The fire had not, I found, done much injury. It had commenced in a kind of miscellaneous store-room; but the origin of the fire appeared to me, as it did to the police-officers that had been summoned, perfectly unaccountable. 'Had it not been discovered in time, and extinguished,' I observed to Mrs Rivers, 'you would all have been burned in your beds.'
'Why, no,' replied that lady, with some strangeness of manner. 'On the night of the fire, Annie and I slept at Mr Elsworthy's' (I have omitted to notice, that my brother-in-law and family had returned to their old residence), 'and Mr Dutton remained in London, whither he had gone to see the play.'
'But the servants might have perished?'
'No. A whim, apparently, has lately seized Mr Dutton, that no servant or labourer shall sleep under the same roof with himself; and those new outhouses, where their bedrooms are placed are, you see, completely detached, and are indeed, as regards this dwelling, made fire-proof.'
At this moment Mr Dutton appeared, and interrupted our conversation. He took me aside. 'Well,' he said, 'to what conclusion have you come? The work of an incendiary, is it not? Somebody, too, that knows I am not insured'——
'Not insured!'
'No; not for this dwelling-house. I did not renew the policy some months ago.'
'Then,' I jestingly remarked, 'you, at all events, are safe from any accusation of having set fire to your premises with the intent to defraud the insurers.'
'To be sure—to be sure, I am,' he rejoined with quick earnestness, as if taking my remark seriously. 'That is quite certain. Some one, I am pretty sure it must be,' he presently added, 'that owes me a grudge—with whom I have quarrelled, eh?'
'It may be so, certainly.'