“Vijal!” cried Potts, savagely, “tackle him.”
Vijal rushed forward. At that instant Asgeelo bounded forward also with one tremendous leap, and seizing Vijal by the throat hurled him to the floor.
The stranger waved his hand.
“Let him go!” said he.
Asgeelo obeyed.
“What the devil’s the meaning of this?” cried John, looking around in dismay. Potts also looked around. There stood the servants—motionless, impassive.
“For the last time,” roared Potts, with a perfect volley of oaths, “seize that man, or you’ll be sorry for it.”
The servants stood motionless. The stranger remained in the same attitude with the same sneering smile.
“You see,” said he, at last, “that you don’t know me, after all. You are in my power, Briggs—you can’t get away, nor can your son.”
Potts rushed, with an oath, to the door. Half a dozen servants were standing there. As he came furiously toward them they held out their clenched fists. He rushed upon them. They beat him back. He fell, foaming at the lips.