"I did not masquerade," broke in Monk indignantly.
"Shut up," said Striver contemptuously, "and let me tell my story in my own way or it will be the worse for you."
"No threats, Striver. Tell me the story without side issues; I am aware that you learned about Mr. Monk's change of name. You doubtless came here to say that if he didn't help you to marry Miss Gertrude you would denounce her to the police."
"Yes, I did," said Striver sullenly, "but I learned from the caretaker of these rooms that Mr. Monk--Marr, the man called him--had gone to New York, and had left an address to which his letters were to be forwarded. I got that address----"
"The caretaker had no right to give it to you," cried Monk indignantly.
"Oh, a little money soon makes that sort of person speak," sneered the gardener. "However, I had no difficulty in learning where Mr. Monk was stopping in New York. I had plenty of cash, with my aunt's legacy and my own income, to say nothing of the sale of the corner shop lease to Giles, so I determined to follow. I reached New York in due course, and compelled Mr. Monk to take me as his secretary, so that I could keep him under my eye."
Monk groaned. "I have had a cruel time with you; a cruel time."
"Better than you deserve. I swear," added Striver, turning again to me, "that I never believed Mr. Monk to be guilty until I found the eye."
"What?" I sprang to my feet in sheer astonishment. "You found the eye?"
Monk, changing alternately from white to red with nervous fear, would have burst out into emphatic denial, but Striver cast such a black look in his direction that the words died on his lips. Then the gardener took out of his pocket a small morocco case, such as jewellers use to enclose watches, and passed it along to me. I opened it silently, and there, on the puffy white silk, lay a glass eye. "I found that," said Striver slowly, "while searching the luggage of Mr. Monk."