“It can only be one person,” said Langhetti, solemnly.
“Who?”
“Louis Brandon. He and no other. Who else could thus have been chosen to find the dead? He has his wrongs also to avenge.”
Despard was silent. Overwhelming thoughts crowded upon him. Was this man Louis Brandon?
“We must find him,” said he. “We must gain his help in our work. We must also tell him about Edith.”
“Yes,” replied Langhetti. “But no doubt he has his own work before him; and this is but part of his plan, to rouse you from inaction to vengeance.”
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.