Notwithstanding all his efforts to assist them in their search, he knew that in their hearts they charged him with Benedict's disappearance.

At last he bade Buffum good-night, and went down the hill to his home.
He had no badinage for Phipps during that drive, and no pleasant reveries in his library during that evening, for all the possibilities of the future passed through his mind in dark review.

If Benedict had been murdered, who could have any interest in his death but himself?
If he had died from exposure, his secrets would be safe, but the charge of his death would be brought to his door, as Miss Butterworth had already brought the responsibility for his insanity there.

If he had got away alive, and should recover, or if his boy should get into hands that would ultimately claim for him his rights, then his prosperity would be interfered with.

He did not wish to acknowledge to himself that he desired the poor man's death, but he was aware that in his death he found the most hopeful vision of the night.