"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 He would have withdrawn now, only Lady Dashwood caught sight of him and beckoned him to her side.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.