"I don't think he is worthy of your regrets," I said, for really Mr. Walter Monk's behavior sickened me, "but, as he has departed, there is no use your going up to see him to-morrow about the eye."
"Especially as the eye is now destroyed," said Gertrude, taking up the paper, "and the cipher is set down here. What do you make of it, Cyrus?"
I put Striver's letter into my pocket--there was no more writing after the information of Mr. Monk's departure for America--and bent over the paper. "It's a bird in the middle of a lot of dust," I said.
"Dust." Gertrude pointed out two of the specks. "Then dust has wings."
"Oh, then it's a bird midst a cloud of insects."
"An 'A' reversed, and an 'S' turned in the wrong direction."
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.
"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."
"And you have seen the drawing better executed in carving. Cyrus, what is the first letter of the motto?"
"'S,' the terminal for _muscas_ for flies. Well?" She caught me by the hand. "Come into the smoking-room and light the lamps."
"Oh, by Jove!" I saw her meaning now. She referred to the heavy beam across the smoking-room to which Mr. Monk had drawn my attention. We ran, hand in hand, like children, into the dark room. Gertrude struck a match and I, taking the box from her hand--and a shaking hand it was--struck another. In a few moments the powerful oil lamps were illuminating the room brilliantly. We both looked at the beam.
"An eagle catching flies," cried Gertrude, pointing--"_Aquila non capit muscas_. My ancestors' queer old motto. The diamonds are there."