THE SILVER CLUE
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 to
_a deal_ that 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?"