"Theories are usually more or less incredible," said I, dryly. "However, if the glass eye can be found, we may prove the improbable to be the possible."
"The glass eye: h'm, the glass eye of Anne Caldershaw," Mr. Monk halted near my chair, and placed me--so to speak--in the witness-box. He questioned me most precisely concerning my theory, weighed my replies, made suggestion of his own, and appealed several times to Gertrude, to learn what she thought about the matter. Finally he concluded that there might be something in the matter, although he confessed that he saw no chance of recovering the missing eye, which was the clue to the missing money. "Always presuming," was Mr. Monk's final remark, "that you are correct, there is no doubt that the fortune is missing, and that we--my daughter and I--would be glad to obtain it. But the chances of finding the key--if it be the key--to the mystery of the hiding-place are very, very remote. Never mind, go on."
"I have explained everything I know, Mr. Monk."
"I don't mean that, sir. What I mean is, that I desire you to go on with the search for the glass eye, and for the criminal who slaughtered Anne. How do you propose to proceed, may I ask?"
"I haven't the least idea," I replied, despondently.
"No matter; do not despair. _Nil desperandum_ is a most excellent motto for the young and ambitious. It has been my motto through life--" This came excellently from a man, who had done nothing but indulge himself throughout his fifty years of existence. But he made the statement in a light and airy manner, then turned to his daughter: "My dear, don't you think that after this very criminal conversation, we might have a little music to soothe and charm our weary souls?"
Gertrude, whom the examination had made thoughtful, excused herself on the plea of fatigue, so Mr. Monk took possession of the piano himself. He played gracefully, if not convincingly, and sang little songs in a pleasant voice of no great power. I would much rather have chatted with Gertrude, who was now staring meditatively into the fire, but Mr. Monk demanded my entire attention. He was jealous of applause, and I was obliged to watch him sitting at the piano like an enlarged white rabbit. I thought privately that he was an infernal nuisance, but as the father of Gertrude, he had to be treated diplomatically.