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.
As he reached it, he glanced over his shoulder at the silent, blood-stained form lying on the floor; he wondered whether his father were dead or only stunned.

For a moment, he wished that the blow had been fatal: he, Heyton, would be the Marquess; there would be plenty of money ready to his hand, there would be no need to steal his own jewels, he thought, with an hysterical giggle.

But he could leave nothing to chance now.