Cord and Creese

CHAPTER XLVIII. — WHO IS HE?

On the morning after the last escape of Beatrice, Clark went up to Brandon Hall. It was about nine o’clock. A sullen frown was on his face, which was pervaded by an expression of savage malignity. A deeply preoccupied look, as though he were altogether absorbed in his own thoughts, prevented him from noticing the half-smiles which the servants cast at one another.

Asgeelo opened the door. That valuable servant was at his post as usual. Clark brushed past him with a growl and entered the dining-room.

Potts was standing in front of the fire with a flushed face and savage eyes. John was stroking his dog, and appeared quite indifferent. Clark, however, was too much taken up with his own thoughts to notice Potts. He came in and sat down in silence.

“Well,” said Potts, “did you do that business?”

“No,” growled Clark.

“No!” cried Potts. “Do you mean to say you didn’t follow up the fellow?”

“I mean to say it’s no go,” returned Clark. “I did what I could. But when you are after a man, and he turns out to be the DEVIL HIMSELF, what can you do?”

At these words, which were spoken with unusual excitement, John gave a low laugh, but said nothing.

“You’ve been getting rather soft lately, it seems to me,” said Potts. “At any rate, what did you do?”

“Well,” said Clark, slowly—“I went to that inn—to watch the fellow. He was sitting by the fire, taking it very easy. I tried to make out whether I had ever seen him before, but could not. He sat by the fire, and wouldn’t say a word. I tried to trot him out, and at last I did so. He trotted out in good earnest, and if any man was ever kicked at and ridden rough-shod over, I’m that individual. He isn’t a man—he’s Beelzebub. He knows every thing. He began in a playful way by taking a piece of charcoal and writing on the wall some marks which belong to me, and which I’m a little delicate about letting people see; in fact, the Botany Bay marks.”

“Did he know that?” cried Potts, aghast.

“Not only knew it, but, as I was saying, marked it on the wall. That’s a sign of knowledge. And for fear they wouldn’t be understood, he kindly explained to about a dozen people present the particular meaning of each.”

“The devil!” said John.

“That’s what I said he was,” rejoined Clark, dryly. “But that’s nothing. I remember when I was a little boy,” he continued, pensively, “hearing the parson read about some handwriting on the wall, that frightened Beelzebub himself; but I tell you this handwriting on the wall used me up a good deal more than that other. Still what followed was worse.”

Clark paused for a little while, and then, taking a long breath, went on.

“He proceeded to give to the assembled company an account of my life, particularly that very interesting part of it which I passed on my last visit to Botany Bay. You know my escape.”

He stopped for a while.

“Did he know about that, too?” asked Potts, with some agitation.

“Johnnie,” said Clark, “he knew a precious sight more than you do, and told some things which I had forgotten myself. Why, that devil stood up there and slowly told the company not only what I did but what I felt. He brought it all back. He told how I looked at Stubbs, and how Stubbs looked at me in the boat. He told how we sat looking at each other, each in our own end of the boat.”

Clark stopped again, and no one spoke for a long time.

“I lost my breath and ran out,” he resumed, “and was afraid to go back. I did so at last. It was then almost midnight. I found him still sitting there. He smiled at me in a way that fairly made my blood run cold. ‘Crocker,’ said he, ‘sit down.’”

At this Potts and John looked at each other in horror.

“He knows that too?” said John.

“Every thing,” returned Clark, dejectedly.

“Well, when he said that I looked a little surprised, as you may be sure.

“‘I thought you’d be back,’ said he, ‘for you want to see me, you know. You’re going to follow me,’ says he. ‘You’ve got your pistols all ready, so, as I always like to oblige a friend, I’ll give you a chance. Come.’

“At this I fairly staggered.

“‘Come,’ says he, ‘I’ve got all that money, and Potts wants it back. And you’re going to get it from me. Come.’

“I swear to you I could not move. He smiled at me as before, and quietly got up and left the house. I stood for some time fixed to the spot. At last I grew reckless. ‘If he’s the devil himself,’ says I, ‘I’ll have it out with him.’ I rushed out and followed in his pursuit. After some time I overtook him. He was on horseback, but his horse was walking. He heard me coming. ‘Ah, Crocker,’ said he, quite merrily, ‘so you’ve come, have you?’

“I tore my pistol from my pocket and fired. The only reply was a loud laugh. He went on without turning his head. I was now sure that it was the devil, but I fired my other pistol. He gave a tremendous laugh, turned his horse, and rode full at me. His horse seemed as large as the village church. Every thing swam around, and I fell headforemost on the ground. I believe I lay there all night. When I came to it was morning, and I hurried straight here.”

As he ended Clark arose, and, going to the sideboard, poured out a large glass of brandy, which he drank raw.

“The fact is,” said John, after long thought, “you’ve been tricked. This fellow has doctored your pistols and frightened you.”

“But I loaded them myself,” replied Clark.

“When?”

“Oh, I always keep them loaded in my room. I tried them, and found the charge was in them.”

“Oh, somebody’s fixed them.”

“I don’t think half as much about the pistols as about what he told me. What devil could have put all that into his head? Answer me that,” said Clark.

“Somebody’s at work around us,” said John. “I feel it in my bones.”

“We’re getting used up,” said Potts. “The girl’s gone again.”

“The girl! Gone!”

“Yes, and Mrs. Compton too.”

“The devil!”

“I’d rather lose the girl than Mrs. Compton; but when they both vanish the same night what are you to think?”

“I think the devil is loose.”

“I’m afraid he’s turned against us,” said Potts, in a regretful tone. “He’s got tired of helping us.”

“Do none of the servants know any thing about it?”

“No—none of them.”

“Have you asked them all?”

“Yes.”

“Doesn’t that new servant, the Injin?”

“No; they all went to bed at twelve. Vijal was up as late as two. They all swear that every thing was quiet.”

“Did they go out through the doors?”

“The doors were all locked as usual.”

“There’s treachery somewhere!” cried John, with more excitement than usual.

The others were silent.

“I believe that the girl’s at the bottom of it all,” said John. “We’ve been trying to take her down ever since she came, but it’s my belief that we’ll end by getting took down ourselves. I scented bad luck in her at the other side of the world. We’ve been acting like fools. We ought to have silenced her at first.”

“No,” rejoined Potts, gloomily. “There’s somebody at work deeper than she is. Somebody—but who?—who?”

“Nobody but the devil,” said Clark, firmly.

“I’ve been thinking about that Italian,” continued Potts. “He’s the only man living that would bother his head about the girl. They know a good deal between them. I think he’s managed some of this last business. He humbugged us. It isn’t the devil; it’s this Italian. We must look out; he’ll be around here again perhaps.”

Clark’s eyes brightened.

“The next time,” said he, “I’ll load my pistols fresh, and then see if he’ll escape me!”

At this a noise was heard in the hall. Potts went out. The servants had been scouring the grounds as before, but with no result.

“No use,” said John. “I tried it with my dog. He went straight down through the gate, and a little distance outside the scent was lost. I tried him with Mrs. Compton too. They both went together, and of course had horses or carriages there.”

“What does the porter say?” asked Clark.

“He swears that he was up till two, and then went to bed, and that nobody was near the gate.”

“Well, we can’t do any thing,” said Potts; “but I’ll send some of the servants off to see what they can hear. The scent was lost so soon that we can’t tell what direction they took.

“You’ll never get her again,” said John; “she’s gone for good this time.”

Potts swore a deep oath and relapsed into silence. After a time they all went down to the bank.

CHAPTER XLIX. — THE RUN ON THE BANK.

Not long after the bank opened a number of people came in who asked for gold in return for some bank-notes which they offered. This was an unusual circumstance. The people also were strangers. Potts wondered what it could mean. There was no help for it, however. The gold was paid out, and Potts and his friends began to feel somewhat alarmed at the thought which now presented itself for the first time that their very large circulation of notes might be returned upon them. He communicated this fear to Clark.

“How much gold have you?”

“Very little.”

“How much?”

“Thirty thousand.”

“Phew!” said Clark, “and nearly two hundred thousand out in notes!”

Potts was silent.

“What’ll you do if there is a run on the bank?”

“Oh, there won’t be.”

“Why not?”

“My credit is too good.”

“Your credit won’t be worth a rush if people know this.”

While they talked persons kept dropping in. Most of the villagers and people of the neighborhood brought back the notes, demanding gold. By about twelve o’clock the influx was constant.

Potts began to feel alarmed. He went out, and tried to bully some of the villagers. They did not seem to pay any attention to him, however. Potts went back to his parlor discomfited, vowing vengeance against those who had thus slighted him. The worst of these was the tailor, who brought in notes to the extent of a thousand pounds, and when Potts ordered him out and told him to wait, only laughed in his face.

“Haven’t you got gold enough?” said the tailor, with a sneer. “Are you afraid of the bank? Well, old Potts, so am I.”

At this there was a general laugh among the people.

The bank clerks did not at all sympathize with the bank. They were too eager to pay out. Potts had to check them. He called them in his parlor, and ordered them to pay out more slowly. They all declared that they couldn’t.

The day dragged on till at last three o’clock came. Fifteen thousand pounds had been paid out. Potts fell into deep despondency. Clark had remained throughout the whole morning.

“There’s going to be a run on the bank!” said he. “It’s only begun.”

Potts’s sole answer was a curse.

“What are you going to do?” he asked.

“You’ll have to help me,” replied Potts. “You’ve got something.”

“I’ve got fifty thousand pounds in the Plymouth Bank.”

“You’ll have to let me have it.”

Clark hesitated.

“I don’t know,” said he.

“D-n it, man, I’ll give you any security you wish. I’ve got more security than I know what to do with.”

“Well,” said Clark, “I don’t know. There’s a risk.”

“I only want it for a few days. I’ll send down stock to my London broker and have it sold. It will give me hundreds of thousands—twice as much as all the bank issue. Then I’ll pay up these devils well, and that d——d tailor worst of all. I swear I’ll send it all down to-day, and have every bit of it sold. If there’s going to be a run, I’ll be ready for them.”

“How much have you?”

“I’ll send it all down—though I’m devilish sorry,” continued Potts. “How much? why, see here;” and he penciled down the following figures on a piece of paper, which he showed to Clark:

“What do you think of that, my boy?” said Potts.

“Well,” returned Clark, cautiously, “I don’t like them American names.”

“Why,” said Potts, “the stock is at a premium. I’ve been getting from twenty to twenty-five per cent. dividends. They’ll sell for three hundred thousand nearly. I’ll sell them all. I’ll sell them all,” he cried. “I’ll have gold enough to put a stop to this sort of thing forever.”

“I thought you had some French and Russian bonds,” said Clark.

“I gave those to that devil who had the—the papers, you know. He consented to take them, and I was very glad, for they paid less than the others.”

Clark was silent.

“Why, man, what are you thinking about? Don’t you know that I’m good for two millions, what with my estate and my stock?”

“But you owe an infernal lot.”

“And haven’t I notes and other securities from every body?”

“Yes, from every body; but how can you get hold of them?”

“The first people of the county!”

“And as poor as rats.”

“London merchants!”

“Who are they? How can you get back your money?”

“Smithers & Co. will let me have what I want.”

“If Smithers & Co. knew the present state of affairs I rather think that they’d back down.”

“Pooh! What! Back down from a man with my means! Nonsense! They know how rich I am, or they never would have begun. Come, don’t be a fool. It’ll take three days to get gold for my stock, and if you don’t help me the bank may stop before I get it. If you’ll help me for three days I’ll pay you well.”

{Illustration: THE RUN ON THE BANK}

“How much will you give?”

“I’ll give ten thousand pounds—there! I don’t mind.”

“Done. Give me your note for sixty thousand pounds, and I’ll let you have the fifty thousand for three days.”

“All right. You’ve got me where my hair is short; but I don’t mind. When can I have the money?”

“The day after to-morrow. I’ll go to Plymouth now, get the money to-morrow, and you can use it the next day.”

“All right; I’ll send down John to London with the stock, and he’ll bring up the gold at once.”

Clark started off immediately for Plymouth, and not long after John went away to London. Potts remained to await the storm which he dreaded.

The next day came. The bank opened late on purpose. Potts put up a notice that it was to be closed that day at twelve, on account of the absence of some of the directors.

At about eleven the crowd of people began to make their appearance as before. Their demands were somewhat larger than on the previous day. Before twelve ten thousand pounds had been paid. At twelve the bank was shut in the faces of the clamorous people, in accordance with the notice.

Strangers were there from all parts of the county. The village inn was crowded, and a large number of carriages was outside. Potts began to look forward to the next day with deep anxiety. Only five thousand pounds remained in the bank. One man had come with notes to the extent of five thousand, and had only been got rid of by the shutting of the bank. He left, vowing vengeance.

To Potts’s immense relief Clark made his appearance early on the following day. He had brought the money. Potts gave him his note for sixty thousand pounds, and the third day began.

By ten o’clock the doors were besieged by the largest crowd that had ever assembled in this quiet village. Another host of lookers-on had collected. When the doors were opened they poured in with a rush.

The demands on this third day were very large. The man with the five thousand had fought his way to the counter first, and clamored to be paid. The noise and confusion were overpowering. Every body was cursing the bank or laughing at it. Each one felt doubtful about getting his pay. Potts tried to be dignified for a time. He ordered them to be quiet, and assured them that they would all be paid. His voice was drowned in the wild uproar. The clerks counted out the gold as rapidly as possible, in spite of the remonstrances of Potts, who on three occasions called them all into the parlor, and threatened to dismiss them unless they counted more slowly. His threats were disregarded. They went back, and paid out as rapidly as before. The amounts required ranged from five or ten pounds to thousands of pounds. At last, after paying out thousands, one man came up who had notes to the amount of ten thousand pounds. This was the largest demand that had yet been made. It was doubtful whether there was so large an amount left. Potts came out to see him. There was no help for it; he had to parley with the enemy.

He told him that it was within a few minutes of three, and that it would take an hour at least to count out so much—would he not wait till the next day? There would be ample time then.

The man had no objection. It was all the same to him. He went out with his bundle of notes through the crowd, telling them that the bank could not pay him. This intelligence made the excitement still greater. There was a fierce rush to the counter. The clerks worked hard, and paid out what they could in spite of the hints and even the threats of Potts, till at length the bank clock struck the hour of three. It had been put forward twenty minutes, and there was a great riot among the people on that account, but they could not do any thing. The bank was closed for the day, and they had to depart.

Both Potts and Clark now waited eagerly for the return of John. He was expected before the next day. He ought to be in by midnight. After waiting impatiently for hours they at length drove out to see if they could find him.

About twelve miles from Brandon they met him at midnight with a team of horses and a number of men, all of whom were armed.

“Have you got it?”

“Yes,” said John, “what there is of it.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I’m too tired to explain. Wait till we get home.”

It was four o’clock in the morning before they reached the bank. The gold was taken out and deposited in the vaults, and the three went up to the Hall. They brought out brandy and refreshed themselves, after which John remarked, in his usual laconic style,

“You’ve been and gone and done it.”

“What?” asked Potts, somewhat puzzled.

“With your speculations in stocks.”

“What about them?”

“Nothing,” said John, “only they happen to be at a small discount.”

“A discount?”

“Slightly.”

Potts was silent.

“How much?” asked Clark.

“I have a statement here,” said John. “When I got to London, I saw the broker. He said that American stocks, particularly those which I held, had undergone a great depreciation. He assured me that it was only temporary, that the dividends which these stocks paid were enough to raise them in a short time, perhaps in a few weeks, and that it was madness to sell out now. He declared that it would ruin the credit of the Brandon Bank if it were known that we sold out at such a fearful sacrifice, and advised me to raise the money at a less cost.

“Well, I could only think of Smithers & Co. I went to their office. They were all away. I saw one of the clerks who said they had gone to see about some Russian loan or other, so there was nothing to do but to go back to the broker. He assured me again that it was an unheard of sacrifice; that these very stocks which I held had fallen terribly, he knew not how, and advised me to do any thing rather than make such a sacrifice. But I could do nothing. Gold was what I wanted, and since Smithers & Co. were away this was the only way to get it.”

“Well!” cried Potts, eagerly. “Did you get it?”

“You saw that I got it. I sold out at a cost that is next to ruin.”

“What is it?”

“Well,” said John, “I will give you the statement of the broker,” and he drew from his pocket a paper which he handed to the others. They looked at it eagerly.

It was as follows:

The faces of Potts and Clark grew black as night as they read this. A deep execration burst from Potts. Clark leaned back in his chair.

“The bank’s blown up!” said he.

“No, it ain’t,” rejoined Potts.

“Why not?”

“There’s gold enough to pay all that’s likely to be offered.”

“How much more do you think will be offered?”

“Not much; it stands to reason.”

“It stands to reason that every note which you’ve issued will be sent back to you. So I’ll trouble you to give me my sixty thousand; and I advise you as a friend to hold on to the rest.”

“Clark!” said Potts, “you’re getting timider and timider. You ain’t got any more pluck these times than a kitten.”

“It’s a time when a man’s got to be careful of his earnings,” said Clark. “How much have you out in notes? You told me once you had out about £180,000, perhaps more. Well, you’ve already had to redeem about £75,000. That leaves £105,000 yet, and you’ve only got £67,000 to pay it with. What have you got to say to that?”

“Well!” said Potts. “The Brandon Bank may go—but what then? You forget that I have the Brandon estate. That’s worth two millions.”

“You got it for two hundred thousand.”

“Because it was thrown away, and dropped into my hands.”

“It’ll be thrown away again at this rate. You owe Smithers & Co.”

“Pooh! that’s all offset by securities which I hold.”

“Queer securities!”

“All good,” said Potts. “All first-rate. It’ll be all right. We’ll have to put it through.”

“But what if it isn’t all right?” asked Clark, savagely.

“You forget that I have Smithers & Co. to fall back on.”

“If your bank breaks, there is an end of Smithers & Co.”

“Oh no. I’ve got this estate to fall back on, and they know it. I can easily explain to them. If they had only been in town I shouldn’t have had to make this sacrifice. You needn’t feel troubled about your money. I’ll give you security on the estate to any amount. I’ll give you security for seventy thousand,” said Potts.

Clark thought for a while.

“Well!” said he, “it’s a risk, but I’ll run it”

“There isn’t time to get a lawyer now to make out the papers; but whenever you fetch one I’ll do it.”

“I’ll get one to-day, and you’ll sign the papers this evening. In my opinion by that time the bank’ll be shut up for good, and you’re a fool for your pains. You’re simply throwing away what gold you have.”

Potts went down not long after. It was the fourth day of the run. Miscellaneous callers thronged the place, but the amounts were not large. In two hours not more than five thousand were paid out.

At length a man came in with a carpet-bag. He pulled out a vast quantity of notes.

“How much?” asked the clerk, blandly.

“Thirty thousand pounds,” said the man.

Potts heard this and came out.

“How much?” he asked.

“Thirty thousand pounds.”

“Do you want it in gold?”

“Of course.”

“Will you take a draft on Messrs. Smithers & Co.?”

“No, I want gold.”

While Potts was talking to this man another was waiting patiently beside him. Of course this imperative claimant had to be paid or else the bank would have to stop, and this was a casualty which Potts could not yet face with calmness. Before it came to that he was determined to pay out his last sovereign.

On paying the thirty thousand pounds it was found that there were only two bags left of two thousand pounds each.

The other man who had waited stood calmly, while the one who had been paid was making arrangements about conveying his money away.

It was now two o’clock. The stranger said quietly to the clerk opposite that he wanted gold.

“How much?” said the clerk, with the same blandness.

“Forty thousand pounds,” answered the stranger.

“Sorry we can’t accommodate you, Sir,” returned the clerk.

Potts had heard this and came forward.

“Won’t you take a draft on London?” said he.

“Can’t,” replied the man; “I was ordered to get gold.”

“A draft on Smithers & Co.?”

“Couldn’t take even Bank of England notes,” said the stranger; “I’m only an agent. If you can’t accommodate me I’m sorry, I’m sure.”

Potts was silent. His face was ghastly. As much agony as such a man could endure was felt by him at that moment.

Half an hour afterward the shutters were up; and outside the door stood a wild and riotous crowd, the most noisy of whom was the tailor.

The Brandon Bank had failed.

CHAPTER L. — THE BANK DIRECTORS.

The bank doors were closed, and the bank directors were left to their own refections. Clark had been in through the day, and at the critical moment his feelings had overpowered him so much that he felt compelled to go over to the inn to get something to drink, wherewith he might refresh himself and keep up his spirits.

Potts and John remained in the bank parlor. The clerks had gone. Potts was in that state of dejection in which even liquor was not desirable. John showed his usual nonchalance.

“Well, Johnnie,” said Potts, after a long silence, “we’re used up!”

“The bank’s bursted, that’s a fact. You were a fool for fighting it out so long.”

“I might as well. I was responsible, at any rate.”

“You might have kept your gold.”

“Then my estate would have been good. Besides, I hoped to fight through this difficulty. In fact, I hadn’t any thing else to do.”

“Why not?”

“Smithers & Co,”

“Ah! yes.”

“They’ll be down on me now. That’s what I was afraid of all along.”

“How much do you owe them?”

“Seven hundred and two thousand pounds.”

“The devil! I thought it was only five hundred thousand.”

“It’s been growing every day. Its a dreadful dangerous thing to have unlimited credit.”

“Well, you’ve got something as an offset. The debts due the bank.”

“Johnnie,” said Potts, taking a long breath, “since Clark isn’t here I don’t mind telling you that my candid opinion is them debts isn’t worth a rush. A great crowd of people came here for money. I didn’t hardly ask a question. I shelled out royally. I wanted to be known, so as to get into Parliament some day. I did what is called ‘going it blind.’”

“How much is owing you?”

“The books say five hundred and thirteen thousand pounds—but it’s doubtful if I can get any of it. And now Smithers & Co. will be down on me at once.”

“What do you intend to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Haven’t you thought?”

“No, I couldn’t.”

“Well, I have.”

“What?”

“You’ll have to try to compromise.”

“What if they won’t?”

John shrugged his shoulders, and said nothing.

“After all,” resumed Potts, hopefully, “it can’t be so bad. The estate is worth two millions.”

“Pooh!”

“Isn’t it?”

“Of course not. You know what you bought it for.”

“That’s because it was thrown away.”

“Well, it’ll have to be thrown away again.”

“Oh, Smithers & Co.‘ll be easy. They don’t care for money.”

“Perhaps so. The fact is, I don’t understand Smithers & Co. at all. I’ve tried to see through their little game, but can’t begin to do it.”

“Oh, that’s easy enough! They knew I was rich, and let me have what money I wanted.”

John looked doubtful.

At this moment a rap was heard at the back door.

“There comes Clark!” said he.

Potts opened the door. Clark entered. His face was flushed, and his eyes bloodshot.

“See here,” said he, mysteriously, as he entered the room.

“What?” asked the others, anxiously.

“There’s two chaps at the inn. One is the Italian—”

“Langhetti!”

“Ay,” said Clark, gloomily; “and the other is his mate—that fellow that helped him to carry off the gal. They’ve done it again this time, and my opinion is that these fellows are at the bottom of all our troubles. You know whose son he is.”

Potts and John exchanged glances.

“I went after that devil once, and I’m going to try it again. This time I’ll take some one who isn’t afraid of the devil. Johnnie, is the dog at the Hall?”

“Yes.”

“All right!” said Clark. “I’ll be even with this fellow yet, if he is in league with the devil.”

With these words Clark went out, and left the two together. A glance of savage exultation passed over the face of Potts.

“If he comes back successful,” said he, “all right, and if he doesn’t, why then”—He paused.

“If he doesn’t come back,” said John, finishing the sentence for him, “why then—all righter.”

CHAPTER LI. — A STRUGGLE.

All the irresolution which for a time had characterized Despard had vanished before the shock of that great discovery which his father’s manuscript had revealed to him. One purpose now lay clearly and vividly before him, one which to so loyal and devoted a nature as his was the holiest duty, and that was vengeance on his father’s murderers.

In this purpose he took refuge from his own grief; he cast aside his own longings, his anguish, his despair. Langhetti wished to search after his “Bice;” Despard wished to find those whom his dead father had denounced to him. In the intensity of his purpose he was careless as to the means by which that vengeance should be accomplished. He thought not whether it would be better to trust to the slow action of the law, or to take the task into his own hands. His only wish was to be confronted with either of these men, or both of them.

It was with this feeling in his heart that he set out with Langhetti, and the two went once more in company to the village of Brandon, where they arrived on the first day of the “run on the bank.”

He did not know exactly what it would be best to do first. His one idea was to go to the Hall, and confront the murderers in their own place. Langhetti, however, urged the need of help from the civil magistrate. It was while they were deliberating about this that a letter was brought in addressed to the Rev. Courtenay Despard.

Despard did not recognize the handwriting. In some surprise how any one should know that was here he opened the letter, and his surprise was still greater as he read the following:

“SIR,—There are two men here whom you seek—one Potts, the other Clark. You can see them both at any time.

“The young lady whom you and Signor Langhetti formerly rescued has escaped, and is now in safety at Denton, a village not more than twenty miles away. She lives in the last cottage on the left-hand side of the road, close by the sea. There is an American elm in front.”

There was no signature.

Despard handed it in silence to Langhetti, who read it eagerly. Joy spread over his face. He started to his feet.

“I must go at once,” said he, excitedly. “Will you?”

“No,” replied Despard. “You had better go. I must stay; my purpose is a different one.”

“But do not you also wish to secure the safety of Bice?”

“Of course; but I shall not be needed. You will be enough.”

Langhetti tried to persuade him, but Despard was immovable. For himself he was too impatient to wait. He determined to set out at once. He could not get a carriage, but he managed to obtain a horse, and with this he set out. It was about the time when the bank had closed.

Just before his departure Despard saw a man come from the bank and enter the inn. He knew the face, for he had seen it when here before. It was Clark. At the sight of this face all his fiercest instinct awoke within him—a deep thirst for vengeance arose. He could not lose sight of this man. He determined to track him, and thus by active pursuit to do something toward the accomplishment of his purpose.

He watched him, therefore, as he entered the inn, and caught a hasty glance which Clark directed at himself and Langhetti. He did not understand the meaning of the scowl that passed over the ruffian’s face, nor did Clark understand the full meaning of that gloomy frown which lowered over Despard’s brow as his eyes blazed wrathfully and menacingly upon him.

{Illustration: “THE NEXT INSTANT DESPARD HAD SEIZED HIS THROAT AND HELD HIM SO THAT HE COULD NOT MOVE."}

Clark came out and went to the bank. On quitting the bank Despard saw him looking back at Langhetti, who was just leaving. He then watched him till he went up to the Hall.

In about half an hour Clark came back on horseback followed by a dog. He talked for a while with the landlord, and then went off at a slow trot.

On questioning the landlord Despard found that Clark had asked him about the direction which Langhetti had taken. The idea at once flashed upon him that possibly Clark wished to pursue Langhetti, in order to find out about Beatrice. He determine on pursuit, both for Langhetti’s sake and his own.

He followed, therefore, not far behind Clark, riding at first rapidly till he caught sight of him at the summit of a hill in front, and then keeping at about the same distance behind him. He had not determined in his mind what it was best to do, but held himself prepared for any course of action.

After riding about an hour he put spurs to his horse, and went on at a more rapid pace. Yet he did not overtake Clark, and therefore conjectured that Clark himself must have gone on more rapidly. He now put his own horse at its fullest speed, with the intention of coming up with his enemy as soon as possible.

He rode on at a tremendous pace for another half hour. At last the road took a sudden turn; and, whirling around here at the utmost speed, he burst upon a scene which was as startling as it was unexpected, and which roused to madness all the fervid passion of his nature.

The road here descended, and in its descent wound round a hill and led into a gentle hollow, on each side of which hills arose which were covered with trees.

Within this glen was disclosed a frightful spectacle. A man lay on the ground, torn from his horse by a huge blood-hound, which even then was rending him with its huge fangs! The dismounted rider’s foot was entangled in the stirrups, and the horse was plunging and dragging him along, while the dog was pulling him back. The man himself uttered not a cry, but tried to fight off the dog with his hands as best he could.

In the horror of the moment Despard saw that it was Langhetti. For an instant his brain reeled. The next moment he had reached the spot. Another horseman was standing close by, without pretending even to interfere. Despard did not see him; he saw nothing but Langhetti. He flung himself from his horse, and drew a revolver from his pocket. A loud report rang through the air, and in an instant the huge blood-hound gave a leap upward, with a piercing yell, and fell dead in the road.

Despard flung himself on his knees beside Langhetti. He saw his hands torn and bleeding, and blood covering his face and breast. A low groan was all that escaped from the sufferer.

“Leave me,” he gasped. “Save Bice.”

In his grief for Langhetti, thus lying before him in such agony, Despard forgot all else. He seized his handkerchief and tried to stanch the blood.

“Leave me!” gasped Langhetti again. “Bice will be lost.” His head, which Despard had supported for a moment, sank back, and life seemed to leave him.

Despard started up. Now for the first time he recollected the stranger; and in an instant understood who he was, and why this had been done. Suddenly, as he started up, he felt his pistol snatched from his hand by a strong grasp. He turned.

It was the horseman—it was Clark—who had stealthily dismounted, and, in his desperate purpose, had tried to make sure of Despard.

But Despard, quick as thought, leaped upon him, and caught his hand. In the struggle the pistol fell to the ground. Despard caught Clark in his arms, and then the contest began.

Clark was of medium size, thick-set, muscular, robust, and desperate. Despard was tall, but his frame was well knit, his muscles and sinews were like iron, and he was inspired by a higher Spirit and a deeper passion.

In the first shock of that fierce embrace not a word was spoken. For some time the struggle was maintained without result. Clark had caught Despard at a disadvantage, and this for a time prevented the latter from putting forth his strength effectually.

At last he wound one arm around Clark’s neck in a strangling grasp, and forced his other arm under that of Clark. Then with one tremendous, one resistless impulse, he put forth all his strength. His antagonist gave way before it. He reeled.

Despard disengaged one arm and dealt him a tremendous blow on the temple. At the same instant he twined his legs about those of the other. At the stroke Clark, who had already staggered, gave way utterly and fell heavily backward, with Despard upon him.

The next instant Despard had seized his throat and held him down so that he could not move.

The wretch gasped and groaned. He struggled to escape from that iron hold in vain. The hand which had seized him was not to be shaken off. Despard had fixed his grasp there, and there in the throat of the fainting, suffocating wretch he held it.

The struggles grew fainter, the arms relaxed, the face blackened, the limbs stiffened. At last all efforts ceased.

Despard then arose, and, turning Clark over on his face, took the bridle from one of the horses, bound his hands behind him, and fastened his feet securely. In the fierce struggle Clark’s coat and waistcoat had been torn away, and slipped down to some extent. His shirt-collar had burst and slipped with them. As Despard turned him over and proceeded to tie him, something struck his eye. It was a bright, red scar.

He pulled down the shirt. A mark appeared, the full meaning of which he knew not, but could well conjecture. There were three brands—fiery red—and these were the marks:

{Illustration: ^ /|\ {three lines, forming short arrow}