"But----" I cried, following him as he was walking towards the door.
"I have nothing more to say," said Striver, and disappeared. I wondered if he was guilty after all, and whether he intended to confess. Before I could think out the matter, Monk touched my elbow.
"I can't find the magnifying glass," he said, handing me the case, which he had picked up off the table; "better go to a jeweller and borrow one."
"Thanks," I said, slipping the case into my pocket and reaching for my hat and coat. "Good-day, Mr. Monk."
"Don't go," he urged me. "I have much to say, and much to thank you for."
I put on my coat and made for the door. "I decline to remain in your company, Mr. Monk," I said, "because you are a scoundrel, and if you were not Gertrude's father I would thrash you willingly, old as you are. For her sake only have I saved you."
"How dare you speak to me in this way!" he cried furiously, and followed me into the hall, plucking at my sleeve.
"Because it is just as well someone should tell you the truth," I retorted heatedly; "you have acted in the most cruel manner towards your daughter."
"I have not. I deny it," he panted, looking white and wicked.
"You have lived in luxury in London while she has been practically starving down at Burwain. She knows that you are Marr."