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 _rôle_ 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?