“I am glad to see you, Lord Caranby,” said the detective, when the old gentleman was accommodated with the chair, “have you had breakfast?”

“Thank you, yes.  But I could not eat any,” said Caranby, breathing heavily.  “Those stairs of, yours are trying, Mr. Jennings.  I am not so young or so strong as I was.”

“You don’t look the picture of health, my lord.”

“Can you expect a dying man to?”

“Dying—­oh, no, you—­”

“Dying,” insisted Caranby, rapping his stick on the ground.  “I know that I have not many months to live, and I sha’n’t be sorry when the end comes.  I have had a hard time.  Cuthbert will soon be standing in my shoes.  I suffer from an incurable complaint, Mr. Jennings, and my doctor tells me I shall die soon.”

“I am sure Mallow will be sorry,” said Jennings, wondering why Caranby, ordinarily the most reticent of men, should tell him all this.

“Yes—­yes, Cuthbert is a good fellow.  I should like to see him happy and settled with Miss Saxon before I die.  But Maraquito will do her best to hinder the match.”

“She may soon have enough to do to look after herself,” said Jennings grimly.  “I shall see that she gets her deserts.”

“What do you suspect her of?” asked Caranby hastily.

“I can’t tell you yet.  I have no proofs.  But I am suspicious.”

“She is a bad woman,” said the old man.  “I am certain of that.  And she will stop at nothing to marry Cuthbert.  But this is not what I came to see you about, Mr. Jennings.  You asked my permission to go over my house at Rexton?”

“I did.  And I was coming to-day to get the permission confirmed.”

“Then I am sorry to say you cannot go over it.”

“Why not?” asked Jennings, wondering why Lord Caranby had changed his mind—­a thing he rarely did.  “I only want to—­”

“Yes!  Yes!” Caranby waved his hand impatiently, “but the fact is, the house has been burnt down.”

“Burnt down—­at Rexton!” cried Jennings, jumping from his seat.

“Yes.  It caught fire in some way last night, about eight o’clock.  There was a high wind blowing, and the house has been burnt to the ground.  Not only that, but, as the weather has been dry, the whole of the trees and shrubs and undergrowth in the park have gone likewise.  I am informed that everything within the circle of that wall is a heap of ashes.  Quite a burning of Rome,” chuckled Caranby.

“Do you suspect the house was set on fire?”

“Of course I do.  Even though the weather is hot, I don’t think this can be a case of spontaneous combustion.  Probably some tramp—­”

“No,” said Jennings decisively, “it is strange you should come to me with this news.  One of my men has lately been here, and he tells me that a man was arrested near Rexton last night for passing false money.  He had on him a bottle of petroleum and some rags.”