"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."