But I really could not believe that so lovely a girl was guilty. Besides, her demeanor was not that of a brazen criminal, and she had seemed really puzzled by my over-attentive gaze. Tossing and turning on my bed, I tried to see some ray of light, but all was utter darkness. The evidence was dead against Gertrude Monk, and her fate was in the hands of her vindictive aunt. Miss Destiny might hold her tongue for the time being, but it would take very little to set it wagging. And being a miser, she might try to blackmail her niece. My brain ached with trying to get at the truth. To Inspector Dredge it would have have been readily apparent; but in the face of stern facts I refused to believe the girl to be guilty.
Then there was Giles. During the night I thought a good deal of Giles, whom I had met that very evening when I returned to the Robin Redbreast. He was remaining there for the night, and informed me that he had come over to Burwain that day in order to see Striver about the lease of the corner shop.
"You see, Mr. Vance," said Giles, shortly before I retired to bed, and while we were in the bar, "my wife wants to have a shop of her own, so I thought I would get Mr. Striver to make over the lease of Mrs. Caldershaw's shop to me. My wife is set on having it, and I think Mr. Striver will agree to the terms I propose."
"You have seen him, then?"
"Yes, sir. I went to his house to-day and found he was at the Lodge, working in the garden. I sought him out there and we had a talk, just before Miss Destiny came to bother him. I went away then, and afterwards you came."
"Oh," my mind swiftly ran over the events of the day, "then you were in the grounds of the Lodge before I arrived?"
"Yes, Mr. Vance," said Giles, readily enough. "Mr. Striver wasn't in the garden at the time, as he had gone round to the back of the house. I walked up to the front door and asked for him. The servant sent a message, and we were talking over our deal when the little old lady arrived. She spoilt the business, for the time being; but I saw Mr. Striver this evening, and we have arranged about the matter. My wife will have the shop."
I thought a good deal about this conversation when in bed. Giles had been alone in the grounds of The Lodge and had gone up to the house to seek for Striver. Might he not have placed the eye on the table, since he could easily do so, when the middle French window was open. But then I had absolutely no reason to suspect Giles, as the glass eye would be meaningless to him. But stop! Would it indeed be meaningless? Certainly Mrs. Giles had denied that she knew about Mrs. Caldershaw's glass eye, but then she had admitted that the ex-housekeeper had said she would never die in her bed. In one way or another Mrs. Giles may have learned the secret of the hidden money, and thus Giles might have killed Mrs. Caldershaw to obtain the glass eye which was the clue. But after reflection I dismissed this theory as utterly ridiculous. Giles could not have gained possession of the hat-pin belonging--according to Miss Destiny--to Gertrude Monk; and certainly, having the eye, would not come over to Burwain to leave it in the drawing-room of The Lodge. Giles, on the face of it, was utterly innocent. Yet it was strange that he should have been in the grounds of the Jacobean house nearly at the time I had seen the glass eye, and that [it] had disappeared. If Giles had not placed it there, he might have taken it.
"No! no! no! no!" I muttered in drowsy tones; "it's absurd. Giles has nothing to do with the matter. He merely came over to arrange about the shop. He did not place the glass eye there: nor did Striver. If Striver had possessed the eye he would have gained possession of the money. Besides, he was not at Mootley until the funeral took place. Mr. Monk! He's innocent enough, as he was in London when the crime was committed. Moreover, if he possessed the eye, he also would be in possession of the fortune. Gertrude is the only person to whom suspicion points. I shall insist upon a full explanation to-morrow. I alone can save her if she is guilty." And then I fell into a troubled sleep, reproaching myself for daring to doubt my divinity.
Giles departed next morning before I arose, and I did not see him again. Haunted still by undefined suspicions, I regretted his departure, and determined later to look him up at Mootley. Of course, the mere idea of thinking that the respectable sturdy greengrocer was guilty seemed ridiculous, but in my anxiety to save Gertrude from danger I was willing to sacrifice anyone and everyone. To such a state does love bring the most just of mankind.