"No thanks to that young man," Sir George grumbled. "I tell you he was responsible for the fire. His matchbox was found there. Walters saw him by the house. Why Lady Dashwood doesn't get rid of the fellow passes my comprehension." "But I have just been trying to explain to you, only you won't listen," Mary responded with some show of impatience. "There are the most powerful reasons why Mr. Vincent Dashwood does not desire the destruction of the house. Mr. Darnley told me all about it last night. Vincent Dashwood claims to be the son of Ralph Dashwood." Sir George started as if something had stung him. He had been so wrapped up in his own selfishness up to now that he had no ears for anything else. Mary's statement almost overpowered him. Many things suddenly became plain to the baronet's understanding. He rose to his feet and paced up and down the room in terrible agitation. "Is this really a fact?" he demanded. "I cannot believe it, and yet, and yet, I have met that fellow a good many times, and the oftener I see him, the more does he impress me unfavourably. I see now that there must have been some powerful reason why Lady Dashwood should tolerate the man. But why did she not tell us at once, why did she go on feeding him with money? for I can now quite see why she was not in a position to do me a favour the other night. If what you say is correct, Mary, then we are little better than beggars. Still, the reason for all this mystery----" "Is not so strange when one comes to understand, father. It appears that Ralph Dashwood married an American lady somewhere in the wildest part of California. There has been a great difficulty in finding the marriage certificate. Lady Dashwood is quite convinced that the man we are speaking of is her grandson." Sir George broke out into feeble whinings, he grew almost tearful. And as he became weak and sentimental, so did Mary grow harder. If this crowning blow had to fall, then nobody should hear a word of weakness from her. For her part she could have fought this man, even if it had left her penniless before the world. She clenched her teeth upon her lip to keep down the rising tide of bitter reproaches. Then she turned to see that Vincent Dashwood, together with Inspector Drake, had entered the room. The former looked heated and indignant, for he had been giving a piece of his mind to the policeman. "I am glad to find you here, Sir George," he shouted. "The police are making all kinds of accusations against me. They say, forsooth, that I have tried to burn the house down, and all because a matchbox of mine was found in the ashes. I suppose I am not the first man in the world who has lost a matchbox. And I've been telling Drake here that I have every reason that the house should not be injured." "So my daughter informs me," Sir George replied in the same whining voice. "Seeing that you claim to be the son of Ralph Dashwood----"