest," I interposed quickly; "he came downstairs and found his aunt dead. Then he heard me coming, and managed to lock me in and escape with my car."
Dredge nodded, glancing meanwhile at the letter. "Yes, Mr. Vance, it is as you say. Of course Striver knew that Miss Destiny had murdered his aunt, so when she returned to Burwain he taxed her with the crime. She denied it and tried to throw the blame on her niece and on Mr. Monk. But Striver threatened to tell the police, and the woman confessed. She said that she would find the money and give half to Striver: also that she would aid him to marry Miss Monk."
"The idea!" cried Gertrude angrily; "as if she could."
"She hoped to force you, by implicating you in the murder. For that reason, according to Striver, she left the eye on the table in this drawing-room."
"What!" I started to my feet. "Was it Miss Destiny who----?"
"Herself," said Dredge coolly. "She talked to Striver in the garden, then went to the window--that one yonder," said Dredge, pointing to the middle French window--"and placed the eye on the table, hoping that you, Miss, would find it. Then she trusted that you would not be able to account for its possession and would be accused of the crime."
"What a wicked woman; oh, what a wicked woman!"
"I think she was, Miss. However, she has paid for her wickedness by a most terrible death; if you had seen the body"--He stopped and, iron-nerved as he was, shuddered. After a pause he continued: "When Miss Destiny placed the eye on the table she went back to talk to Striver, and you, Mr. Vance, found them together."
"Yes, I did. But why did Striver go to the window. Did he know?"
"I can't be sure. Since he loved Miss Monk, I don't think he would have lent himself to such a wicked plot even to marry her. But he did go and secure the eye. Then he----"
"Used it to frighten Mr. Monk, who afterwards destroyed it. Go on."
Dredge shrugged his shoulders. "It seems to me that there is little chance of my telling you anything you don't know," he said, folding up the letter and replacing it in his breast pocket. "And that is all Striver has to say. I got out a warrant on the confession which he enclosed, and came here this morning. With two policemen I called at Miss Destiny's house, which was pointed out to me. She was away, and the girl Lucinda tried to escape to give her mistress warning."
"Did Lucinda know the truth?"
"Yes; she drove her mistress on that evening." Dredge stopped and waved his hands. "You'll hear that in the confession."
"Whose confession?"
"Miss Destiny's. Striver did not trust her, and moreover was fearful lest he should be accused of the deed. He swore to tell the police and give evidence against her unless she wrote out clearly what had occurred and signed it. Forced to do so, she did as she was bid, and Striver held this confession over her head so as to compel her to do his bidding. Lucinda would have warned her mistress, but--guessing that Miss Destiny would witness the trial flight of the airship--I took the girl with me and went to Mr. Weston's yard. You heard how she gave voice and saw how the mistress escaped. So"--he wiped his face with a shiver--"that is ended. God have mercy on the black soul of that woman."
"Amen to that," I said, while Gertrude wept silently. "But Striver seems to have behaved like a scoundrel."
"Never mind, Cyrus, he has made amends," whispered Gertrude through her tears--tears of which Miss Destiny was unworthy.
"Here," said Dredge, spreading out another document, "is the confession of Julia Destiny, signed by her in the presence of Striver. I need not read it," he added, folding up the precious paper and putting it away, "as I can give you a hasty précis of the contents. My time is short," he glanced at his watch, "I have to catch a train in an hour at Tarhaven. I must be brief."
"Yes, go on, and make the telling as short as you can," I said anxiously, "for Miss Monk cannot bear much more."
While I fondled Gertrude's hand within my own, the Inspector related what Miss Destiny had written. The wicked little woman had intended to get the eye, even if she had to kill Anne Caldershaw to force it out of the woman's head. She had arranged to bring Striver, Gertrude, and Walter Monk to Mootley so as to implicate them, if possible, and save herself from being accused of murder. She therefore arranged with Lucinda, who was bound body and soul to her service, to drive over early to Mootley on the second day of her journey thither. Lucinda, with the trap, remained behind a hedge near Murchester, and Miss Destiny, evading notice, crept through the fields to the corner shop. Striver was up stairs, but she did not know that, as Mrs. Caldershaw said nothing. But she learned that Gertrude had been, and saw the white cloak left behind in the kitchen, along with one of the blue glass-headed pins. She also learned that Monk had paid a visit, so she was quite prepared to fasten the blame of her contemplated deed on anyone of them.
"Oh, what a devil!" I murmured at this point of Dredge's narrative.
"Indeed you may so," he said, somewhat moved, for the recital was really terrible. "Well, then, while seated in the back kitchen Miss Destiny, failing to get the eye from Mrs. Caldershaw, watched her chance to murder her. She took up the blue glass-headed pin, which she knew belonged to Miss here----"
"She gave it to me herself," said Gertrude in a choked voice.
"Of course," Dredge nodded, "and so was certain that when used the blame would fall on you. Now how she managed exactly to kill Mrs. Caldershaw she does not say," went on the Inspector, wrinkling his brow in perplexity. "I think myself she playfully touched Mrs. Caldershaw every now and then with the pin to emphasize what she was saying. Certainly Mrs. Caldershaw would suspect nothing, until Miss Destiny, placing the pin directly over the heart, drove it home with a sudden thrust. The woman fell----"
"Dead! dead!" wailed Gertrude.
"Not quite dead," said the precise Dredge: "she was bleeding from internal hemorrhage, for she lived for sometime afterwards. Striver found her still alive--"
"And so did I," I interposed: "I heard her last moan."
"She bled inwardly to death," said Dredge, rising and buttoning his coat. "I must go now, if you will excuse me."
"But the rest of the confession. How did she get the eye?" I asked.
"Pulled it out of Mrs. Caldershaw's head," said the Inspector brutally "she then escaped by the back door and went along a path leading through the wood of elms. She knew of that, having been to Mrs. Caldershaw's before."
"Mrs. Caldershaw told me how to go by that path," said Gertrude.
"One question before you go, Mr. Inspector," said I, following him to the door: "If Miss Destiny had the eye for so long in her possession, why did she not discover the secret?"
"She could not read the cipher."
"Strange. It is not a particularly difficult one."
"Have you read it?" asked Dredge. "Striver said that he had sent a drawing of it to you."
"Yes; we discovered the hiding-place of the jewels and found it empty. Now I wonder if Miss Destiny did read the cipher and steal the jewels."
"She says she did not, and----" Here Dredge looked again at his watch. "I really have no time to say more: you must excuse me," and he hurried away rapidly.
I turned to Gertrude when we heard the door close behind him. "Well," said I, with a half smile, "now that the truth has been discovered we can marry."
She sobbed. "Oh, Cyrus, can you marry the niece of a murderess?"
"I would marry you, if you committed the crime yourself," I said, kissing her fondly.
And marry her I did two months later. Owing to the terrible death of Miss Destiny the story of her crime was not made public. There was some talk of Lucinda being brought in as an accomplice after the fact, but as she apparently was a half-witted creature she was left alone. She confessed, however, that after committing the crime Miss Destiny had rejoined her, and then the two had driven later to Mootley to meet Striver--who Miss Destiny thought was a woman--driving my motor car. I have often wondered since at the extraordinary nerve displayed by Miss Destiny on that fatal evening. She arrived fresh from the commission of a brutal crime and played her part as a startled lady admirably. All the time we were talking in Giles' house she had the eye in her pocket and knew the whole truth of the affair. I was amazed at the strength of character displayed by the frail little creature. It was extraordinary that avarice should have driven her to so desperate a course. But having taken it, she had managed wonderfully. But for the unguessed-of presence of Striver in the house her wickedness would never have been discovered. She was buried in Tarhaven, in an unhonoured grave, and Gertrude and I strove to forget her and her crimes as speedily as possible.
Lucinda vanished when she found that the police intended to leave her alone, and I never learned what became of her. Striver also had disappeared, and we did not hear that he had been caught, although I believe Dredge made several attempts to find out his whereabouts, but without success. But of one person we did hear. That was Mr. Walter Monk, or as he still continued to call himself, Mr. Wentworth Marr.
On the night before my marriage to Gertrude I was with her at The Lodge, and Cannington, who had come down to be my best man, was also present. He was in great spirits, and had been much impressed by the story of Miss Destiny's wickedness, which I had told him in detail.
"Adventures are to the adventurous," said he gravely. "You certainly found a very good one, with a happy termination," and he glanced at Gertrude.
"It was strange," I remarked musingly, "that you should have made that quotation as being by Wentworth Marr."
"Yes. And at the time when we did not know who Wentworth Marr was."
"Don't speak of him," cried Gertrude with a shudder. "Oh, dear me, I never would have believed that my father would act so wickedly."
"Oh, I don't think he acted soverywickedly," said Cannington generously, and to set her at her ease; "he changed his name legally enough, and was a wealthy man, as we know. All he did was to suppress--for obvious reasons--the fact that he possessed so charming a daughter."
"Well, it doesn't matter now," I broke in impatiently, for every mention of her father brought sorrow to Gertrude's face. "Monk or Marr, or whatever he chooses to call himself, is over the seas, and won't come back. Gertrude to-morrow takes my name and my good fortune. Also Mabel is to marry Dicky in three months, so that ends everything."
"Except Dicky's desire to conquer the air," said Cannington, smiling. "He is awfully cut up over the failure of his last attempt. He wants to begin and build another vessel straight away. But Mab swears she will not marry him if he doesn't promise to leave airships alone for at least twelve months after she becomes his wife."
"That," said I gravely, "will give Dicky time to invent something worth talking about. I thought his airship was rotten myself. It failed in every point. Much better for him to keep his money and not waste it."
"Oh, Mab will see to that," said Cannington lightly. "But see, Miss Monk wishes to speak to you, Vance. What's up?"
"Cyrus," said Gertrude quietly, and producing a letter, "and you, Lord Cannington, I received this," she tapped the letter, "from my father by this morning's post."
"Oh, my sainted aunt!" cried Cannington vivaciously, "what's it about. But perhaps," he rose to his feet, "you don't want to tell me. I'll go to the smoking-room while you talk to Vance here."
Gertrude put out a detaining hand. "No, don't go, Lord Cannington. I know that Cyrus has no secrets from you. I wish both of you to hear what became of the diamonds which caused all the trouble."
"I believe that Striver has them," I said firmly.
"I believe that Miss Destiny got them," said Cannington, nodding.
"You are both wrong," replied Gertrude with strange composure, "my father possessed the diamonds."
"Your father! Never!" we exclaimed, quite amazed by the speech.
"My father," went on Gertrude with a firmness of which I had not deemed her capable, considering what she had come through, "found a copy of the drawing on the silver piece in Mrs. Caldershaw's false eye amongst the papers of his brother shortly after Uncle Gabriel's death. He soon discovered the secret, which I wonder Aunt Julia did not find out, so easy did it appear to be."
"She was less clever than wicked," I said quickly. "Does your father tell you that in the letter, Gertrude?"
"Yes," she said, with a heavy sigh. "He heard from his lawyers, to whom I gave notice that I was to marry you, Cyrus, and he writes," she shivered, "to send me his blessing."
"Oh, Lord!" This was from Cannington, who apologized.
"You need not make excuses to me," said Gertrude, rather bitterly, "for indeed, as you do, Lord Cannington I wonder at the man. He robbed me of my fortune; he allowed me to get into trouble; he scarcely gave me enough to live on. Yet all the time," her voice rose indignantly, "he was using my money as Wentworth Marr. What do you think of such a man?"
Cannington's fist clenched itself, and I bit my lip to prevent an oath. If Monk had been there, I fear he would have had a sorry time between us. And Gertrude, whose affections had been cast aside by her tricky father, was an indignant as we were. "Then the Australian cousin----" I began.
She cut me short. "There never was any Australian cousin, nor any legal change of name. You can read here what he says," and she passed me the letter.
I read that amazing document, which revealed the depths of Walter Monk's heart. He did not appear to be ashamed of himself, but confessed that he had found the diamonds, and had lived on the sale of them, with a most appalling jocularity. He seemed to exult in his cleverness, and declared that he had done his daughter no wrong, since the money coming from the sale of the jewels rightfully belonged to him.
Then came another odd trait in the man's character. He still, he said, had much of the fifty thousand pounds in his possession and therefore did not wish to keep the income left by Gabriel. "If my brother," wrote Mr. Monk, "had given me the diamonds, and you the income, all would have been well and I should not have been forced to stoop to concealment which my soul abhors."
"Good Lord!" muttered Cannington again, "what a man!"
Therefore, as I continued to read, Mr. Monk had made a gift of deed to his dear daughter of the house and grounds, and also of the five hundred a year. He never intended to return to England, he said, as he had an opportunity of marrying the daughter of a wealthy Chicago merchant. He ended his letter--and a remarkable human document it was--by wishing Gertrude and myself all happiness, and bidding the girl remember how kindly her father had behaved in thus settling her for life. Finally, in a postscript, he asked his darling child to remember him in her prayers.
This last piece of impudence was too much for both Cannington and myself. We burst into peals of laughter, and then felt ashamed when Gertrude rose suddenly and left the room. I followed hastily.
"My own," I caught her as she was springing up the stairs, "forgive us both. We didn't mean it. But the letter----?"
"Yes, yes, I know." By this time she was sobbing on my breast. "But oh, Cyrus, to think that I should be the daughter of such a man."
"Never mind. It is said in Scripture that a woman shall leave her father and mother and cling to her husband. To-morrow you will be Mrs. Vance, and enter upon a life of unclouded happiness."
"Oh, I hope so, I hope so," she murmured, "but the past has been so dreadful that I am afraid of the future."
"You need not be," I said stoutly. "I am by your side now to defend you. All things connected with the Mootley murder are at an end. Miss Destiny is dead; your father will probably marry his Chicago heiress and remain for ever in the States. Striver has vanished with Lucinda, and neither of them will ever be heard of again. And best of all, the eye has been destroyed."
"Best of all," whispered Gertrude, clinging to me fondly, "we are together, my darling, never to part."
"Never! never! never!" and I kissed her once, twice and again.
"I can't go back to the drawing-room," said Gertrude, "let me retire, and take the boy back to the inn. To-morrow, when Mabel comes down to be my bridesmaid, we shall see one another again."
"Never to part any more!"
She sped up the stairs, and I took Cannington, still almost suffocated with laughter, to the inn. "Did you ever read such a letter, Vance?" he asked me. "I am sorry I laughed, but the cheek, the damned coolness----"
"Never mind," I said, taking his arm; "I'm glad for Gertrude's sake that she has got the money. We'll repair the house and live in it, and be happy for evermore."
"I'm sure you deserve to be," said the boy thoughtfully. "Well, I can only say one thing, which I said when this romance of yours began."
"Don't say it, confound you!"
"Yes, I shall. Adventures are to the adventurous. There!"
I laughed from sheer light-heartedness. I could not help it, so strange did it seem that my love story should end where it had begun, in the quotation of the saying.