MISS DESTINY SPEAKS
There it glared at me--the glass eye for which I sought. As Striver
had said, it was a mere shell, on the outward curve of which was
depicted the pupil and the iris of a gray eye, the white portion of
the fabric being delicately streaked with thin red veins. Uttering an
ejaculation I tipped it over with my finger, and just had time to see
that there was a piece of silver the size of a threepenny bit--and
perhaps indeed a threepenny bit--fastened inside the concave, when I
heard Mr. Monk's voice calling me on the terrace. It flashed across me
in an instant that he must not see the eye, which apparently Gertrude
had carelessly left lying on the table. I should have picked it up to
slip into my pocket, but the sight was so very unexpected that I had
not my presence of mind and stepped back again on to the terrace,
leaving the sinister object on the table. At the same moment Mr. Monk
coming round the corner of the terrace, slipped his arm within my own.
"I heard your voice," he said gently and it guided me towards the
corner, "come and see the green-house. There are some orchids there I
should like you to examine. I am fond of these weird plants. Such a
well-bred taste, too," added Mr. Monk, languidly. "The love of a man
for orchids is like the love of a woman for lace."
I replied mechanically, for my head was in a whirl, and submitted to
be led to a far distant corner of the garden where the greenhouses
nestled under the red brick wall. Here, while Mr. Monk discoursed
learnedly on flowers,--about which he knew less than nothing,--I
wondered in my own mind what might be the meaning of my discovery. The
glass eye could have been left in the drawing-room by no one but
Gertrude, since I already possessed her cloak to show--what I had
hitherto shrunk from acknowledging even to myself--that she was the
lady who had stolen my motor-car. Then again, she was the one person
who had a right to the fifty thousand pounds when found. I groaned. It
really seemed that my pearl amongst woman was guilty of theft and
murder. And yet, even at the eleventh hour, I could not make up my
mind to believe that she was guilty.
Mr. Monk mistook my groan for weariness, and became offended. "I fear
you don't take much interest in flowers, Mr. Vance," he said, glaring
at me through his pince-nez.
"Oh, yes; they interest me; pray proceed," I said, hastily.
"No. The air of this place is so dense that it gives me a headache.
The day is uncommonly warm for this season of the year. Let us return
to the house. I have a new song I should like to show you. To-morrow I
return to London, and shall not see you for some time."
"Oh, I can call on you when I go back to town," I said idly, for my
brain was still preoccupied with the glass eye problem.
"No! No! Pardon me, no," said Mr. Monk decidedly and hastily. "I am
going away for a few weeks to the Continent--on business of course."
"Business," I echoed, "I thought you were free, Mr. Monk."
He sighed and shrugged his shoulders, as we slowly walked across the
lawn towards the shallow steps of the terrace. "I have five hundred a
year," he declared, "and what is that, a mere pittance. I have to
allow Gertrude something and have this house to keep up. Also my flat
in London has to be rented. I can't do that on ten pounds a week."
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him why he did not remain at
Burwain and play the part of a country gentleman, to reduce his
expenditure, when he proceeded. "Yes, I am in business of a sort,
connected with commissions on loans. That is, you will understand, Mr.
Vance, I am not a money lender--far from it. I simply find people who
have no money and who want it and agree to procure them money from
those who possess it, on condition that I have a ten per cent
commission. In a word I induce my many friends to benefit each other
and so benefit myself. Come Mr. Vance, you are a rising dramatist who
should be better known in the West End. Suppose you allow me--at ten
per cent--to arrange a loan for you to produce one of your better
class plays."
"I have no security," I objected.
"I can arrange that," said Mr. Monk with an airy wave of his hand,
"and if you can find that eye," I started violently, but he did not
appear to notice, "and get the fifty thousand pounds, I shall let you
have the money myself at the same percentage. I shall not charge any
commission," he ended generously, quite forgetting that he was
proposing to gamble with his daughter's money. But that obtuseness was
Mr. Monk all over.
"If I could see you in town,"--
"Later on: later on," he said hastily mounting the steps, "say in
three or four months when I return from the Continent. Then we can
have a talk."
"Your address is?"--
He interrupted again. "I shall see you here: I shall see you here. It
will be much more convenient for me," and he passed through the French
window into the drawing-room.
Mr. Monk puzzled me, as I did not understand why he should refuse to
see me on his--so to speak--business premises, seeing he desired to
speak with me on a business matter. However, all his froth and small
talk were driven out of my head by my discovery that the glass eye had
disappeared from the small table. I suppose Gertrude had put it into
her pocket, as she was in the room arranging some flowers in a vase. I
glanced at her keenly, but she appeared to be perfectly cool.
"Where is your aunt?" asked Monk, looking around.
"She has gone home again: she only came to see if she could get
Joseph to attend to her place," said Gertrude, busy with her flowers,
"good-morning, Mr. Vance."
"Good-morning," I answered looking hard at her--so hard that she
blushed becomingly, but certainly not guiltily.
"What is the matter?" she asked, putting her hand to her head, "is my
hair out of order?"
"No--o--o--o," I said hesitatingly, for her coolness amazed me. "I was
only delighted to see you looking so well."
She blushed again. "Thank you," was her laughing reply, "for that
compliment you shall have a flower," and she actually handed me a late
rosebud.
I placed it in my button-hole, feeling quite bewildered. It was
impossible that she could be guilty, and yet the eye had certainly
been on the table, and perhaps had found a place in her pocket.
Meanwhile Mr. Monk was fuming with injured egotism at being left out
of the conversation. "Attend to me, Gertrude, if you please," he said
sharply. "I wish you would tell your aunt that I disapprove of her
trying to get Joseph to attend to her garden. She will not pay him,
and the man can't work for nothing."
"Oh, I think he can," said Miss Monk, putting the vase of now-arranged
flowers on the mantelpiece. "Mrs. Caldershaw left him quite a fortune
for a man in his station of life. But why don't you speak to my aunt
yourself."
"No! no! no! She upsets my nerves. We always quarrel."
"Exactly what happens when I speak to her" rejoined Gertrude with a
shrug; "so I am never pleased when she comes here. It's your fault,
papa; when you are away she never calls. I really think she must be in
love with you, dear. You had better take care, papa. Since the
Deceased Wife's Sister's Bill is law now, aunty may wish to marry
you."
Monk laughed, and smiled, not ill-pleased by this tribute to his
looks. "I shall chose a younger wife than your aunt, my dear. The
stepmother I may give you will be young and charming."
His daughter looked at him in dismay. "Papa, are you thinking of
marrying again?" she demanded quickly.
"No, my love. I am too poor to marry; but if I met a rich woman,
well----" he stopped, pulled up his collar, glanced in a near mirror
and adjusted his tie, apparently thinking he was worthy to be wooed by
an heiress.
Gertrude laughed, more at ease in her mind. "It would be foolish to
marry at your age, papa. You have a comfortable house and a good
income, so why not enjoy yourself as you are doing now."
But it appeared that she had said the wrong thing, since her father
was excessively touchy. "At my age, Gertrude," he remarked in an
offended tone, "you forget that I am still comparatively young, and
that when you marry I shall be very solitary. As to my income, it is a
mere pittance to a man of my artistic tastes."
His daughter might have reminded him that he spent most of his income
on himself, and kept her on next to nothing. But she passed over the
whole speech save one remark: "I shall never marry, papa," she said
quietly.
"Why not? why not?" fumed Mr. Monk, startled.
"No one will have me," she said demurely.
"Oh," her father laughed, "that is all right; I haven't been unmindful
of you, my child, when in town. There are one or two men to whom I
must introduce you with a view to matrimony. I shall arrange----"
"Please don't, papa; I prefer to arrange the question of marriage
myself."
"Foolish, foolish child," said Monk, his touchy temper again getting
the better of him, "you shall do as I tell you else you will place me
in the disagreeable position of Lear," and he walked out of the room
just like a child, annoyed because the bad naughty table has hurt it.
"Oh, dear me, how easily papa is offended," sighed Gertrude, shrugging
when he banged the door, "this must be unpleasant for you, Mr. Vance."
"What must be?"
"These family jars."
"Oh, dear, no, don't think that," I answered easily. "I see you have
to humor your father."
"He's a dear father, Mr. Vance, but sometimes he is difficult to deal
with; I offend him without meaning to, he is so sensitive."
I thought the man selfish myself, but it was none of my business to
say so, therefore I dropped the subject and asked Miss Monk to grant
me a favor.
"I wish you to come to tea to-morrow at the inn. Mrs. Gilfin will play
the part of chaperon, if your father can't come."
"I don't think papa can, as he is going back to London in the morning.
I accept with pleasure."
"Shall I ask your aunt."
"Oh, no, please don't. I would rather Mrs. Gilfin were present. Not
that it needs anyone to play propriety, as I am sure you can behave
yourself. At what time do you want me to come?"
"Four o'clock, unless you like to come earlier and go for a drive in
my motor."
"No. I shall come to The Robin Redbreast at four. I wish to ask your
advice on a very important subject."
"To renew our conversation of the night when your father entered so
unexpectedly?"
"Yes. As I said then, I want a friend."
"And I said----"
"I know what you said. If you say it again, I shall begin to think I
must have a chaperon for your proposed tea after all. Now you must go.
I have heaps and heaps of housework to do. Also I must pack papa's
portmanteau."
I internally blessed Mr. Monk and his confounded portmanteau, then
took my departure, as I had entered, by the middle window. As I passed
out I could not help glancing again at the table whereon I had seen
the glass eye. Miss Monk saw my inquiring gaze and came forward. "Have
you lost anything?"
I was more confounded than ever. "No--nothing," I said hurriedly.
"Good-day," and I departed at top speed, entirely at sea as regards
the true state of affairs. And yet, apart from the evidence of the
cloak, the presence of the glass eye at The Lodge seemed conclusively
to prove the guilt of Gertrude.
On my way back to the inn I wondered if by any chance Miss Destiny had
seen the eye. On reaching the house, it was not impossible that after
my capture by Mr. Monk, she might have entered the drawing-room; in
which case, being--as I had frequently found--of an inquisitive turn
of mind, it was certain that she had caught sight of the object. It
was even possible that she had taken the eye in order to find the
secret hiding-place of the fortune. Miss Destiny was a miser; Miss
Destiny had no great love for her niece, so the theft of the eye would
appeal to her avarice and love of making herself disagreeable. And of
course, she would know very well, that her niece could say nothing
without getting herself into trouble.
No sooner had this idea entered my mind, than I wheeled about and took
the road to Miss Destiny's hovel, with the intention of asking
questions. But these were not easy to formulate. If she possessed the
eye, she certainly would not acknowledge the theft: if she did not, I
might reveal my suspicions of Gertrude and thus would place a weapon
in the little old lady's hand, which she would undoubtedly make use
of. But in my hurried walk to my destination, there was no time to
arrange what to say, so I determined to trust more or less to chance.
And in this doubtful state of mind I arrived at the tin house.
Miss Destiny herself opened the door, and explained that Lucinda was
shopping in the village. She appeared to be her usual mincing self,
and betrayed no uneasiness. I was invited into her sordid, shabby
sitting-room, and she entered into a long complaint about her
brother-in-law's treatment. "Walter is so very mean," lamented Miss
Destiny, sitting down, "I believe he grudges Joseph coming to work for
me."
"Mr. Monk has engaged Joseph to attend to his own garden," I reminded
her.
"The Lodge garden is in good order," she snapped, "whereas mine needs
a lot of attention. Walter might send the man along."
"If you pay Joseph, Miss Destiny----"
"Pay him," she interrupted with a shriek, and throwing up her hands,
"my dear Mr. Vance, it is as much as I can do to keep bread in my
mouth. I am reduced to this"--she glanced round--"which is by no means
the abode of a gentlewoman. But Gertrude and her father would let me
starve sooner than behave as relatives should."
"Oh, no, no," I protested. "Miss Monk is extremely kind."
"Have you found her so?" demanded the vindictive aunt.
"I have found her charming," was my cautious reply.
"Charms don't pay taxes, Mr. Vance. I suppose," she added abruptly,
"that you intend to marry her. Oh, don't look so astonished, young
man. I remember how you admired her photograph in Anne's house, and
you didn't come here for nothing. Oh dear me, no."
"I came here to learn all I could about the glass eye, so that I might
trace the assassin of Anne Caldershaw."
"Oh, indeed," Miss Destiny's sharp eyes twinkled wickedly, "and you
haunt my niece in order to ask questions?"
"Why not?" I ventured cautiously.
Miss Destiny laughed significantly. "Why not indeed," she echoed,
"it's my opinion that Gertrude knows much more about the glass eye
than she dares to tell you, or anyone else."
My blood ran cold, for the moment. Apparently this disagreeable old
woman had seen the eye on the drawing-room table, and thence had drawn
the very worst conclusions. I ventured on a bold stroke. "Do you mean
to say that Miss Monk has the glass eye?"
"I don't say that."
"Then she has not the glass eye," I said impatiently, and drawing a
breath of great relief.
"I don't say that either."
"Then what _do_ you say, Miss Destiny."
"Nothing, except that you will be wise to go away from Burwain and
give up all idea of marrying my niece."
"Why?" I asked very directly.
"Because--as I said--Gertrude knows something about the murder."
"That is a serious thing to say, Miss Destiny. On what grounds do you
make such an accusation?"
She made no direct reply, but rocked to and fro, "I know, I know," she
said, with a cunning look, and a malicious chuckle.
I ventured still further on the dangerous ground upon which I was
treading. "Have you seen the glass eye in Miss Monk's possession?"
"No," she said, and her reply startled me, for I had made sure that
she dared to speak thus freely from having espied the object on the
drawing-room table, "I never said that she had the glass eye."
"Then on what grounds----"
"Oh, I don't wish to say anything," she interrupted.
"Having said so much, you must say more," was my firm reply, "you have
no right to make dangerous accusations without proof."
"Gertrude herself can supply the proof."
"I would not insult her by asking her to."
"No," screeched Miss Destiny, jumping to her feet like a small fury,
"because you are a fool. Every man who loves is a fool. And you love
Gertrude. Heaven only knows what you see in her."
"I see a lovely girl and an accomplished lady, a good daughter and an
honorable gentlewoman."
"Four people rolled into one," sneered the spiteful little creature,
quivering with wrath. "She may be lovely in your eyes--I know what
fools men are--but, good and honorable she is not."
"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."
"No, I didn't recognize her," said Miss Destiny, sitting down
sullenly, "It was darkish, and Gertrude was the last person I expected
to see in a motor car. I saw that the lady had a white cloak, and knew
my niece possessed one; but it never struck me that Gertrude was the
driver, until I came to Mootley and heard that Anne had been murdered.
The information about the glass-headed pin made me certain."
"All this has to be proved," said I, after a nervous pause, for there
was no denying that Miss Monk's position was perilous, "have you
accused her?"
"No, I haven't. I asked her why she didn't meet me at Mootley, and she
said that she had decided not to go. A lie--a lie," cried Miss
Destiny, leaping to her feet again, "she was there, and she murdered
Anne."
"And stole the eye, perhaps?"
"I can't say that for certain. I only speak of what I know. But, as
Anne was murdered for the sake of the eye--everyone seems to think
that--I have no doubt that Gertrude has it."
"Have you seen it in her possession?"
"You asked me that before. I have not seen it in her possession. I
only speak of what I know," she said again and looked dogged.
There was a few minutes' silence. Putting together Miss Destiny's
statements and what I knew about the eye and the cloak, it would seem
that the proofs of guilt against Gertrude were overwhelming.
Prejudiced as I was in her favor, and blinded, more or less by love, I
could not help acknowledging that the evidence was dead against her.
If Miss Destiny spoke out, and Gertrude was arrested, she would be
hard put to prove her innocence. Only one thing remained to be done:
to silence Miss Destiny, until Gertrude could explain herself.
"Of course you will say nothing," I said sternly.
Miss Destiny looked at me sulkily. "Of course," she asserted. "I don't
love Gertrude; all the same I don't wish to see her hanged."
"Not that word," I rose and put out my hand, wincing.
"Hanged! hanged! hanged!" screamed the furious old woman, "you are so
blinded by love, you fool, that you can't see her wickedness--the
murderess."
"She is not."
"The thief."
"She is not." I turned on my heel and flung open the door. Miss
Destiny leaped to my side.
"What are you going to do?"
"I intend to see Miss Monk, and ask her to disprove your accusations."
"She can't; she daren't."
"We shall see," I snapped, and left the house, while Miss Destiny
jeered and made mouths after me like a wicked foul old witch.