She woke up with a gasp and a cry, struggling for breath. The whole thing had been so vivid that Mary could not realise for a moment that she was sitting up in bed. Yet there she was, with the early morning sun shining through the blinds, and still she held her hand to her throat and fought for the breath that would not come.
Surely there must be something wrong here! Why was the room so insufferable, where did that stifling air come from? Then a draught of air came from somewhere, and the bedroom was almost instantly filled with a maze of thin smoke and vapour. There was no longer room for doubt. With a quick cry Mary sprang from her bed, for the Hall was on fire!
There was no longer any question as to the house being on fire. Very rapidly Mary proceeded to don her clothing; her idea afterwards was to alarm the house. The girl was not conscious of any feeling of fear, though she was trembling from head to foot. She had had but a poor night's rest, and the strain of the previous day had tried her. And now as she huddled into her clothing, she was conscious of a kind of relief, the feeling that if the house was burnt down a way had been found out of her troubles.
There was an emotion almost of gladness in the thought. But the pride of race and place came back, and Mary hastened to her task. Dashwood Hall must be saved at any cost--the historic house must not be allowed to perish. There were pictures and works of art there that had almost a national interest.
Mary flung the door open and strode boldly into the corridor, but she did not gain a yard before she was driven back by a dense mass of suffocating smoke. The corridor was filled with it, thick, black, and overpowering. It was absolutely impossible to force a way through that blinding cloud. Mary screamed at the top of her voice, but no reply came. Already her brain began to reel, already her lungs almost ceased to work. There was only one thing for it--to shut the door and seek for some other exit.
Back in the bedroom the air was comparatively pure. The window looked on to a green court with a high hedge of clipped yew trees beyond. It was one of the quietest and most shady rooms in the house, and Mary had chosen it for that very reason. In the winter she occupied another apartment. But its very quietness frightened the girl now. As she looked out of the small diamond casement in the great stone mullion, she realised that it would be impossible for any grown figure to squeeze through. She might have taken the risk of jumping down on to the grass, but the bars of the mullion window were too close together to permit of the attempt. And already the draught from the open window was drawing the smoke into the room.
Listening intently, Mary could hear the sound of shouts and the tramping of feet; now, she caught the echo of horses' hoofs as mounted messengers galloped down the drive. She shouted aloud, but nobody appeared to hear her. The thick high hedge of yews seemed to smother her voice. It was dreadful to be caught in a trap like that, but Mary resolved to meet her fate bravely.
Probably the volume of smoke would cause unconsciousness long before the dreaded fire reached its victim. There would be no pain or suffering. It seemed to Mary that she had heard people speak of such things before. Well, she would die alone, and nobody would know how the end had come.
Not quite alone! Suddenly Mary remembered that old Patience was in the dressing-room and looked towards the couch there.
She rubbed her eyes in astonishment. Patience was no longer there. Perhaps she had not been able to sleep, probably she had aroused herself very early and gone about her business. At any rate, she was not in the dressing-room, and Mary felt glad of it. The horror of the situation was lessened by the absence of the demented woman.
Greatly daring, Mary opened the window and screamed for help once more. She could hear yells and calls, and presently the steady throb of what she knew to be an engine. But all the time the smoke was growing thicker and denser in the room. So far Mary could not hear the crackling of flames, she was not sensible of the fact that the room was getting any warmer. There was always the hope that the fire might be subdued before it got a good hold of the building. A great deal of timber had gone to the building of Dashwood Hall, but the walls were of the most solid masonry, and it was quite possible for the fire to burn out a room or two without going any farther.
Something like an hour passed, an hour that seemed like eternity. The shouting and the tramping and the thudding were still going on. Then came a lull for the moment, and it seemed to Mary that somebody was calling her by name, somebody inside the house. She waited a moment, thinking perhaps that it was her excited fancy, but once more the call came, and this time from the corridor.
Mary thrilled as she heard the voice. At last they had discovered her absence. She opened the door and called in reply. The smoke was thick as ever, but there was no sign of flame. Out of the dense whirling mass a figure emerged and staggered breathlessly into the bedroom. It was the figure of a man with his handkerchief pressed to his mouth. He gasped for breath and closed the door behind him. His face was blackened and grimed with smoke, but Mary had no difficulty in recognising Ralph Darnley.
"Again," she said unsteadily, "you are like a guardian angel to me. This is the third time that you have come to save my life. Had they forgotten me?"
"It was all a misunderstanding," Ralph gasped. "In the confusion it was assumed that everybody was out of the house. Somebody professed to have seen you going off in the direction of the dower house. My landlord woke me up, saying that the Hall was on fire. And Lady Dashwood sent a message to ask if you were all right, and then we understood. It occurred to me that it would be impossible for you to escape by way of the window, and whilst the rest were discussing the best thing to be done, I made a dash for it. The house is full of the most blinding, suffocating smoke, but I can see no flames anywhere."
"And so you took your life in your hands like this for me?" Mary faltered. There was something almost of affection in the eyes which she turned on the stalwart figure by her side. "I was actually thinking of you at the very moment that you appeared. But how did you manage to find the way to this wing so easily?"
"I suppose by instinct," Ralph said. The question seemed to confuse him. "How brave and calm you are! But we are wasting time here. Mary, there is only one way for it. We shall have to fight our way through that smoke. There is no other chance. It will be quite a blindfold labour. But perhaps you could pick your way----"
"In the dark, with my eyes shut," Mary cried. "If I am to die, then at least I shall die in good company, with a brave, true man by my side. I shall not perish alone."
"You will not perish at all," Ralph said between his teeth. "You are reserved for a better and a sweeter fate than that, my darling. Heaven is going to rescue us for one another, despite your pride and despite anything that Mayfield may do. But these heroics are out of place in the face of the common danger. You have water here and towels?"
"Plenty of both in the dressing-room," Mary said. "What do you want them for?"
But Ralph made no reply. He had a stern task before him, and no time to waste in words. He took a couple of the largest towels and dipped them in the water jugs. Then he wrung out the moisture and wrapped the cold wet fabric round Mary's head. After he had led her to the door, he did the same for himself. Then he took Mary by the hand, and whispered that she was to lead the way.
The task was no easy one, well as Mary knew every inch of the house. She felt her way to the top of the stairs at length, but her head seemed like bursting now. Still, the pressure of Ralph's hand gave her courage. With him by her side, she felt like daring anything. As presently the air began to grow cooler and sweeter, it seemed to Mary that she was conscious of the scent of the roses.
Then the cloth was pulled from her face, and she felt the full delight of her lungs again. A great crowd had gathered on the lawn, the people burst into a torrent of cheers. It was all like a dream to Mary. She saw that Ralph was standing by her side breathless and triumphant.
"Do not crowd us like that," he said. "Please let Miss Dashwood have as much air as possible. Neither of us is the least hurt by the fire; indeed, so far as I can see, this is no fire at all. Has anybody a conveyance that will take Miss Dashwood as far as the dower house? It is only a little way, but still----"
There were scores of people ready to comply with the request. Then the crowd parted as if by a kind of instinct, and Lady Dashwood appeared. She was pale and breathless, but not for one moment did she forget herself or her position.
"My dear child," she said, "you must come with me at once. Fancy you being in that house all the time and nobody any the wiser! And they tell me that a gentleman who is a stranger here volunteered for your rescue in the bravest possible manner. If he is here I should like to thank him warmly for----"
"This is Mr. Ralph Darnley," Mary explained. "He is not a stranger, for we met in Paris two years ago. Let me introduce Mr. Darnley to you."
Ralph bowed and moved towards the hand that Lady Dashwood held out to him. There were gracious words on his lips.
"It is impossible to thank you," she said, "but if you will come as far as the dower house with me, I dare say that I shall be able to--to----"
The words seemed to freeze as Lady Dashwood's glance travelled over Ralph's face. Lady Dashwood took a step forward and would have fallen if Ralph had not put out an arm and supported her. Then there was an awkward silence.
The meeting was quite an unexpected one for Ralph. He had his own powerful reason for not wishing to come in contact with Lady Dashwood, but the thing was done now, and there was no help for it. Ralph was the first to recover his self-possession. He saw that the colour was coming back to Lady Dashwood's face, and that it was very far from her intentions to make a scene. That would probably come later.
"There seems to be no conveyance here," Mary said. "And really it is not worth while to make all this fuss about me. I am quite myself again and capable of walking as far as the dower house with Lady Dashwood. Meanwhile, there is other work to do."
The excitement of the moment had passed, and willing hands were back once more at the task of putting out the flames. Of the little group of principal actors in the scene, nobody was more calm or more collected now than Lady Dashwood.
"Perhaps we had better walk," she said. "We can take the short cut through the shrubbery. And I shall be very glad if Mr. Darnley will accompany us. I presume, sir, that you have not had any breakfast?"
"I haven't," Ralph said. "Sir George has gone over to one of the farms for his. If you will be so good as to give me a mouthful of something, I will come back here and do my very utmost to save the old house. It would be a great pity to lose it."
"Indeed I am glad to hear that you are so anxious about the place," Lady Dashwood said with a significance that puzzled Mary, though it was by no means lost on Ralph. "The Hall is one of the finest places of its kind in England."
Ralph ate his breakfast in silence; Mary was silent too and pleaded a headache. She had had no sleep, she said, and was in need of rest. She ate little and drooped like a lily over her plate. When at length she rose, Ralph rose also.
"Please don't go yet," said Lady Dashwood in a voice with a touch of command in it. "I will just see that Mary is made comfortable, and then I should like to have a word with you, sir. There are so many willing workers at the Hall that one more or less will make no difference."
Ralph bowed. Lady Dashwood would be glad if he would go as far as the drawing-room. He waited there till his hostess returned, proud and white, with a stern expression in her eyes. She shut the door behind her and pointed to a seat.
"Pray do not stand," she said. "We may be some little time. Did I not understand my--Mary, to say that you are Mr. Ralph Darnley?"
"That is quite correct," Ralph said quietly. "Miss Mary made no mistake."
"Possibly not. The mistake is on your side. I do not wish to seem in the least curious or impertinent, but have you no other name?"
"For the present, none," said Ralph. "Will not your ladyship oblige me by leaving matters just as they are for the moment? My happiness, the happiness of everybody, depends upon a complete and absolute discretion. I did not desire to see you----"
"No! I gathered that when I saw your face a night or two ago in the shrubbery. The moon was shining on your features, and it seemed to me that I was face to face with a ghost. But let me show you something, Mr. Darnley. It is a miniature of a man whom I have not seen for nearly forty years, the picture of my son. He left home for reasons which I need not go into, I never looked on his face again. I have never before shown the picture to anybody, but I have my very good reasons for showing it to you. What do you think of it?"
With trembling hands the old lady passed a miniature in a small gold frame over to Ralph. He gazed at the picture long and intently, with a flush on his face and something that was very like moisture in his eyes. He was silent for so long that Lady Dashwood felt constrained to speak.
"Well?" she asked. "I will try to restrain the natural curiosity of my sex and not ask too many questions. Did you ever see that face before?"
"You force me to reply," Ralph said slowly. "You have the advantage over me, Lady Dashwood."
"Please do not call me Lady Dashwood. Oh, I am not going to try to force your confidence; that will come to me in time. Only you have not yet replied to my question. I asked you if ever you have seen that face before?"
"Many a time and oft," Ralph said. "Is it very like me?"
"Like you! It is a speaking likeness. When I came face to face with you today, it required all the seventy years of my social training to keep me from bursting into tears and throwing my arms about your neck. And nobody recognised you! But I forget that forty years have elapsed since my boy was in the midst of us. And now tell me, why do you persist in calling yourself Ralph Darnley?"
"I have never been known by any other name," Ralph replied. "Perhaps the time may come some day when I--but we need not discuss that. Please do not think me churlish or wanting in courtesy to you, Lady Dashwood."
Lady Dashwood shook her head mournfully. Something like tears stood in her eyes.
"I have no right to ask anything," she said. "I forfeited my right years ago. But, unless I am greatly mistaken, you could call me by a sweeter name than Lady Dashwood. My dear boy, I do not wish to pry into your secrets--you could not act in anything but a straightforward manner, I am certain. Your face tells me that. Nearly forty years ago I lost a son like you. How like he was to you I have proved by showing you that miniature. My son left Dashwood Hall vowing that nobody should ever see his face again there, and he kept his word. The blame was mine, and only mine, but I have been terribly punished for my treachery and deceit."
"I can hardly believe you guilty of those things, Lady Dashwood."
"Oh, but I was. It was the cruellest wrong, and he found me out. From that day to this I have known no happiness. Why do I talk like this to a stranger? I think you can guess. When I saw your face in the cloister the other night it seemed as if God had forgiven my sin and given my son back to me. Is that so?"
"This is very painful," Ralph stammered. "Will you trust me and be patient?"
"I can be patient. I have been patient for forty years. And your face speaks for you. Go on."
"There is little more for me to say," Ralph resumed. "For the present I can tell you nothing. If the son you speak of came back tomorrow not a soul would recognise him but you."
"And old Slight," Lady Dashwood said meaningly. "Pray do not forget him."
"And old Slight. Quite true. And I am the image of the Ralph Dashwood who left his home nearly forty years ago. There were reasons, therefore, why I did not desire to meet you, Lady Dashwood, till the time was ripe. But circumstances were too strong for me; sooner or later it had been my hope that--that----"
"I begin to understand," Lady Dashwood said as Ralph hesitated. "For the present you desire to be just Ralph Darnley. But the deception cannot continue for long."
"For long enough," Ralph smiled. "Let me confide in you to a certain extent, Lady Dashwood. I am a sentimental man as my father was before me."
"I know he was," Lady Dashwood said absently. "If he had not been, my punishment might have been less--but I am assuming too much. Please go on."
"I am a lonely man. My mother died early, and my father and myself were thrown a great deal together. We spent most of our time in California, where the population is not great. You can understand how it was that I became so retrospective. And when I came to hear of the mystery that my father had kept till the end, I began to have dreams of my own. I began to see myself the master of a lovely place, like Dashwood Hall, for instance. . . . You see that I am speaking from my heart to you now, and I know that you are going to respect my confidence and sympathise with me."
"As long as you look at me with those eyes of--yours," Lady Dashwood murmured. "We are going to be great friends, thank God. But please go on."
"Well, I had my dreams of the kind of wife who would make my home a Paradise for me, and two years ago I met her in Paris. She was proud and reserved and haughty, but all the same I knew that my instincts had not played me false. The girl likes me--of that I am certain. It sounds egotistical, but I believe that she loves me without knowing it. Had I told her of the fine old house and the good old name, there would have been no obstacles in the way. But I gave the curb to my inclinations, and my secret remained untold. . . . For nearly two years I did not see that girl, not till I came down here less than a week ago. Can you guess who it is?"
"Mary," Lady Dashwood cried. "My dear, dear Mary! And she does not know, she does not dream--indeed, how should she? You want her to----"
"To care for me, Ralph Darnley. Mary has a terrible curse, her family pride comes before her duty, and even before her religion. It is the idol that she has come to worship. Mind, I am by no means blind to the girl's virtues; I should not love her as I do otherwise. But I want to break down that family pride, I want to show Mary and prove to her that it is a mere nothing by the side of love and duty and common humanity. That is why it is merely Ralph Darnley who speaks to you today. When Mary owns her love for Ralph Darnley, and holds that love better than her pride of race, then I can speak. It may be that there is a hard lesson to be learned first, but I shall not shrink from that."
"That is how your--my son used to speak," Lady Dashwood murmured. "So gentle and firm, and yet so kind and considerate! You are going to make Mary happy despite herself."
"That is my intention," Ralph went on. "Look how she is acting now. Sir George has come within the grip of a scoundrel. I am alluding to Horace Mayfield. He has schemed out all this trouble and disaster so as to get Mary in his power. The girl's senseless pride has been Mayfield's strongest weapon. You know all about those sheriffs men, of course. Rather than have a whisper of the trouble spoken, Mary is ready to marry Horace Mayfield and condemn herself to lifelong misery and humiliation. It seems almost incredible that a girl should be so frozen into the ice of her family pride. But Mary is not going to marry Horace Mayfield, she is destined for me. The lever to remove the stone from the path is mine, and I shall know how to use it when the time comes. Already I have so brought it about that Sir George can be free of Mayfield in the course of a few days, but there is still Mary to deal with. I do not quite see my way clearly with her, but fate may play into my hands and find me an instrument which----"
Ralph paused hurriedly, for another man came noisily into the room. He was rather like Ralph as regards figure and feature and trick of expression, but his face was effeminate, and his very black eyes a little shifty and sinister. In dress and manner he had the air of a gentleman, but at the same time there was a suggestion of loudness and hardness about him that belied the description. He did not see Ralph, for he advanced noisily into the room.
"I've been looking for you everywhere," he said. "Why are you hiding here, old lady?"
Ralph's face grew stern as he stared at the intruder. The newcomer returned the stare with insolent audacity. The pleased and softened expression had left Lady Dashwood's features, she looked white and anxious, and Ralph could see that her hands were trembling. It was quite evident that she was greatly afraid of the man with the cold black eyes.
"Beg pardon," the newcomer muttered. "Didn't know you were engaged. Friend of yours?"
"Mr. Ralph Darnley," Lady Dashwood said. "A very old friend of the family, or, at any rate his father was. Let me introduce you to Mr. Vincent Dashwood."
"I have heard of you," said Ralph, with a queer vibration in his voice. "I understand that one time your father had some idea of claiming the succession to the property. I have heard my father speak of your branch of the family."
Dashwood muttered something that Ralph could not quite follow.
"We could tell a different story, the old lady and self," he went on suggestively. "I shall have a pleasant surprise for Sir George some of these days. I'm only waiting for some papers from the other side and I shall move. My father married a Californian lady, you see, and they are pretty careless there in their keeping of records. Still, it is only a matter of time."
"That is very strange," Ralph said grimly. "My father also married a Californian lady. Oh, you need not look so uncomfortable; I am not likely to interfere with your claim. Indeed, I may be in a position to assist you a little later."
Just for the moment there was a queer grey tint on Vincent Dashwood's face. He seemed to be horribly frightened about something. But the expression passed, and his old saturnine look returned. Ralph was smiling, too, as if something amused him. Lady Dashwood glanced from one to the other furtively, as if she feared some outbreak of violence. There was no means of reading Ralph's thoughts from the expression of his face, or Dashwood would not have been standing there so utterly at his ease. For he was a scoundrel of the vilest type, the class who do not hesitate to blackmail women.
"Well, I'll just go and look round till you have finished with the gentleman," Dashwood said airily. "Then mind that you are ready for our little business, old lady. I've got to be in London this evening, and no mistake about it. By the way, the Hall is in the hands of the firemen and police, but I'm told that no great damage has been done."
The speaker swaggered from the room with his hands in his pockets, whistling as he went. Ralph's expression grewstern and hard.
"So this is one of the crosses that you have to bear," he said. "At the risk of being curious, I must ask you a question. Is this the man for whose sake you have been raising money on the family jewels? How long has it been going on?"
Lady Dashwood clasped her hands and the tears came into her eyes.
"Nearly two years," she whispered. "Thank God, you have come to me, for my strength would not have borne the burden much longer. Nobody knows anything; nobody suspects but Slight. And he pretended to be my grandson. We were both utterly deceived. He knows everything, he told me all about the original quarrel, he had letters which I had written from time to time to your--to my son. And he is an infamous scoundrel. He desired me to keep his presence and his claim a secret, and for the credit of the family I did so. The few who know him think he comes from the Yorkshire side of the house. He traded on my fears; he knew what I thought of him. And when he had drained me of thousands, and in sheer despair I pressed him to push on his claim, he always pleaded that he could not get certain papers--his mother's marriage certificate, I think it was. Mind you, I believed in him implicitly; with all the sacred private information he had, I could do nothing else. And Slight also was equally deceived. He has had nearly everything of mine that he could lay his hands on. You see that I am powerless to protest; if I had forced him to speak, there would only have been a scandal. He has been getting bolder lately or he would not have spoken so freely to you just now. And directly I saw your face today I knew at once that it had all been a hideous mistake. You will free me from that man, Ralph?"
"Not quite yet," Ralph replied. "You must play your part a little longer. If, as you say, you have nothing more to bestow, you need not be afraid of him. That man has given me a new idea for bringing about the object that I have most closely at heart. I am going to make use of him, if necessary. If it is not necessary, then I shall make very short work of Mr. Vincent Dashwood. But before that you must tell me everything. Mind, I say everything as regards my--your son's marriage with Maria Edgerton. I believe that marriage was the cause of all the mischief."
"Indeed it was," Lady Dashwood said. Her voice was filled with the deepest sadness. "What will you think of me when you hear of the part I played in that unhappy affair? But I cannot tell you now, I am unfit to go into the matter at present. The shock of meeting you has been almost more than I can bear. Come and dine with me here on Saturday night, and I will tell you everything. My dear Ralph--if I may call you so in private--is it possible that your coming is the augury of a happier time for me? Happiness I won't ask for, but I should like to go down to the grave in peace."
"It shall be no fault of mine if you do not," Ralph replied. "I have planned out my scheme and I am going through with it to the end. There may be troubles and trials to come, but everything is going to end happily for us all. Goodbye."
Ralph held out his hand, but Lady Dashwood drew him down to her chair.
"Give me a kiss, my bonny boy," she whispered. "It may be as well for us to keep up the formality and play the drama till the time comes, but it is no harm to kiss an old woman and let her look into the eyes that she has seen in her dreams for forty weary years. God bless you, Ralph, and prosper your schemes, for nothing you do will be wrong."
Ralph went on his way presently through the shrubbery in the direction of the Hall. A great crowd of people still lingered there, but the police had kept almost intact the trim lawn and the beds of brilliant flowers. Inside the house were a posse of police and a few firemen from Longtown. In the stable yard the scarlet fire engine glittered in the sun. So far as it was possible to see, no great harm had been done.
Nobody was allowed in the house except the firemen and police, an inspector informed Ralph, who had asked for Sir George. None of the structure had been much damaged, none of the furniture had suffered anything except from smoke and water. There was just a suspicion that one of the great beams under the hall floor was still smouldering, and the firemen were going to stay until they were absolutely sure on the point.
"Most extraordinary thing, Darnley," Sir George said. "There seemed to be nothing but smoke. Slight will tell you that there was nothing but smoke. At the present moment an expert in this kind of things is making an examination with a view to discovering the cause of the outbreak. Nuisance to have these people here, but it can't be helped."
"Better these, Sir George, than Mr. Mayfield's friends," Slight croaked. "At any rate, we have got rid of them for the present. If somebody set the house afire on purpose, they could not have done us a better turn, seems to me."
Slight spoke loudly as a man in a kind of uniform came up. He touched his cap to Sir George, and looked fixedly at the old butler. Evidently he had overheard what was said.
"Many things more unlikely than that," he said. "Sir George, I think that I have discovered the origin of the mischief, if you will kindly come this way."
"Of course I was joking," Slight said indignantly. "You don't suppose that I mean to imply that the fire was anything but an accident, Mr. Sayers?"
"All the same it was no accident," the official said grimly. "If you will come this way, I will prove to you that the fire was a wicked and deliberate act on the part of somebody."
There was a smile on Slight's face, as if he rather enjoyed the situation. After all was said and done, the culprit had been successful in bringing about the thing the old butler most desired. Fortunately no harm had been done to the house; there was nothing the matter beyond the damage caused by smoke and water, nothing that the work of a day or two could not put right. At the same time this attempt to destroy the house had been the means of removing from it the trio whose presence had been so great a humiliation. The police had cleared everybody out of the house, indeed the Hall was likely to remain empty now till they had investigated the causes of the fire.
"It might have been worse, sir," Slight whispered to Ralph. "It's a good way of getting rid of those fellows till Sir George is ready to pack them off altogether. Whoever did this was a sort of friend of ours."
Ralph started. Slight's suggestion had given him a sudden idea.
"That may be," he said, "but you will admit that the experiment is a risky one. The place might have been utterly destroyed. Still, it is yet to be proved that this is the work of an incendiary. I can hardly believe that it is."
The inspector led the way to the Hall. So far as the eye of a novice could judge, it was here that the fire had burst out. The floor was black and scarred and a few beams were still hot from the effects of the flames. The floor was littered with some crisp ashes.
"Now I want to call your attention to this, Sir George," the inspector said. "Nothing has been destroyed here, nothing but the floor and a portion of the ceiling. There must have been a very fierce blaze here, and yet there is nothing for the flames to feed on. Then where did all those crisp short ashes come from? See what a pile there is of them! What was it that burnt here so fiercely?"
"It certainly is a strange thing," Sir George murmured.
"Very strange, sir.' There was nothing left on the hall floor last night, I suppose? No packing cases or anything of that kind, Sir George?"
"There was not," Slight exclaimed. "I can answer for that, nothing whatever."
"Which renders my suspicions all the more certain," the official went on. "The short crisp ashes represented straw, a large bundle of straw dumped down on the floor and set fire to by some person or other. Please look at this."
The speaker stooped down and gathered up a handful of the crisp ashes, smoothing them out on the palm of his hand. At intervals there were yellow shining specks in the grains.
"Will you kindly look closely?" he said. "Amongst the charred mass you can plainly see specks of straw that have escaped the fire. It seems to me an amazing thing that anybody could carry straw into the house like this without being found out. But there it is, and there is an end of it. You are quite sure as to the straw, Sir George?"
"Quite," Dashwood muttered. "Most amazing. We did not go to bed till very late, which makes it all the more remarkable. It must have been practically daylight before the miscreant could have begun to work."
"It certainly is a novelty," the Inspector replied, "but I want to convince you fully that I am right in my conclusion. You will see that parts of the ashes, very minute parts, are plastered together as if they were wet. Also you will see that the floor has been burnt in a kind of channel nearly as far as the door. It is only a narrow channel, but at the same time it is perfectly well defined. Now, what caused the floor to burn in that erratic manner? I am going to tell you. Let us follow that track up as far as the door. There is a large stone with little cracks at the side into which a liquid of some kind has fallen or run rather."
The speaker bent down and rolled a scrap of paper into the moisture which lay shining in the crack of the stone. Then he handed the paper to Sir George.
"Will you kindly smell that, sir," he asked, "and tell me what you make of it?"
"No trouble at all about that," Dashwood exclaimed; "the stuff is paraffin beyond a doubt."
"Precisely. The straw was dumped on the floor and then saturated with paraffin. If the straw was slightly damp, that would account for the dense quantity of smoke. The paraffin ran into little ripples over the floor, which accounts for the strange track of the flames. But we can ascertain that to a certainty."
A question or two being asked, it was discovered that a large can of petroleum was missing from one of the toolsheds. A little later the empty tin was discovered in one of the flower-beds. The discussion was at its height when Mary appeared. She looked very pale and shaky, otherwise she maintained her self-possession. But as she listened to the strange story it seemed to Ralph Darnley that she was disturbed about something. The pallor of her face became more marked, her eyes filled with something like fear. Did the girl know anything about it, Ralph asked himself? If not, why did she appear to be so strangely moved by the plain recital? The thought was ignoble and unworthy, but Ralph could not free himself from it altogether. He drew Mary a little apart from the rest; he could see that she was trembling with some strong emotion.
"The old house has had a very narrow escape," he began. "All Horace Mayfield's carefully prepared plans were very nearly in vain. If the house had been destroyed----"
"I--I did not look at it in that light," Mary stammered. "As you say, nothing could have mattered had the house perished. Where are those men now?"
"I don't know. It does not in the least matter. As things stand at present, the police will not permit anybody to be in the house except one or two like ourselves. Until their investigations are complete and they have gathered all their evidence, nobody will be permitted to sleep in the house. The men you speak of will be treated just like anybody else. It seems as if Fate were fighting on your side, Mary. You have no occasion to fear Horace Mayfield now."
Mary smiled faintly. It was evident that she was deeply troubled about something.
"I think I understand you," she said presently. "The loss of the house would have been a dreadful grief to me. But, still, these natural misfortunes happen to all of us, and I daresay I could have suffered the loss as well as most people. And the blow would have possessed many compensations. To be free from Horace Mayfield, ah!"
Mary finished her speech with a deep, long-drawn sigh. But the whiteness did not leave her face, the look of fear still lurked in her blue eyes. Ralph took a step forward and bent down so that he could whisper his words into Mary's ear.
"Your pride would have carried you through that," he said. "At the same time, your position had driven you almost to despair. You know more than you care to say, Mary, you know more than the rest of us how the fire came about. Can you look me in the face and deny it? Are you going to tell me the truth?"
Mary's face flamed with anger. She stepped back, and her passionate eyes flashed in Ralph's direction. He could see the crimson mounting to her temples.
"Perhaps you would like to accuse me of the crime?" she asked breathlessly. "Perhaps you would like to suggest that I did it to save a scandal? That I risked my own life, and the lives of other people, because I was afraid of a paltry disgrace? Is there anything else that you would like to imply, Mr. Darnley?"
"You are talking nonsense," Ralph said coldly, "and you know it. I am not insinuating anything of the kind. But you know quite well who the culprit is."
Suddenly Mary's manner changed. She grew quiet and docile. Ralph could see that her lips were trembling, and that she found it hard to keep back the tears.
"Forgive me," she whispered. "Think how hard I am tried, how hard it all is for me. If I were a man I should probably take a more rational view of the case. Remember how my whole heart and soul are wrapped up in this house. I could fight to save it from contamination as a mother would try to shield an erring son. If I lost it I should die!"
"You would not," Ralph said. "If, by any trick of fortune, Dashwood Hall passed out of your possession, it would be the very best thing that ever happened to you. If you had to go out into the world to get your own living it would be the making of your character. It would bring out all the natural nobility of your nature--you would look back to the past with remorse. Of that I am certain."
"Indeed," Mary said coldly. "Perhaps you would like to bring that misfortune about?"
"I should," Ralph retorted. "If I could be cruel to be kind like that, I should not hesitate for a moment. But we are getting a long way from the point. I said that if you had no hand in this business, you know who did it."
"I have my suspicions. But, until I can verify them, it would be wrong to speak. Even if I knew for certain, I should hesitate to tell anybody what I had discovered. One thing I can promise you--the attempt will not be made again. . . . What are those people so excited about? Have they made some fresh discovery? Let us go and see."
Sir George and the Inspector were closely examining some shining object that the latter held in the palm of his hand. There was a grim look on Slight's face.
"What is it?" Ralph asked. "What is the latest sensational development of the mystery?"
"This, sir," the Inspector exclaimed. "We have found this matchbox under the burnt straw."
The silver matchbox was a peculiar one and quite out of the common run of such things. It had a spring lid deeply engraved with a hunting scene, in the centre of the medallion a pair of initials were ingeniously woven together in small stones. The Inspector asked Sir George if he could identify it as part of the family property.
"Never saw it before," Dashwood said promptly. "I am certain that the thing does not belong to anybody in my house. What do you make the initials to be?"
"'V.D.' or 'D.V.'", sir, the Inspector said. "That is perfectly plain. Now does anybody know a person who bears those initials? I should say that the matches are of foreign make, for they are flat, wooden ones, such as one rarely sees in this country. The first thing we have to do is to find out who is this 'V.D.' or 'D.V.' is. He seems to have dropped his matchbox into the fire. Probably, the blaze startled him by its suddenness. But I don't suppose we shall find much difficulty in proving who the owner is."
Sir George shook his head: evidently the puzzle was utterly beyond him. Slight crossed over to one of the windows as if the whole subject had ceased to interest him. He made a sign to Ralph and the latter joined the old servant. He could see that Slight was suppressing a certain excitement.
"What is the matter?" he asked. "Have you solved the problem?"
"No, Mr. Ralph, I've only made it worse," Slight whispered. "I know quite well who that box belongs to, for I've seen it in his possession a score of times, to say nothing of the initials. Did you not meet a Mr. Vincent Dashwood at the dower house today?"
Ralph started in his turn. Vincent Dashwood's initials were on that box surely enough. And, that being the case, what did Mary know of the man? Was she shielding the man who gave out more or less directly that he was the proper owner of Dashwood Hall? Mary was not the girl to show any clemency to an impostor, and if, on the other hand, she did not regard him as an impostor she would be the last person to pretend to a position that she had no right to occupy. But Slight would know.
"I did meet that man you name, but I can't understand how you came to know it so soon," Ralph said. "A tiger, if I ever saw one, Slight. And he let me know pretty clearly that he had more than a passing claim toa dealthat other people are enjoying. Is Mr. Vincent Dashwood pretty well known to people here, Slight?"
"Not to anybody but her ladyship and myself," Slight replied. "Mind you, I can't make out whether he's an impostor or not; at least, I was very uncertain in my mind until you came along, sir. He claims to be the son of the late Ralph Dashwood and he has proofs that would satisfy any court in England; and anyone except me. As yet he can't produce the certificate of marriage of his mother and father. But he has any number of private papers,--letters from her ladyship to her son and all the rest of it, to say nothing of being familiar with the place. He didn't want to make a fuss about his claim; he wanted to have it quite plain first. He's been here for a long time."
"Blackmailing Lady Dashwood, I suppose? The fellow is too cowardly to claim the property out and out. In that case he would either have to substantiate his claim or run the risk of a long term of imprisonment if he failed. And, meanwhile, Lady Dashwood displays a weakness that is almost criminal. She half doubts this rascal, and yet at the same time she allows him to take the proceeds of the disposal of the family jewels. Half of the weakness is dictated by the dread of Miss Mary finding out the truth. If there are other reasons----"
"Ay, there are other reasons, Mr. Ralph," Slight said in a broken voice. "If you only knew everything, you would pity her ladyship. She has kept this secret as well as she has kept the rest. Miss Mary knows nothing; she was meant to know nothing."
"And now she will know everything, everybody will know everything. The story of the matchbox will have to be told, and the owner will have to explain how it came here and who he is. You should have known better, Slight, than try to keep a secret like this. Sooner or later the explosion was bound to come. What are you going to do about it now?"
"I'm not going to do anything, sir," Slight said bluntly. "It is not for me in my position to push myself forward. Let the police hunt the matter up for themselves. If Mr. Vincent Dashwood likes to lie low it makes no difference to us."
Ralph smiled at the suggestion. It was so like the policy of the house to leave things to chance like this. In a vague way, Ralph began to see that Fate was playing into his hands. He would let the rod fall. He would be cruel to be kind. As to the rest, it was in Mary's hands; all would depend upon how she behaved for the next day or two. It all stood out clearly in Ralph's mind now like the thread of a connected story.
"I'll go as far as the dower house," he said thoughtfully. "I should like to say a few words to Mr. Vincent Dashwood. Am I likely to find him there?"
"You are that, Mr. Ralph," Slight snapped. "When he isn't spending the money that does not belong to him, he is generally to be found not far from her ladyship. And this game has been going on for the last two years. I'm an old man, and hope I know my position in the place to which God has called me, but I've come very near to shooting that man more than once. Calls himself a Dashwood, and he has all the papers to prove himself a Dashwood, and yet he is no more a chip off the old block than I am. And yet you can't trip him up in anything, only in one way."
"And what is that?" Ralph smiled.
"Well, he wasn't astonished to see you, sir. He pretends to be the son of the late Ralph Dashwood, and, as such must have a pretty good idea of his father's physical appearance. Now you are the very image of what Mr. Ralph used to be. And this Vincent does not comment upon your likeness to my late young master. Why don't you step in, sir, why don't you step in and drive the blackguard away?"
"All in good time," Ralph replied. "You may rest assured that I shall speak out to some purpose when I am ready. Now I'll go as far as the dower house. I take it that the family will sleep there tonight."
Ralph crossed the lawn thoughtfully in the direction of the dower house. He understood the footman to say that her ladyship was somewhere in the garden.
Lady Dashwood was found at last, seated under a spacious cedar tree, which was one of the ornaments of the garden. She was not alone, for Vincent Dashwood was by her side. The man seemed to be hot and angry about something, and it was evident that Lady Dashwood had been weeping. A quick anger possessed Ralph, and it was all he could do to refrain from laying hands on this impostor, who was causing such trouble and misery here. A few words and the bubble would be pricked. Still, there was always the great plan before Ralph's eyes, the plan of his life with which nothing must interfere. He would have withdrawn now, only Lady Dashwood caught sight of him and beckoned him to her side. Vincent Dashwood scowled openly at the intruder.
"I was just coming over to see you," Ralph said. "You will be pleased to hear that the fire has done no particular damage, nothing that a little soap and water and some paint can't put right. But for the present the police and the fire people prefer that the house should not be used. As to the servants----"
"They can all come here," Lady Dashwood said. "I will go over and see Sir George without delay. But, seeing that the house is all right, why do the authorities interfere in this unreasonable way?"
"They think that they have made an important discovery," Ralph explained. "They are under the impression that the fire is not an accident, and, really, I have been converted to the same opinion. It seems almost incredible, but somebody brought a lot of straw into the house and set it on fire, after saturating the mass with paraffin. There is no doubt about the straw, for fragments of it can be seen in the ashes, and distinct traces of paraffin can be found. Had not the floor and the walls been as hard as iron, a great tragedy might have taken place. But, to make matters certain, the police found a silver matchbox with a monogram in the ashes."
"The blackguards!" Vincent Dashwood cried. "I'm glad of that. Let us hope that the box will lead to the discovery of the culprit."
"That is not quite likely," Ralph said drily. "I came over here on purpose to get at the bottom of that matchbox business. It is rather a novelty in the way of a box, for I have seen it--even the matches are original. The monogram on it is 'V. D.,' which happens to be your initials, Mr. Dashwood. To go further, old Slight says the box is yours. Can you account for this strange happening?"
Dashwood started and changed colour. He plunged his hands into his pockets apparently in search of something he was unable to find.
"I've lost it," he cried. "There is no denying the fact, Mr. Darnley, that I had just the kind of box you describe. It is possible that I dropped it, and the culprit picked it up. I should hardly be likely--to----"
The speaker paused, and Ralph filled in the rest of the speech for him.
"I perfectly understand," he said drily. "It is hardly likely that Mr. Vincent Dashwood would go out of his way to destroy a property which sooner or later he looks forward to enjoying as his own. I think that is what you mean to convey?"