He had nearly
brought Mrs. Crisparkle's grey hairs with sorrow to the grave.
(Those original expressions were Mr. Sapsea's.) He had repeatedly
said he would have Mr. Crisparkle's life. He had repeatedly said
he would have everybody's life, and become in effect the last man.
He had been brought down to Cloisterham, from London, by an eminent
Philanthropist, and why? Because that Philanthropist had expressly
declared: 'I owe it to my fellow-creatures that he should be, in
the words of BENTHAM, where he is the cause of the greatest danger
to the smallest number.'
These dropping shots from the blunderbusses of blunderheadedness
might not have hit him in a vital place. But he had to stand
against a trained and well-directed fire of arms of precision too.
He had notoriously threatened the lost young man, and had,
according to the showing of his own faithful friend and tutor who
strove so hard for him, a cause of bitter animosity (created by
himself, and stated by himself), against that ill-starred fellow.
He had armed himself with an offensive weapon for the fatal night,
and he had gone off early in the morning, after making preparations
for departure. He had been found with traces of blood on him;
truly, they might have been wholly caused as he represented, but
they might not, also. On a search-warrant being issued for the
examination of his room, clothes, and so forth, it was discovered
that he had destroyed all his papers, and rearranged all his
possessions, on the very afternoon of the disappearance.
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