Verily, the minds of wicked men compass their own downfall, and retribution can sometimes be an artist.
But Cleggett, as he crawled forward through the darkness and the damp, thought little of these things that had so mystified him at the time.
He was alert for what the immediate future might hold, not doubting that Loge had retreated to the tunnel.

He had too strong a sense of the man's powerful and iniquitous personality to suppose that Loge would kill himself while one chance remained, however remote, of injuring his enemies.

Loge was the kind of dog that dies biting.
Suddenly, after pressing forward for several minutes, he ran against an obstruction.

The tunnel seemed to come to an end.

He did not dare show his light.