"No, sir, and none of Mrs. Caldershaw's Burwain friends came to see the last of her, poor soul, which was unkind, I take it. Only Mr. Striver put in an appearance. But to be sure he could not do less," added Giles thoughtfully, "since she left him all her property."
"Striver! Striver! That's the nephew?"
"Yes, Mr. Vance, and a handsome young man he is. A gardener, I believe, who works for Mr. Walter Monk at Burwain. Not that he'll do much work now, for I daresay his aunt has left him enough to live like a gentleman. Her lawyer--he's a Murchester man in a small way of business--told me that there was over five hundred pounds in the bank; besides there's the lease of the shop for two years and its contents."
"Lucky Mr. Striver, and it's all left to him," I bantered.
"Yes, sir, along with the glass eye."
I had set my face towards the village, but wheeled at the last word. "Why the dickens did she leave him the glass eye?"
"Goodness only knows, Mr. Vance, but leave it she did. Mr. Striver's quite annoyed he hasn't got it and intends to offer a reward for it."
"He'll have to find the guilty person first," I said grimly.
"The white-cloaked lady, sir?"
I winced. "She may not be the guilty person, after all. There! there!" I went on hastily, as Giles showed a disposition to argue. "I know nothing more about the matter than you do"--this was an absolutely necessary white lie considering the circumstances--"but tell me, Mr. Giles, does this young man know why his aunt valued her glass eye so greatly?"