And he hurled it away at this point of his flight.

We know at least that he came so far in safety." But more than that we were never destined to know, though there was much which we might surmise.

There was no chance of finding footsteps in the mire, for the rising mud oozed swiftly in upon them, but as we at last reached firmer ground beyond the morass we all looked eagerly for them.
But no slightest sign of them ever met our eyes.

If the earth told a true story, then Stapleton never reached that island of refuge towards which he struggled through the fog upon that last night.

Somewhere in the heart of the great Grimpen Mire, down in the foul slime of the huge morass which had sucked him in, this cold and cruel-hearted man is forever buried.
Many traces we found of him in the bog-girt island where he had hid his savage ally.