"So that you can put a rope round the neck of the woman you love," I said cheerfully, although I confess that the man's decisive tone made me uneasy. "That is an affectionate way of acting." "Well, are you going to confess?"
"I am not afraid to confess," said Striver, in thick tones, but more composed. "You can't make use of my confession without proving her"--he pointed to Gertrude--"to be a murderess and a thief."
"A lie, a lie," moaned the girl.
"I have been very patient with you, Striver," I said, suppressing my anger with an effort, "but if you call Miss Monk names I'll knock your teeth down your throat."
"I'm not afraid of you, Mr. Vance."
"No; you're afraid of the police."
"And so is she," he pointed again.
"I am not," denied Gertrude, and stood up calm and unflinching to deny it.
"Oh, damn your fencing, come to the point. Forgive me for swearing, Gertrude, but this long-winded ass would provoke a saint."
Striver took no notice of the insult. He plunged, with a gasp, directly into the middle of his story, and I soon saw how it was that he did not dare to denounce Gertrude. "My aunt wished me to marry Miss Monk," he said rapidly, and with his eyes on the carpet--he was standing up, by the way--"and as I loved her I wished for nothing better. My aunt said that she could give me Gabriel Monk's money after her death, as she had concealed its whereabouts in her glass eye."