“People say to Liverpool. I only tell what I know. I heard young Bill Potts, the old fellow’s son, boasting one night at the inn where he was half drunk, how they had served the Brandons. He said they wanted to leave the village, so his father helped them away to America.”
“To America?”
“Yes, Sir.”
Brandon made no rejoinder.
“Bill Potts said they went to Liverpool, and then left for America to make their fortunes.”
“What part of America?” asked Brandon, indifferently. “I never saw or heard of them.”
“Didn’t you, Sir?” asked the tailor, who evidently thought that America was like some English county, where every body may hear of every body else. “That’s odd, too. I was going to ask you if you had.”
“I wonder what ship they went out in?”
“That I can’t say, Sir. Bill Potts kept dark about that. He said one thing, though, that set us thinking.”
“What was that?”