What construction the law would put upon their disappearance, really--he reflected with a grim smile--he couldn’t say; his Uncle would doubtless know; he knew the consequences of everything so accurately. The memory of that fourteen months in the dim world pressed like lead upon his brain; the revengeful Southern blood leaped in his veins, and he ground his teeth and laughed aloud. He hoped it might be held _criminal_ negligence, the documents were _so_ important; it was, moreover, quite unfortunate for his co-trustee that it was at all events indirectly to the latter’s interest that they should cease to exist. This would be better than speaking his mind. He leapt a paling and looked about him for stones suitable to weld the canvas covering and its contents to their new abode. Let him think; there were also notes and gold, _these_ most certainly, whatever else happened, _that man_ would have to restore, therefore by taking them he robbed nobody. ‘By God! What I take from him is my due; he has taken everything from me; shall there be no exchange?’ ‘The notes may go,’ he thought, ‘they’re risky. I’ll give society no more chances, but the gold will give me a fresh start. Uncle Stephen! Uncle Stephen! this isn’t your day out, it’s mine, and by heaven I’ll make the most of it.’ Now, in this matter, as he said when he told me of it afterwards, he acted with conviction; there was no struggle in him as to the right or the wrong of the thing--it was so plain--no single qualm of hesitation or regret tempered the seething delight in the coming revenge, only he was forced to stamp his feet and grind his teeth to get back a clear power of thinking to his whirling brain. He filled the bag with scientific care, first taking out the roll of gold; then tying the strings, he leapt back across the paling. The nearest way to the Serpentine led him across the path where the packet had been dropped. As he crossed it he saw a figure approaching slowly through the dusk, from the direction in which his Uncle had disappeared; he shrank behind a tree and watched. If it should be that old shark, and he were seen--well--a blow neatly given secured the necessary amount of silence, and did no great harm. ‘He’s an old man, and I don’t want to hurt him, but by heaven I won’t be stopped--.’ The figure advanced very slowly, and Eugene watched it anxiously in the fast waning light. It seemed to move forwards down the path a few feet with a jerk, and then to stop suddenly. It was bent almost double, so that no glimpse of the face could be seen, but a curious, indistinct, shrill murmur like the ‘goo-gooing’ of a dumb man came down to Eugene’s ears. ‘What the devil is it?’ he thought, and as if for answer, one intelligible word ‘Trust’ came in a half-scream through the chill evening air, and then the ‘goo-gooing’ began again. Suddenly, when only some few yards away, the figure straightened itself as if animated by a spring, and Eugene saw his Uncle.