STRATEGY
Meanwhile the police were pushing on their investigations into the
causes leading up to the fire at Dashwood Hall with great energy. The
clue of the matchbox was held to be an important one, and now that the
owner of the toy had been discovered, important developments were
expected. In the _interim_, Vincent Dashwood returned from London,
having forgotten all about his loss. It was brought back to his mind
with unpleasant force after luncheon the following day by a visit from
the inspector of police.
Dashwood was lounging at the table, smoking a cigarette. Lady Dashwood
sat opposite to him, her slim hands folded in her lap. She was looking
white and worn; her eyes seemed to seek her companion in weary misery.
"I don't see what you have to complain of," Dashwood was saying. "I've
done everything to please you. Here I am, a kind of mystery in the
house, living more or less on your bounty, whilst all the time I might
have been Sir Vincent Dashwood, with a fine property behind me. And
any time I want a few pounds you grumble."
"That is not a true statement of the case," Lady Dashwood said in her
resigned way. "You told me you could do nothing till you received the
certificate of your father's marriage. As to the rest, I accepted you
implicitly as my grandson. After the proofs that you placed in my
hands, I had no alternative."
"Much as you would have liked one," Dashwood sneered.
"Yes, if you will force me to speak plainly. Many a time I have prayed
that a child of my son's should be sent to me. But you are not in the
least like your father. He was wild and headstrong, and he never
forgave the shameful way we treated him, but he was a gentleman."
"Meaning that I'm not one, eh? Well, hard words break no bones. For
the sake of peace and quietness, I've kept my claim from everybody but
you; to please you I have suppressed the truth till I can get that
certificate. And in return you promised me that I should not suffer.
And now you refuse me a paltry £500."
"I have not refused it you. I have not the money. And you have had all
my jewels, jewels valued at nearly £30,000. In my weakness and folly I
parted with the property which does not belong to me. £30,000 in the
space of a year! Where has the money gone?"
"Now if that isn't just like a woman," Dashwood growled. "I daresay
those stones were valued at the sum you mention, but to get that for
them is a different matter. To be candid, I pawned your gems for less
than a third of that money. And when I tried to raise a further loan
on the same security, I was met with a pointblank refusal. So you see,
I have not been so very extravagant after all."
Lady Dashwood sighed bitterly. She was getting used to vulgar scenes
like this. And yet there was hope that before long she would be freed
from the bloodsucker. She watched him now as he sat sprawling in his
chair, flicking the ashes of his cigarette into a priceless Sevres
dessert dish. How could she ever have taken him for her grandson, she
wondered? Why had she been so weak and feeble?
A servant entered at the same moment with an intimation to the effect
that somebody desired to see Mr. Dashwood. The gentleman was waiting
in the dining-room. A dull flush of annoyance came over Dashwood's
face.
"Some meddling creditor," he muttered. "A London tradesman, who has
managed to get my address from somewhere. Goodbye to all peace if once
my retreat has got known. Tell the man to call again, Charles. I can't
see him."
"Begging your pardon, sir," the footman said respectfully, "it is not
a tradesman, and he said he must see you on the most important
business. The gentleman is Inspector Drake, the head constable from
Longtown."
Dashwood's teeth clicked together; his face turned to a dull ashen
hue. He had been suddenly stricken by some mortal fear; he could not
disguise the fact from Lady Dashwood. Her heart sank within her as she
glanced fearfully at the white set face on the other side of the
table. She wondered what new disgrace was here.
"I--I'll come in a minute," Dashwood muttered thickly. "This room is
so hot that it makes one feel quite faint. Charles, give me a glass of
brandy from the sideboard. A large glass without water. Ah!"
The white face resumed a little of its colour and the teeth ceased to
chatter as the potent spirit got in its work. With an uneasy swagger,
Dashwood crossed over to the door, but his heart was beating thick and
fast and there was a great lump in his throat that he could not quite
succeed in swallowing. But the inspector of police knew nothing of
this as he responded curtly enough to Dashwood's insolent salutation.
"And what can I do for you?" the latter asked. "This is a very
inconvenient hour for me."
"Very sorry for that, sir," the official said coolly. "But my duty is
plain. I should like to have a few words with you as to the fire at
Dashwood Hall."
A strange sense of relief, almost of exultation, came over the
listener. He could breathe more freely now; all his swagger came back
to him. The visit of the officer had nothing to do with any episode
out of a dark and dubious past.
"What can I tell you about that?" he asked. "I know nothing of it."
"Well, it's like this, sir," Drake proceeded to explain. "We have
established beyond all shadow of a doubt that the fire was not caused
by accident. Straw was laid deliberately on the floor of the hall, and
as deliberately soaked in petroleum. We found the rest of the straw,
and also we found the empty drum of oil, which had been taken from one
of the outhouses. All this must have happened in the early hours of
the morning. It was a very good thing that the timbers of the house
are so sound, or nothing could have saved the place. As it is, the
fire burnt itself out."
"But what has all this got to do with me?" Dashwood asked impatiently.
"Half a minute, sir. I was merely telling you that this was the work
of an incendiary. Once having established the fact, we will get to
business. We searched in the ashes, and we were so fortunate as to
find this."
Drake held up the familiar matchbox and handed it to Dashwood. He
looked just a little uneasy, but there was no suggestion of guilt
about him.
"We found this peculiar matchbox in the straw, sir," Drake went on.
"The theory is that it was dropped by somebody who was connected with
the fire. Suppose that the culprit was disturbed, or perhaps the
sudden blaze was so fierce that the box fell and could not be
recovered. I want to know if you have seen this box before?"
Dashwood turned the silver toy over in his hands for a moment. There
was nothing to be gained by concealing the truth.
"I understand your insinuation," he said. "As a matter of fact, that
box belongs to me, and, as I dare say you are aware, my initials are
engraved upon it. The box is a novelty in its way; I bought it some
years ago in America. Do you mean to say that this was found in the
ashes of the fire?"
"It was, sir. I picked it up myself. The butler, Slight, recognised it
as belonging to you. Now you will see why I came to you."
"Oh, of course. So your beautiful intelligence suggests that I had
some hand in that fire. If you only knew the true position of affairs,
you would know that I am the very last person in the world to want
anything to happen to the Hall. But that is a detail which we may come
to presently. Meanwhile, I am prepared to accept the responsibility of
calling myself the owner of the box. I must have been careless enough
to drop it and somebody picked it up--the somebody who tried to set
fire to the Hall. I'm afraid that I can't tell you any more than
that."
"All the same, I'm afraid I must go a little farther, sir," Drake
said. "That box is yours and it was found in the ashes of the fire. It
appears that some time before the fire broke out one of the servants
at the Hall was called up to take a message to Mr. Mayfield, who is
staying in a farmhouse not far from here. The servant's name is
Walters. He went back to his quarters over the stables, and as it was
a fine night and he did not feel in the least sleepy, he sat by the
open window and smoked a cigarette. He says that a little before
two--close to the time when the fire broke out--he saw somebody come
from the direction of the house and cross the lawn. The figure was
moving rapidly, and apparently desired to escape observation. When
Walters was asked if he could recognise the figure in question, he
said positively that he could. I asked him to give it a name, and, to
make a long story short, he said it was you, sir."
There was no mistaking the dry suggestiveness in Drake's manner. He
was not in the least apologetic now, he made his statement with the
air of a man who is sure of his ground. Dashwood changed colour
slightly.
"This is ridiculous," he cried. "The idea that I should have any
motive for destroying the old house is out of the question. If you
knew who I really am----"
"That is not the point, sir. The question is were you there?"
"Yes, I was," Dashwood said in a kind of sullen desperation. "I was
out at that hour. The best thing I can do is to come as far as the
Hall and have it out with Walters. I see that the time has come when I
must tell the truth."