“Is he in this country,” said Brandon; “or do you believe that he has gone abroad?”
“Vy, much of one and not a little of the other!” said the euphonious confidant.
“How! speak plain, man; what do you mean?”
“Vy, I means, your 'oner, that I can't say vhere he is.”
“And this,” said Brandon, with a muttered oath,—“this is your boasted news, is it? Dog! damned, damned dog! if you trifle with me or play me false, I will hang you,—by the living God, I will!”
The man shrank back involuntarily from Brandon's vindictive forehead and kindled eyes; but with the cunning peculiar to low vice, answered, though in a humbler tone,—
“And vet good vill that do your 'oner? If so be as how you scrags I, will that put your vorship in the vay of finding he?”
Never was there an obstacle in grammar through which a sturdy truth could not break; and Brandon, after a moody pause, said in a milder voice,—
“I did not mean to frighten you! Never mind what I said; but you can surely guess whereabouts he is, or what means of life he pursues. Perhaps,”—and a momentary paleness crossed Brandon's swarthy visage,—“perhaps he may have been driven into dishonesty in order to maintain himself!”
The informant replied with great naivete that such a thing was not impossible! And Brandon then entered into a series of seemingly careless but artful cross-questionings, which either the ignorance or the craft of the man enabled him to baffle. After some time Brandon, disappointed and dissatisfied, gave up his professional task; and bestowing on the man many sagacious and minute instructions as well as a very liberal donation, he was forced to dismiss his mysterious visitor, and to content himself with an assured assertion that if the object of his inquiries should not already be gone to the devil, the strange gentleman employed to discover him would certainly, sooner or later, bring him to the judge.