John gave a dry smile.
“I’ll try to do so and I hope to take care of others also,” said he.
“God bless you, Johnnie!” said Potts, affectionately, not knowing the blasphemy of invoking the blessing of God on one who was setting out to commit murder.
“You’re spooney, dad,” returned John, and he left the bank with Vijal.
John went back to the inn first, and after a few preparations started for Denton. On the way he amused himself with coarse jests at Vijal’s stupidity in allowing himself to be deceived by Brandon, taunted him with cowardice in yielding so easily, and assured him that one who was so great a coward could not possibly succeed in any undertaking.
Toward evening they reached the inn at Denton. John was anxious not to show himself, so he went at once to the inn, directing Vijal to keep a look-out for Brandon and let him know if he saw any one who looked like him. These directions were accompanied and intermingled with numerous threats as to what he would do if Vijal dared to fail in any particular. The Malay listened calmly, showing none of that impatience and haughty resentment which he formerly used to manifest toward John, and quietly promised to do what was ordered.
About ten o’clock John happened to look on of the window. He saw a figure standing where the light from the windows flashed out, which at once attracted his attention. It was the man whom he sought—it was Brandon. Was he stopping at the same inn? If so, why had not Vijal told him? He at once summoned Vijal, who came as calm as ever. To John’s impatient questions as to why he had not told him about Brandon, he answered that Brandon had only come there half an hour previously, and that he had been watching him ever since to see what he was going to do.
“You most keep on watching him, then; do you hear?”
“Yes.”
“And if you let him slip this time, you infernal nigger, you’ll pay dear for it.”