"In what way?" asked the gardener, sharply, and not too politely.
Miss Destiny did not answer in words. She looked at Striver, then looked at me, and finally glanced towards the house, where Gertrude was standing in the doorway. My rival flushed crimson, and I did also, as we both knew exactly what she meant. On seeing the tell-tale color, she burst into a roguish laugh, and walked towards the porch. A moment later, and she disappeared with her niece into the house. Striver and I looked at one another.
"You have no right to come here," said the gardener, who looked handsomer than ever in his rough working clothes.
"What do you mean, man?"
"Oh, it's all very well calling me man in that lordly way," he said violently, "but I know quite well that you are in love with----"
"There is no need to mention names," I interrupted, throwing up my hand, "and I forbid you to speak to me in this way."
"You forbid me," cried my rival, laughing bitterly, "as if I feared you, Mr. Cyrus Vance. You have more need to fear me. Yes. After all, I believe you know more about my aunt's death than you chose to say."
I did not deign to reply to this absurd remark, but moved towards the house in the hope of meeting Mr. Monk. Usually he was in the drawing-room, and as the French windows were open, all three, I advanced towards the middle one, while Striver, leaning on his spade looked after me enviously. He grudged that I should be able to enter the house while he was chained to the garden and to his work. However, I had no time to consider his feelings and was about to step into the room, when I saw on a small table near it a glittering object. It was a glass eye.