"Why do you want the glass eye?"
"To read the cipher, and find the money."
Gertrude shook her head. "I feel as though that money would bring us a curse, Cyrus. Already it has caused a murder and no end of unhappiness. Besides, you can never read the cipher."
"I should try, dear, and if I fail there is a clever friend of mine who can unravel anything. As to the money, or rather the diamonds, they are rightfully yours and ought to be in your hands. Get the eye and----"
I did not finish the sentence. Eliza suddenly opened the drawing-room door to deliver a letter to me. "It came by express," said Eliza, "and the boy is waiting at the door."
"Take him into the kitchen and feed him," I said, glancing at the superscription. I did not recognize the writing. "You can go, Eliza," for she still lingered--out of curiosity, I expect.
I opened the envelope, and besides the letter--a long one written on foolscap--there was a folded paper, which fell to the floor. Gertrude picked it up, while I turned instantly to the signature. "Joseph Striver!" I read in wonderment. "What can he be writing about to me in such a hurry that it requires an express delivery?"
"Read! read!" cried Gertrude, with bright eyes, and crushing up the folded paper in her hands without looking at it. "He said that he would save my good name. Perhaps that letter contains the truth."
I hastily skimmed the contents, then walked towards the door. Gertrude very impatiently followed me. "Where are you going? Why don't you read me the letter?" she inquired imperatively.
"I shall read it when I have dismissed the messenger. It's all right," and at once I went to the kitchen. Here I gave the boy a shilling and sent him off. On my return to the drawing-room I found Gertrude looking at the folded paper, which she had smoothed out.