The landlord stood there with a puzzled face, discussing with several friends the case of the day. More particularly he was troubled by the sudden departure of the old man, who about an hour previously had started off in a great hurry, leaving no directions whatever as to what was to be done with the body up stairs. It was this which now perplexed the landlord.
Despard listened attentively to the conversation. The landlord mentioned that Potts had taken the road to Brandon. The servant who had been with the young man had not been seen. If the old man should not return what was to be done?
This was enough for Despard, who had his horse saddled without delay and started also on the Brandon road. He rode on swiftly for some time, hoping to overtake the man whom he pursued. He rode, however, several miles without coming in sight of him or of any one like him. At last he reached that hollow which had been the scene of his encounter with Clark. As he descended into it he saw a group of men by the road-side surrounding some object. In the middle of the road was a farmer’s wagon, and a horse was standing in the distance.
{Illustration: “IT WAS POTTS."}
Despard rode up and saw the prostrate figure of a man. He dismounted. The farmers stood aside and disclosed the face.
It was Potts.
Despard stooped down. It was already dusk but even in that dim light he saw the coils of a thin cord wound tightly about the neck of this victim, from one end of which a leaden bullet hung down.
By that light also he saw the hilt of a weapon which had been plunged into his heart, from which the blood had flowed in torrents.
It was a Malay creese. Upon the handle was carven a name:
JOHN POTTS.