Gertrude thought for a moment: then her face brightened. "Cyrus, what kind of a bird is this?" and she pointed.
"It might be a peacock," I said ironically. "Mr. Striver has not much notion of drawing."
"Do you think it is an eagle?" she asked in an excited tone.
"Good heavens, no!" I retorted. "Did you ever see an eagle like that?"
"Joseph is not an artist." said Gertrude impatiently.
"He certainly is not clever."
"Neither are you, Cyrus, for all your talent. Oh, to think that the secret hiding-place should be in this very house."
"What?" I stared alternately at Gertrude and at the paper.
"Can't you see? Don't you understand," she cried, greatly excited, "an eagle amidst a cloud of flies--Aquila non capit muscas."
I stared at her. "I have heard that sentence before."