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 y............