Then he put the Midland Echo on the fire and watched it crumble away into ashes, continuing to stand there upon the hearthrug deep in thought.
There were many aspects of the position in which he found himself that he alone could see. At first it seemed best to him that he should go to the police and explain to them fully the part he had taken in the affair. But then it was hardly creditable for him to associate himself in so scandalous a matter or to admit such a person as Edward Povey, who to his mind was clearly a guilty person, as a relative. Besides, his story might not be believed.
Inspector Melton, too, would make it as hot as he could for him. He was not likely to forget that Councillor Jarman had voted against the proposed increase of salary for the hard-worked police official. He grew cold and hot by turns, too, as he thought of the handle he was giving to his opponent in the forthcoming parliamentary election, in which he, Jasper Jarman, had been persuaded to stand in the interests of Free Trade.
He remembered with a pang the affair of a fire which had taken place at his warehouse a year since. The insurance company involved had been introduced to him by his nephew, and had been curiously unenthusiastic in settling his claim.
To be mixed up in any police court affair with Povey would be to open the question again. The company had been hard hit and had refused to renew his policy, and Jasper felt sure they would not let pass any chance to get even with him.
There were also some things in the past life of the carpet manufacturer which caused him to shun any chance of cross-examination. There was a man who had invented a new shuttle (a machine from which Jasper had made thousands), who was now living in poverty in the slums of Kidderminster, swearing revenge against the man who had sucked his brain and reaped the reward of his labours.
The more he thought, the more a blind and unreasoning panic seized the soul of the carpet manufacturer. Any connection with Povey would cause much dirty water to be stirred up. Better far, he told himself, to leave the country until the affair had blown over or had been satisfactorily explained. He would have it given out that his health had broken down.
He took an "ABC Guide" from the top of a revolving bookcase and opened it at random: Draycot (Derby)—Draycot (Somerset)—Drayton (Norfolk)—147-½ miles from King's Cross—Population 486—Ah! that ought to suit in the mean time. He moved cautiously to the door. For a moment he stood in an attitude of listening, then unlocked it. The whole framework of nerve which had made Jasper Jarman what he was, seemed to break and crumble away before the panic which had seized him.
On second thoughts, however, perhaps it were better to bury himself in the heart of London, in the network of the metropolis where it is so easy to lie hidden. He wrote a letter to his wife, who was spending a few days in Birmingham, telling her the fiction of his health, then he rang the bell for the servant.
As the man entered the room and stood awaiting his orders, his master scanned him narrowly. The man seemed quite normal.