So to Rexton the detective went, and found a large crowd round the wall of the park.  This had been broken down in several places so as to admit the fire engines, and Jennings found a policeman on duty who had been one of the first to see the fire, and who had indeed summoned the brigade.  On telling his name and position, the man was willing to state all he knew.

“I was on duty about eight o’clock,” he said officially.  “There was a high wind blowing, but the night was fine and dry.  While walking down Crooked Lane, intending to take the path to the station, I saw a light behind the wall of the park.  Then a tongue of flame shot up, and it didn’t need much cleverness to see that the old house was on fire.  Almost before I could collect my wits, sir, the place was in a blaze.  You see the dry weather, the heat and the high wind, made everything blaze finely.  I signalled for the brigade, and it came up as soon as possible.  But as there is no gate in the wall, we had to break it down to get the engines in.  There was a large crowd by this time, and we had all the help we needed.  By this time the whole house was flaming like a bonfire.  When we got the wall down the most part of the house was gone, and the fire had caught the surrounding shrubs, so all we could do was to halt on the edge of the mass and squirt water, in the hope of putting out the flames.  But, Lord bless you!” said the officer with good-humored contempt, “you might as well have tried with a child’s squirt.  As you see, sir, everything is gone within the wall.  Leastways, all but that big oak near the wall.”

It was as the man said.  House, trees, shrubs, even the grass had been swept away by the fierce flames.  Within the walls which had secluded the place from the world was a blackened space covered with debris.  Where the house had stood was a mound of twisted iron girders, charred beams and broken slates.  And everywhere the wind was lifting the fine gray ashes and scattering them abroad, as though in sorrow for the destruction of the previous night.  Jennings took all this in at a glance.  Policemen were on guard at the various gaps in the wall, as no one was allowed to enter.  But the detective, by virtue of his office, walked across the bare expanse with the inspector, and trod under foot the black ashes.  There was nothing to be gained, however, by this inspection.  All that could be seen were the destroyed park and the mound where the house had been.  “What of the cellars?” asked Jennings.

“Well,” said Inspector Twining genially, “I suppose there are cellars, but there’s nothing in them.  The house was shut up for years by a queer nobleman.”

“By Lord Caranby,” replied the detective.  “I know.  I suppose the cellars are under that heap.  I must get Lord Caranby to allow me to clear it away.”

“I expect that will be done, whether or no.  Lord Caranby came down and told one of our men that be intended to throw down the wall and let the place as a building site.  So when the building begins the heap will soon be cleared away and the cellars laid bare.  But there’s nothing there,” said the inspector again.