"As what--be quiet, Gertrude--as what, Mr. Striver?"
"As the woman who murdered my aunt," he cried, staggering to his feet.
I laughed, and the two stared at me in astonishment. The sound of merriment at such a tragic moment startled them. But I saw swiftly that it was useless to act a melodramatic scene, and was half sorry that I had so nearly strangled the gardener. Now I was cool and composed and, before proceeding to act, wished to know where I stood. "Sit down, Striver; sit down, Gertrude." They did as I asked them in sheer amazement. "Now then," I took a seat myself, "perhaps you will explain."
"He forced his way----" began Gertrude, when I stopped her.
"I know that much. Mr. Striver is in love with you. I don't blame him for that, since no man can help his feelings. He has forced his way into this house to compel you by threats to be his wife. I condemn him on those grounds, for no human being has a right to coerce another. Now then, the situation being plain, perhaps, Striver, you will speak out."
If I had been violent the man could have met me more easily. But my perfect fairness and coolness confounded him, and he stared stupidly at me. I grew impatient. "Come, Striver, speak up. I don't wish to condemn you unheard. On what grounds do you accuse Miss Monk of this crime?"
"She was at my aunt's house on that evening."
"I know as much from her own lips. I also know that she left her white cloak behind and a certain hat-pin. Well?"
He was more confounded than ever. "She stabbed my aunt," he muttered.
"I never did, I never did," cried Gertrude breathlessly.