By midnight the fire had burned itself out. But it was well after dawn before the commander of the fire engine sent from Folkestone gave permission for them to enter the smoking ruins of the house.
In the meantime, two ambulances had arrived, one for Mrs Aylward and her maid, the other for Billy Styles, who was found to have burned hands as well as blisters on his face and neck.
'I'm fine, sir,' he pleaded with Madden, who nevertheless ordered him into the vehicle and shut the doors on his protests.
Sinclair, watching the scene from a distance, was chuckling when the inspector rejoined him. 'Do you know? I think that young man might make a copper, after all.'
A watch was kept on the house all night. Sinclair had brought a dozen uniformed officers with him from Folkestone and the sergeant in charge had organized them into shifts. Madden and the chief inspector retired to one of the cars and snatched a few hours of fitful sleep.
The first flush of dawn brought a new arrivaclass="underline" Chief Inspector Mulrooney, from Folkestone. A big, florid man with a jovial manner, he greeted his London colleagues warmly. 'A good night's work, I trust.'
The Folkestone chief had arranged for a delivery of tea and sandwiches from Knowlton, and the men gathered about the van in a group, yawning and stretching.
Shortly after eight o'clock, following an inspection of the house, the fire chief came over. There had been little that he and his men could do. The blaze had been well out of control by the time they arrived and, like the police, they had spent the night watching and waiting.
He spoke to Sinclair: 'You can pop in now, sir, but only for a minute. It's still hot as a furnace in there.'
The chief inspector and Madden donned boots, helmets and heavy coats lent by the other firemen. At the last moment, Mulrooney decided to accompany them. 'Why should you fellows have all the fun?'
The fire chief and one of his squad, armed with axes, led the way in through what was left of the front door. The walls of the house still stood, but the roof had been destroyed and daylight streamed in through blackened beams. All about them the skeleton of the house stood smoking. The heat was intense.
Following Madden's directions they picked their way through the debris-strewn hallway to the studio.
The hulk of the Bentley, standing in the middle of the ruined room, was hidden by rafters from the collapsed ceiling and chunks of masonry that gave off heat like live coals. The acrid smell of smoke was mingled with other odours.
The two firemen attacked the heap with their axes, hauling pieces of carbonized wood and stone off the car. First the stove-in bonnet was uncovered, then the iron frame of the windscreen. Working quickly, they cleared the driver's area and stood back.
A dreadful sight was revealed. Sitting at the steering-wheel — seemingly welded to it — was a charred human figure. White bone gleamed through blackened flesh. Empty eye sockets stared. The teeth were bared in a lipless grin.
'My God!' Sinclair murmured. He'd never seen anything like it.
Madden, to whom such apparitions were all too familiar, looked away.
Only Mulrooney seemed undisturbed. He nodded with evident satisfaction.
'Now there's a sight to gladden the eye!'
The road to Mrs Aylward's house ran through orchards and winding hedgerows. Little more than a mile from Knowlton, both house and stables were invisible from the lane, hidden behind a high privet hedge and surrounded by fields and orchards.
'Pike must have liked it here,' Bennett commented, as a policeman waved them through the front gate on Friday morning. 'No prying eyes.' He had come down from London by train. Sinclair had met him at Folkestone station and together they had driven out to Knowlton.
When he saw the blackened ruin the deputy shook his head. As their car drew up in front of the house a booted figure in blue overalls came out on to the front steps carrying a bucket of charred debris.
'We couldn't start searching the place until late yesterday,' Sinclair explained to him. 'So far we've found Pike's rifle and razor. They were both in the boot of the car. The razor was wrapped in some clothing. There's no doubt he was about to skip. My feeling is we got here in the nick of time.'
'A pity about the house.' Bennett gazed about him.
They were out of the car, standing in the driveway. A police van was parked nearby.
'Yes, but I don't believe we could have handled it any other way,' the chief inspector declared. Pale and exhausted though he looked, Bennett was pleased to see that his customary poise and confidence had returned. 'Both Madden and I were afraid he might leave, and we were right. He would have got rid of the car once he'd escaped. Then we'd have been back to searching for him. And who knows what he might not have done in the meantime?'
His look challenged the deputy, who conceded with a nod and a smile. 'I'm not criticizing you, Chief Inspector. I'm just thinking of Mrs Aylward. She's lost her home, poor woman.'
'And been frightened out of her wits, into the bargain,' Sinclair agreed grimly. 'But I couldn't telephone her and warn her we were coming. Chances are, she would have panicked, and Pike would have picked that up in the blink of an eyelid.'
'Have you spoken to her yet?'
'Only briefly, sir, on doctor's advice. I saw her at the hospital in Folkestone. She's confirmed the visits to Highfield and Stonehill — she did paintings for both families. Bentham was different. She'd had an earlier portrait commission in the district and she'd noticed a house near the village worth painting. Bentham Court — Madden remembers seeing it from the road when he went there. A Palladian gem, to quote the lady. She got permission from the owners to spend the day there. She thinks she remembers Pike going off to look for petrol. He must have seen Mrs Reynolds in the village and followed her home. Got the lie of the land.'
'How long had he worked for her?'
'About a year. He came with no references, but she gave him a month's trial and he proved satisfactory.
She was thinking of dismissing him, though. She said she found him "a heavy presence".' The chief inspector raised a droll eyebrow. 'That's a gem in its own right.
I'm saving it for my memoirs.'
He led Bennett around the house to the ruins of the conservatory and showed him the hole in the wall where the Bentley had lodged. 'I had it carted away to Folkestone this morning. We removed the body yesterday.
That was a nasty business.'
'Where is it now?'
'With the pathologist in Folkestone. I didn't think it worthwhile dragging Ransom down here. There's little enough either of them can do. Not with what's left.'
They walked on through the stone-pillared gateway into the yard. Sinclair pointed across the heap of blackened rubble that marked the place where the stables had stood.
'We found his motorcycle hidden at the bottom of that field. There was a bag in the sidecar with Mrs Troy's silver in it. I can't believe he meant to leave it there. Perhaps he hadn't had time to collect it before we arrived.
'Madden's over at Rudd's Cross today completing inquiries there. We've pieced that part of the story together pretty well. The Folkestone police are searching the area for Biggs's body. It should be close by.
Pike had a lot to do that night. He couldn't have gone far with it.'
They walked back to the car.
'The commissioner wants a full report,' Bennett said. 'And we'll have to decide how much to release to the press. They're clamouring for details.'
That morning's papers had carried the news of Pike's death. A bald statement issued by Scotland Yard had said the police were no longer seeking anyone in connection with the murders at Melling Lodge and Croft Manor.
'Will there be many loose ends?'
'Enough.' Sinclair put on a long face. 'How did Pike fake his death? How did he get back from France? How did he live before he found a job with Mrs Aylward? Has he done things we don't know about?' He gave Bennett a dark look. 'As to his background, I'm hoping that file from the Nottingham police will be of help. It's sitting on my desk in London. I haven't had a chance to look at it yet. But there are some things we'll never know.