Ralph's first feeling was one of contempt. It was almost incredible that a man of Sir George's position could behave in so childish and weak a fashion. Here was the diplomatist who had been so popular in Paris, so bland and dignified, assuming the r?le of a silly girl who had lost some foolish ornament. For the time being he had cast his manhood entirely behind him. He sat on the couch with the tears streaming down his cheeks, great sobs burst from his chest.

"Gone!" he wailed. "Absolutely vanished. I locked them up in a desk last night, or the night before, and now they have disappeared. Don't tell me they have not been stolen, because I know better. Besides, nothing else is disturbed. And those papers were there to prove my absolute claim to Dashwood Hall. With those documents in my possession I could have raised as much money as I needed. I could have returned here in a day or two and rid myself of that scoundrel, Mayfield, for ever. He meant to cover me with ignominy and disgrace, but the fire prevented that. And now he has managed to get those papers stolen."

"That is impossible," Ralph cried. "He did not know of their existence."

"Why not! How can you prove that he didn't know? He is one of the cleverest scoundrels in the world. He gets to know everything, and he was actually under my roof on the very night that the papers were so marvellously recovered. It is just possible that he was spying about all the time."

"It does not seem at all probable," Lady Dashwood said in a faint whisper.

"Oh, yes, it does," Sir George replied. "I'm quite ready to argue it out either way. We will admit that Mayfield didn't know till later, till the next morning, in fact, when I told him what had happened, and practically ordered him out of the house. He saw at once then that he no longer held me in his grip; he wanted nobody to tell him that those precious papers were close at hand. He made up his mind to obtain possession of them without delay. Therefore, he invented the idea of the fire--a fire that would cause a deal of smoke and confusion and yet not do much harm. Under cover of the fire he stole the papers."

Ralph was listening with a kind of painful toleration of the snuffling speaker. A startling idea came into his mind now. He glanced at Lady Dashwood, who seemed to read his thoughts. In the light of their especial knowledge, facts pointed to quite another individual as the culprit. If the fire had been the work of an incendiary, then that criminal was undoubtedly Vincent Dashwood, whose matchbox had been found in the ashes. Vincent Dashwood had palpably been uneasy when the missing matchbox had been mentioned, he was still more uneasy at Ralph's suggestion that he had been hanging about Dashwood Hall within an hour or so of the outbreak. Was there some deep and powerful reason why Vincent Dashwood desired to see the old house burnt to the ground? Was it to bury some secret in the ashes?

The more Ralph pondered over this, the deeper the mystery became. He could see quite clearly how Mayfield's scheme would benefit by possession of those papers. What he could not fathom was what Vincent Dashwood had to gain by a disastrous fire. He would go into this without taking anybody into his confidence, Ralph thought. There was yet another danger that struck much closer at the root of his happiness--the position in which Mary stood in the face of this catastrophe.

He glanced across at the girl, who stood on the far side of the drawing-room with the light of the shaded lamps on her face. He could see that her features were pale and drawn, that there was a hunted, haunted look in her eyes. It was quite evident that she fully appreciated the danger of the situation. And yet the feeling uppermost in her mind was the feeling of bitterness and sorrow for the sorry part her father was playing.

"I should like to understand the position fully," she said. "What difference does the loss of those papers imply? Cannot you do without them, father?"

"I am helpless, my dear," Sir George groaned. "I am the head of the family, and the man who enjoys the revenue of the estates, and I shall probably continue to do so until I die. But for the next six months or so I could not raise a penny on the property, not till the time mentioned in the late owner's will expires, when I become legally possessed of everything, even though a direct heir of Ralph Dashwood appears. Then I can borrow as much money as I please. Now, I am absolutely at the mercy of Horace Mayfield."

The pallor on Mary's face deepened; hope faded from her heart. She was in the toils again and made no attempt to disguise the fact. It was quite immaterial to her who had those papers, ............