For this reason I simply sent a note saying that I had been called to London on business, and drove over to Tarhaven in Mrs. Gilfin's trap to catch the midday train. I just managed to escape Cannington, whom I saw in the street, as I drove up to the station, and was glad that he had not noticed me. I did not wish to enter into further explanations, and invent theories, and conjecture possibilities. So many lies were being told and so many secrets were being kept, that it was difficult to understand the actual position of affairs. The corner shop at Mootley seemed to have been a kind of rendezvous for all manner of people, and on that fatal evening Mrs. Caldershaw appeared to have held quite a reception. Gertrude, her father, Striver, and Miss Destiny had all been making for that goal, and the consequence of their presence--in a broad sense I speak--had been the death of the old woman. The sole person whose innocence could be proved beyond all doubt was Miss Destiny, as she had not arrived until I had discovered the body of Mrs. Caldershaw. Of course I truly believed that Gertrude was innocent, but the police might have taken a different view. For this reason I was anxious to learn the exact state of things with regard to Striver and Monk. In my opinion one of the two was guilty, and I anxiously waited for three o'clock to learn the absolute truth. Then, being enlightened, I should know how to act.
At three o'clock I drove in a taxi to Stratford Street, and was admitted by a demure-looking man in black--Monk's valet, I suppose--to the flat. Apparently the servant expected my arrival, for he led me directly into the Moorish smoking-room where I had previously been. Striver and Mr. Monk were both present, seated in opposite chairs and glowering--as the Scotch say--at one another. They resembled a couple of ill-tempered dogs chained together. Monk, I thought, looked haggard and worn and anxious, quite different to his usual complacent self. But Striver's handsome face wore a determined, confident expression. I judged that he was master of the situation. This augured ill for Monk's innocence. As soon as I entered the elder man, quivering with nervousness, rose quickly to his feet and rushed forward to clasp my hand. "I am so glad you have come, Vance," he said, dropping his affected speech. "I need your assistance in dealing with this--this-- blackmailer."
"That's a lie," growled Striver, who looked dangerous, and probably was; "why don't you introduce me as your secretary?"
"Yes," cried Monk, his under lip twitching, "that's what he calls himself, Vance--my secretary. He followed after me to New York, and has been in my company ever since. To explain his presence I called him my secretary. But he is a blackguard--a blackmailer."
"I have never asked you for a shilling," retorted Striver with a shrug.
"No, you ask me for what I value more--the hand of my child."
I sat down and laughed outright, in spite of the seriousness of the situation. "Hasn't Mr. Striver given up hope in that quarter?"
"No, I haven't," snarled the gardener, "nor shall I. I intend to marry Gertrude."
"Miss Monk, to you, if you please. As to your marrying her, that is out of the question. She is engaged to me, and I don't intend to give her up. Now, Mr. Striver, I haven't come here to listen to bombast and froth, but to hear facts. For what reason do you persecute Mr. Monk?"
"I don't persecute him. I just followed him to New York to ask his help in marrying Ger--well, Miss Monk, if you will have it so."