No! Come what might, I decided to play the game fair. Not only that, but I decided to use my information, as best I could, to protect Miss Monk from the gardener. In making inquiries, he might possibly chance upon a clue which would reveal the fact that Miss Monk was the heroine of the missing motor car. In that case, it might be that he would use his knowledge to insist upon the unequal marriage. I could then intervene,--I did not see very plainly at the moment to what purpose,--but at any rate I could offer myself as the lady's champion. But then--here was the crux of the matter--for all I knew Miss Monk might be as much in love with Striver as he apparently was with her. Only a visit to Burwain and a personal interview with my goddess would prove the truth of that.
Then another thing occurred to me while I slowly dressed for dinner. If Miss Monk had stolen the motor car and had locked me in the back room along with the dead Mrs. Caldershaw, she must necessarily be the possessor of the glass eye. On the face of it, she appeared to be guilty, but I could not bring myself to condemn her. Yet she could scarcely have the glass eye unless she had murdered her old nurse with that damned hat-pin, which was so grave a proof that the assassin was a woman. But the eye was the clue to some concealed treasure--this appeared to be plain enough from what Striver had said of his late aunt's babble--so if Miss Monk became unexpectedly wealthy, it would prove that she was a thief, if not a murderess. It seemed to be that there was nothing to be done but to take up my abode in Burwain, meet the lady if possible, and then play a waiting game. Whether Mr. Striver or his master's daughter got the fifty thousand pounds, her guilt would be manifest, since he could only get the glass eye from her, to learn the clue to the treasure. And if she had the glass eye, she must have----
"No no! no!" I said aloud at this point, and startled Cannington's servant, who was valeting me. "It's nothing, Johnston," I said, and went on mentally with my defence of Miss Monk, although I could not deduce a single particle of evidence in her favor. "She can't be guilty," my thoughts ran furiously, "she is much too lovely to be guilty. There must be some mistake. She undoubtedly will be able to explain. And yet--and yet--oh, hang it, I'll not decide the question either one way or the other until I see her."
This being settled so far--although I unsettled my mind again and again through the long night--I went to mess and made a pretence of eating. Cannington and his friend had not yet returned, which made me believe that the two featherheads had smashed my car. If so it was a great nuisance, as I wanted the Rippler to drive over to Burwain on the morrow. However, the two arrived about midnight with a long account of a police trap which had detained them, and I went off to bed, leaving them to their supper. Cannington came to my bedside to relate his London adventures, but I used such bad language that he retreated promptly. Next morning I departed immediately after breakfast, more puzzled than ever over the problem I was setting out to solve. Had Miss Monk the glass eye? If so, was she guilty? If she had not the glass eye, who had? Did she love Joseph Striver? Would he find the glass eye, and consequently the fortune? If he did, would he marry Miss Monk, etc. etc. etc.: my brain was an absolute chaos.
"Well, good-bye, old chap," said Cannington, taking leave, and looking very spic and span in his uniform. "Tell me all about it in London."
"Tell you what?"
"I may not mention her name," he said, and winked solemnly.
"Don't be an ass," I retorted, leaning down to whisper, "things are much more serious than you guess."
"What? Have you learned anything about--"
"Shut up! When I return from Burwain to town I may need your assistance."