The noise in the Marquess's bedroom grew more distinct, and it had now

resolved itself into the sound of footsteps. Livid with terror, with the

perspiration standing out on his forehead, Heyton leant against the door

as if powerless to move, powerless to stand upright. The door between

the dressing-room and the bedroom opened; instinctively, Heyton

stretched out his hand, found the switch, and extinguished the light.

"Who is there?" came the Marquess's voice. "What is it? Who is there?"

The voice came nearer; the Marquess was now in the dressing-room. Heyton

knew that his father was standing still; that, in another instant, he

would be calling for assistance. But the Marquess did not speak; he made

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a movement, and Heyton guessed that his father was returning to the

bedroom to turn up all the lights there.

With a smothered oath, the wretched man stole forward, felt for the

fireplace with his foot, caught up the poker and, feeling his way round

the wall, reached the bedroom door. As he did so, the Marquess reached

it also and actually touched his son. Heyton drew back a pace, swung up

the poker and struck at the figure he could not see; there was a cry, a

choked groan, the sound of a body falling to the floor; then a

death-like silence.

Shaking in every limb, the poker still grasped in his hand, Heyton leant

against the wall, his other hand clinging to it, as if for support. The

clock on the mantelpiece seemed to tick a thousand times as he crouched

there, staring, with protruding eyes, into the horrible darkness; then,

with a gasp, as if he were suffocating, he felt his way round to the

switch, and turned it on. The light fell on the figure of the Marquess,

lying on its back, where he had fallen; his arms were stretched out, he

was quite motionless, and a thin stream of blood was trickling from his

forehead; it had already reddened his face and made a small pool on the

carpet.

Heyton stood and gazed at this horrible sight, as if he were turned to

stone. He was like a man who has been suddenly struck by paralysis; it

seemed to him as if the whole of his legs and feet had been turned to

lead, and that he should never again be able to move them, that he would

be forced to remain there until the servants came and that--that

horrible thing lying at his feet were discovered.

For some minutes he remained in this condition of coma, stupor; but

presently, gradually, he recovered the use of his limbs, his brain began

to work again, and he asked himself whether there was any reason for the

terror which had obsessed him. Of compunction for the awful crime there

was nothing in his mind or heart. That the man he had struck down was

his own father, did not count; every fibre of his being was absorbed, to

the exclusion of everything else, in the desire for his own safety. So

gigantic was his selfishness, that the working of his mind was not

disturbed by the enormity of the crime he had committed; he saw now

that, as events had turned out, he had acted unwisely in taking the

jewels from their box; and, alertly and with something like calmness, he

unlocked the safe, replaced the jewels in the box and left the safe door

open; he was actually turning away, leaving the jewel-case in its place,

when his cupidity got the better of him and he took up the case, hid it

under his dressing-gown, and went towards the bedroom door.




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