“Good-morning,” replied Brandon.
“Are you going to Denton?”
“Yes.”
“So am I,” said Vijal.
Brandon was purposely courteous, although it was not exactly the thing for a gentleman to be thus addressed by a servant. He saw that this servant had overreached himself, and knew that he must have some motive for joining him and addressing him in so familiar a manner.
He suspected what might be Vijal’s aim, and therefore kept a close watch on him. He saw that Vijal, while holding the reins in his left hand, kept his right hand concealed in his breast. A suspicion darted across his mind. He stroked his mustache with his own right hand, which he kept constantly upraised, and talked cheerfully and patronizingly with his companion. After a while he fell back a little and drew forth a knife, which he concealed in his hand, and then he rode forward as before abreast of the other, assuming the appearance of perfect calm and indifference.
“Have you left Potts?” said Brandon, after a short time.
“No,” replied Vijal.
“Ah! Then you are on some business of his now?”
“Yes.”