"She believed that you were guilty because of your presence there, and did not tell me, even though I pressed her. You are the sole person she would shield at the risk of losing her liberty, though you aren't worth it, Mr. Monk. Am I not right?"
"I admitted that you were right. Striver saw me, and Gertrude saw me. I cannot deny my presence in the shop. But that does not prove me to be guilty of murder."
"How, then," asked Striver, "did you become possessed of the eye?"
"The last time that I saw the eye was in Mrs. Caldershaw's head," snapped Monk, whose nerves were entirely giving way under the strain of cross-examination. "You pretended to find it amongst my baggage and slipped it into that case, which is really mine. It's part of your plan of blackmail."
"There may be some truth in that," I remarked, for, knowing what I did, I had not much belief in Striver's story.
"How can you talk such damned nonsense?" cried Striver roughly, "when you know that Mr. Monk has been posing in London as a rich man under the name of Wentworth Marr. He has five hundred a year under his brother's will, and that house with the acres surrounding it. Where did he get his money?"
"My Australian cousin----"
"Oh, hang your Australian cousin. I don't believe he ever existed. Mr. Vance, I swear that I found that eye amongst Mr. Monk's luggage. You must believe, in the face of that," he pointed to the case, which was still open in my hand, "that Mr. Monk is guilty."
"No, I don't, if this"--I shook the case--"is all the evidence you can bring."
Monk heaved a sigh of relief, and Striver stared uneasily. "On what grounds do you say that?" he asked grimly.