"And marry you?" I asked tenderly.
"Yes, and marry me." She came forward, threw her arms round my neck and whispered: "Cyrus let us think of ourselves and our happiness, and leave this mystery alone."
"Well," I shrugged my shoulders and slipped my arm round her waist, "I only wished to learn the truth in order to shield you, although I don't deny that the mystery of the case appeals to me. But if you are content to leave it alone and marry me, so am I. Let us relegate the murder of Mrs. Caldershaw to the already long list of undiscovered crimes."
"And the cloak?" asked Gertrude, her eyes falling on it.
"I'll wrap it up in a parcel, and you can take it back to hang in your wardrobe. Eliza knows that you have a white cloak, and will never connect it with the Mootley murder, even though she read an account of the case."
"She has not," said Gertrude shaking her head; "she never reads any of the newspapers, and only knows that Anne is murdered. She may hear talk, of course, but I don't fancy she'll trouble her head."
"Does she know that you went to Mootley on that day?"
"No; I told her that I was going to London, for you see I did not wish my father to know that I had been to see Anne."
"Why not?"
"Can you ask, knowing what I said about my uncle's mistrust of my father. If papa knew what I had found out about the diamonds, and had gone to see Anne about the matter, he would--at the time--had I been successful, have insisted on my giving him the jewels. For that reason I kept my visit secret from everyone, save my aunt. I was forced to let her know, as she had arranged to see Anne on that day, and we were bound to meet."