CHAPTER LIV. — THE WORM TURNS.
Potts departed from the Hall in deep dejection. The tremendous power of his enemy had been shown all along; and now that this enemy turned out to be Louis Brandon, he felt as though some supernatural being had taken up arms against him. Against that being a struggle seemed as hopeless as it would be against Fate. It was with some such feeling as this that he left Brandon Hall forever.
All of his grand projects had broken down, suddenly and utterly. He had not a ray of hope left of ever regaining the position which he had but recently occupied. He was thrust back to the obscurity from which he had emerged.
One thing troubled him. Would the power of his remorseless enemy be now stayed—would his vengeance end here? He could scarce hope for this. He judged that enemy by himself, and he knew that he would not stop in the search after vengeance, that nothing short of the fullest and direst ruin—nothing, in fact, short of death itself would satisfy him.
John was with him, and Vijal, who alone out of all the servants had followed his fortunes. These three walked down and passed through the gates together, and emerged into the outer world in silence. But when they had left the gates the silence ended.
“Well, dad!” said John, “what are you going to do now?”
“I don’t know.”
“Have you any money?”
“Four thousand pounds in the bank.”
“Not much, dad,” said John, slowly, “for a man who last month was worth millions. You’re coming out at the little end of the horn.”
Potts made no reply.
“At any rate there’s one comfort,” said John, “even about that.”
“What comfort?”
“Why, you went in at the little end.”
They walked on in silence.
“You must do something,” said John at last.
“What can I do?”
“You won’t let that fellow ride the high horse in this style, will you?”
“How can I help it?”
“You can’t help it; but you can strike a blow yourself.”
“How?”
“How? You’ve struck blows before to some purpose, I think.”
“But I never yet knew any one with such tremendous power as this man has. And where did he get all his money? You said before that he was the devil, and I believe it. Where’s Clark? Do you think he has succeeded?”
“No,” said John.
“No more do I. This man has every body in his pay. Look at the servants! See how easily he did what he wished!”
“You’ve got one servant left.”
“Ah, yes—that’s a fact.”
“That servant will do something for you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Brandon is a man, after all—and can die,” said John, with deep emphasis. “Vijal,” he continued, in a whisper, “hates me, but he would lay down his life for you.”
“I understand,” said Potts, after a pause.
A long silence followed.
“You go on to the inn,” said Potts, at last. “I’ll talk with Vijal.”
“Shall I risk the policemen?”
“Yes, you run no risk. I’ll sleep in the bank.”
“All right,” said John, and he walked away.
“Vijal,” said Potts, dropping back so as to wait for the Malay. “You are faithful to me.”
“Yes,” answered Vijal.
“All the others betrayed me, but you did not?”
“Never.”
“Do you know when you first saw me?”
“Yes.”
“I saved your life.”
“Yes.”
“Your father was seized at Manilla and killed for murder, but I protected you, and promised to take care of you. Haven’t I done so?”
“Yes,” said Vijal humbly, and in a reverent tone.
“Haven’t I been another father?”
“You have.”
“Didn’t I promise to tell you some day who the man was that killed your father?”
“Yes,” exclaimed Vijal, fiercely.
“Well, I’m going to tell you.”
“Who?” cried Vijal, in excitement so strong that he could scarce speak.
“Did you see that man who drove me out of the Hall?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that was the man. He killed your father. He has ruined me—your other father. What do you say to that?”
“He shall die,” returned Vijal, solemnly. “He shall die.”
“I am an old man,” resumed Potts. “If I were as strong as I used to be I would not talk about this to you. I would do it all myself.”
“I’ll do it!” cried Vijal. “I’ll do it!”
His eyes flashed, his nostrils dilated—all the savage within him was aroused. Potts saw this, and rejoiced.
“Do you know how to use this?” he asked, showing Vijal the cord which Brandon had given him.
Vijal’s eyes dilated, and a wilder fire shone in them. He seized the cord, turned it round his hand for a moment, and then hurled it at Potts. It passed round and round his waist.
“Ah!” said Potts, with deep gratification. “You have not forgotten, then. You can throw it skillfully.”
Vijal nodded, and said nothing.
“Keep the cord. Follow up that man. Avenge your father’s death and my ruin.”
“I will,” said Vijal, sternly.
“It may take long. Follow him up. Do not come back to me till you come to tell me that he is dead.”
Vijal nodded.
“Now I am going. I must fly and hide myself from this man. As long as he lives I am in danger. But you will always find John at the inn when you wish to see me.”
“I will lay down my life for you,” said Vijal.
“I don’t want your life,” returned Potts. “I want his.”
“You shall have it,” exclaimed Vijal.
Potts said no more. He handed Vijal his purse in silence. The latter took it without a word. Potts then went toward the bank, and Vijal stood alone in the road.