“All right, squire. It shall go up in the course of the day.”
“Good-morning, gentlemen,” said the squire, walking out of the store.
“I guess the squire won’t lose a cent,” said Sam Tilden, after he went out. “It’s likely the insurance money will pay him handsome if the policy was took out years ago. I shouldn’t wonder if he’s glad the old house is gone. It was awfully out of repair.”
“Very likely you’re right,” said John Gaylord. “I’d rather have the money than the house, for my part.”
For the first time a light came to Harry’s mind. He felt that he understood the whole matter now. Squire Turner didn’t want the house, which would require considerable outlay to make it habitable, and he did want the money for which it was insured. As the shortest way to secure this, he had himself set the house on fire. Now, no doubt, he meant to come upon the company for the amount of insurance money. To Harry’s mind this looked like a swindle, like obtaining money by false pretences. Yet here was Squire Turner, the richest man in the village, occupying a very prominent—indeed the most prominent—position in town, who was actually going to carry out this fraud. Nobody except he knew that the squire was himself the incendiary. What ought he to do about it? Should he allow the insurance company to be swindled?
“Do you think Squire Turner will collect his insurance money, Mr. Gaylord?” he asked, of the chief clerk.
“Do I think so? Of course he will. He’d be a fool if he didn’t.”
“But people seem to think that the house wasn’t worth as much as the sum it was insured for.”
“Very likely not; but it was when it was insured, and as the payments have been kept up regular, the insurance company can’t complain as I see.”
“Suppose the man that set the house on fire should be caught?”