Cord and Creese

J >> James de Mille >> Cord and Creese

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The stranger stood with a scornful smile on his face. Potts turned to
him savagely:

"I'll teach you," he cried, "that you've come to the wrong shop. I'm not
a child. Who you are I don't know and I don't care. You are the cause of
my ruin, and you'll repent of it."

[Illustration: "THUG! DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT IS?"]

The stranger said nothing, but stood with the same fixed and scornful
smile. A noise was heard outside, the tramp of a crowd of men. They
ascended the stairs. At last John appeared at the door of the room,
followed by thirty servants. Prominent among these was Asgeelo. Near him
was Vijal. Potts gave a triumphant smile. The servants ranged themselves
around the room.

"Now," cried Potts, "you're in for it. You're in a trap, I think. You'll
find that I'm not a born idiot. Give up that cord!"

The stranger said nothing, but wound up the cord coolly, placed it in
his pocket, and still regarded Potts with his scornful smile.

"Here!" cried Potts, addressing the servants. "Catch that man, and tie
his hands and feet."

The servants had taken their station around the room at John's order. As
Potts spoke they stood there looking at the stranger, but not one of
them moved. Vijal only started forward. The stranger turned toward him
and looked in his face.

Vijal glanced around in surprise, waiting for the other servants.

"You devils!" cried Potts, "do you hear what I say? Seize that man!"

None of the servants moved.

"It's my belief," said John, "that they're all ratting."

"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.

John stood, cool and unmoved, looking around the room, and learning from
the face of each servant that they were all beyond his authority. He
folded his arms, and said nothing.

"You appear to have been mistaken in your man," said the stranger,
coolly. "These are not your servants; they're mine. Shall I tell them to
seize you?"

Potts glared at him with bloodshot eyes, but said nothing.

"Shall I tell them to pull up your sleeve and display the mark of
Bowhani, Sir? Shall I tell who and what you are? Shall I begin from your
birth and give them a full and complete history of your life?"

Potts looked around like a wild beast in the arena, seeking for some
opening for escape, but finding nothing except hostile faces.

"Do what you like!" he cried, desperately, with an oath, and sank down
into stolid despair.

"No; you don't mean that," said the other. "For I have some London
policemen at the inn, and I might like best to hand you over to them on
charges which you can easily imagine. You don't wish me to do so, I
think. You'd prefer being at large to being chained up in a cell, or
sent to Botany Bay, I suppose? Still, if you prefer it, I will at once
arrange an interview between yourself and these gentlemen."

"What do you want?" anxiously asked Potts, who now thought that he might
come to terms, and perhaps gain his escape from the clutches of his
enemy.

"The title deeds of the Brandon estate," said the stranger.

"Never!"

"Then off you go. They must be mine, at any rate. Nothing can prevent
that. Either give them now and begone, or delay, and you go at once to
jail."

"I won't give them," said Potts, desperately.

"Cato!" said the stranger, "go and fetch the policemen."

"Stop!" cried John.

At a sign Asgeelo, who had already taken two steps toward the door,
paused.

"Here, dad," said John, "you've got to do it. You might as well hand
over the papers. You don't want to get into quod, I think."

Potts turned his pale face to his son.

"Do it!" exclaimed John.

"Well," he said, with a sigh, "since I've got to, I've got to, I
suppose. You know best, Johnnie. I always said you had a long head."

"I must go and get them," he continued.

"I'll go with you; or no--Cato shall go with you, and I'll wait here."

The Hindu went with Potts, holding his collar in his powerful grasp, and
taking care to let Potts see the hilt of a knife which he carried up his
sleeve, in the other hand.

After about a quarter of an hour they returned, and Potts handed over to
the stranger some papers. He looked at them carefully, and put them in
his pocket. He then gave Potts the cord. Potts took it in an abstracted
way, and said nothing.

"You must leave this Hall to-night," said the stranger, sternly--"you
and your son. I remain here."

"Leave the Hall?" gasped Potts.

"Yes."

For a moment he stood overwhelmed. He looked at John. John nodded his
head slowly.

"You've got to do it, dad," said he.

Potts turned savagely at the stranger. He shook his clenched fist at
him.

"D--n you!" he cried. "Are you satisfied yet? I know you. I'll pay you
up. What complaint have you against me, I'd like to know? I never harmed
you."

"You don't know me, or you wouldn't say that."

"I do. You're Smithers & Co."

"True; and I'm several other people. I've had the pleasure of an
extended intercourse with you. For I'm not only Smithers & Co., but I'm
also Beamish & Hendricks, American merchants. I'm also Bigelow,
Higginson, & Co., solicitors to Smithers & Co. Besides, I'm your London
broker, who attended to your speculations in stocks. Perhaps you think
that you don't know me after all."

As he said this Potts and John exchanged glances of wonder.

"Tricked!" cried Potts--"deceived! humbugged! and ruined! Who are you?
What have you against me? Who are you? Who?"

And he gazed with intense curiosity upon the calm face of the stranger,
who, in his turn, looked upon him with the air of one who was surveying
from a superior height some feeble creature far beneath him.

"Who am I?" he repeated. "Who? I am the one to whom all this belongs. I
am one whom you have injured so deeply, that what I have done to you is
nothing in comparison."

"Who are you?" cried Potts, with feverish impatience. "It's a lie. I
never injured you. I never saw you before till you came yourself to
trouble me. Those whom I have injured are all dead, except that parson,
the son of--of the officer."

"There are others."

Potts said nothing, but looked with some fearful discovery dawning upon
him.

"You know me now!" cried the stranger. "I see it in your face."

"You're not _him_!" exclaimed Potts, in a piercing voice.

"I am LOUIS BRANDON!"

"I knew it! I knew it!" cried John, in a voice which was almost a
shriek.

"Cigole played false. I'll make him pay for this," gasped Potts.

"Cigole did not play false. He killed me as well as he could--But away,
both of you. I can not breathe while you are here. I will allow you an
hour to be gone."

At the end of the hour Brandon of Brandon Hall was at last master in the
home of his ancestors.

CHAPTER LIII.

THE COTTAGE.

When Despard had bound Clark he returned to look after Langhetti. He lay
feebly and motionless upon the ground. Despard carefully examined his
wounds. His injuries were very severe. His arms were lacerated, and his
shoulder torn; blood also was issuing from a wound on the side of his
neck. Despard bound these as best he could, and then sat wondering what
could be done next.

He judged that he might be four or five miles from Denton, and saw that
this was the place to which he must go. Besides, Beatrice was there, and
she could nurse Langhetti. But how could he get there?--that was the
question. It was impossible for Langhetti to go on horseback. He tried
to form some plan by which this might be done. He began to make a sort
of litter to be hung between two horses, and had already cut down with
his knife two small trees or rather bushes for this purpose, when the
noise of wheels on the road before him attracted his attention.

It was a farmer's wagon, and it was coming from the direction of Denton.
Despard stopped it, explained his situation, and offered to pay any
thing if the farmer would turn back and convey his friend and his
prisoner to Denton. It did not take long to strike a bargain; the farmer
turned his horses, some soft shrubs and ferns were strewn on the bottom
of the wagon, and on these Langhetti was deposited carefully. Clark, who
by this time had come to himself, was put at one end, where he sat
grimly and sulkily; the three horses were led behind, and Despard,
riding on the wagon, supported the head of Langhetti on his knees.

Slowly and carefully they went to the village. Despard had no difficulty
in finding the cottage. It was where the letter had described it. The
village inn stood near on the opposite side of the road.

It was about nine o'clock in the evening when they reached the cottage.
Lights were burning in the windows. Despard jumped out hastily and
knocked. A servant came. Despard asked for the mistress, and Beatrice
appeared. As she recognized him her face lighted up with joy. But
Despard's face was sad and gloomy. He pressed her hand in silence and
said:

"My dear adopted sister, I bring you our beloved Langhetti."

"Langhetti!" she exclaimed, fearfully.

"He has met with an accident. Is there a doctor in the place? Send your
servant at once."

Beatrice hurried in and returned with a servant.

"We will first lift him out," said Despard. "Is there a bed ready?"

"Oh yes! Bring him in!" cried Beatrice, who was now in an agony of
suspense.

She hurried after them to the wagon. They lifted Langhetti out and took
him into a room which Beatrice showed them. They tenderly laid him on
the bed. Meanwhile the servant had hurried off for a doctor, who soon
appeared.

Beatrice sat by his bedside; she kissed the brow of the almost
unconscious sufferer, and tried in every possible way to alleviate his
pain. The doctor soon arrived, dressed his wounds, and left directions
for his care, which consisted chiefly in constant watchfulness.

Leaving Langhetti under the charge of Beatrice, Despard went in search
of a magistrate. He found one without any difficulty, and before an hour
Clark was safe in jail. The information which Despard lodged against him
was corroborated by the brands on his back, which showed him to be a man
of desperate character, who had formerly been transported for crime.

Despard next wrote a letter to Mrs. Thornton. He told her about
Langhetti, and urged her to come on immediately and bring Edith with
her. Then he returned to the cottage and wished to sit up with
Langhetti. Beatrice, however, would not let him. She said that no one
should deprive her of the place by his bedside. Despard remained,
however, and the two devoted equal attention to the sufferer. Langhetti
spoke only once. He was so faint that his voice was scarce audible.
Beatrice put her ear close to his mouth.

"What is it?" asked Despard.

"He wants Edith," said Beatrice.

"I have written for her," said Despard.

Beatrice whispered this to Langhetti. An ecstatic smile passed over his
face.

"It is well," he murmured.

CHAPTER LIV.

THE WORM TURNS.

Potts departed from the Hall in deep dejection. The tremendous power of
his enemy had been shown all along; and now that this enemy turned out
to be Louis Brandon, he felt as though some supernatural being had taken
up arms against him. Against that being a struggle seemed as hopeless as
it would be against Fate. It was with some such feeling as this that he
left Brandon Hall forever.

All of his grand projects had broken down, suddenly and utterly. He had
not a ray of hope left of ever regaining the position which he had but
recently occupied. He was thrust back to the obscurity from which he had
emerged.

One thing troubled him. Would the power of his remorseless enemy be now
stayed--would his vengeance end here? He could scarce hope for this. He
judged that enemy by himself, and he knew that he would not stop in the
search after vengeance, that nothing short of the fullest and direst
ruin--nothing, in fact, short of death itself would satisfy him.

John was with him, and Vijal, who alone out of all the servants had
followed his fortunes. These three walked down and passed through the
gates together, and emerged into the outer world in silence. But when
they had left the gates the silence ended.

"Well, dad!" said John, "what are you going to do now?"

"I don't know."

"Have you any money?"

"Four thousand pounds in the bank."

"Not much, dad," said John, slowly, "for a man who last month was worth
millions. You're coming out at the little end of the horn."

Potts made no reply.

"At any rate there's one comfort," said John, "even about that."

"What comfort?"

"Why, you went in at the little end."

They walked on in silence.

"You must do something," said John at last.

"What can I do?"

"You won't let that fellow ride the high horse in this style, will you?"

"How can I help it?"

"You can't help it; but you can strike a blow yourself."

"How?"

"How? You've struck blows before to some purpose, I think."

"But I never yet knew any one with such tremendous power as this man
has. And where did he get all his money? You said before that he was the
devil, and I believe it. Where's Clark? Do you think he has succeeded?"

"No," said John.

"No more do I. This man has every body in his pay. Look at the servants!
See how easily he did what he wished!"

"You've got one servant left."

"Ah, yes--that's a fact."

"That servant will do something for you."

"What do you mean?"

"Brandon is a man, after all--and can _die_," said John, with deep
emphasis. "Vijal," he continued, in a whisper, "hates me, but he would
lay down his life for you."

"I understand," said Potts, after a pause.

A long silence followed.

"You go on to the inn," said Potts, at last. "I'll talk with Vijal."

"Shall I risk the policemen?"

"Yes, you run no risk. I'll sleep in the bank."

"All right," said John, and he walked away.

"Vijal," said Potts, dropping back so as to wait for the Malay. "You are
faithful to me."

"Yes," answered Vijal.

"All the others betrayed me, but you did not?"

"Never."

"Do you know when you first saw me?"

"Yes."

"I saved your life."

"Yes."

"Your father was seized at Manilla and killed for murder, but I
protected you, and promised to take care of you. Haven't I done so?"

"Yes," said Vijal humbly, and in a reverent tone.

"Haven't I been another father?"

"You have."

"Didn't I promise to tell you some day who the man was that killed your
father?"

"Yes," exclaimed Vijal, fiercely.

"Well, I'm going to tell you."

"Who?" cried Vijal, in excitement so strong that he could scarce speak.

"Did you see that man who drove me out of the Hall?"

"Yes."

"Well, that was the man. He killed your father. He has ruined me--your
other father. What do you say to that?"

"He shall die," returned Vijal, solemnly. "He shall die."

"I am an old man," resumed Potts. "If I were as strong as I used to be I
would not talk about this to you. I would do it all myself."

"I'll do it!" cried Vijal. "I'll do it!"

His eyes flashed, his nostrils dilated--all the savage within him was
aroused. Potts saw this, and rejoiced.

"Do you know how to use this?" he asked, showing Vijal the cord which
Brandon had given him.

Vijal's eyes dilated, and a wilder fire shone in them. He seized the
cord, turned it round his hand for a moment, and then hurled it at
Potts. It passed round and round his waist.

"Ah!" said Potts, with deep gratification. "You have not forgotten,
then. You can throw it skillfully."

Vijal nodded, and said nothing.

"Keep the cord. Follow up that man. Avenge your father's death and my
ruin."

"I will," said Vijal, sternly.

"It may take long. Follow him up. Do not come back to me till you come
to tell me that he is dead."

Vijal nodded.

"Now I am going. I must fly and hide myself from this man. As long as he
lives I am in danger. But you will always find John at the inn when you
wish to see me."

"I will lay down my life for you," said Vijal.

"I don't want your life," returned Potts. "I want _his_."

"You shall have it," exclaimed Vijal.

Potts said no more. He handed Vijal his purse in silence. The latter
took it without a word. Potts then went toward the bank, and Vijal stood
alone in the road.

CHAPTER LV.

ON THE ROAD.

On the following morning Brandon started from the Hall at an early hour.
He was on horseback. He rode down through the gates. Passing through the
village he went by the inn and took the road to Denton.

He had not gone far before another horseman followed him. The latter
rode at a rapid pace. Brandon did not pay any especial attention to him,
and at length the latter overtook him. It was when they were nearly
abreast that Brandon recognized the other. It was Vijal.

"Good-morning," said Vijal.

"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."

Brandon was silent.

"Would you like to know what it is?" asked Vijal.

"Not particularly," said Brandon, coldly.

"Shall I tell you?"

"If you choose."

Vijal raised his hand suddenly and gave a quick, short jerk. A cord flew
forth--there was a weight at the end. The cord was flung straight at
Brandon's neck.

But Brandon had been on his guard. At the movement of Vijal's arm he had
raised his own; the cord passed around him, but his arm was within its
embrace. In his hand he held a knife concealed. In an instant he slashed
his knife through the windings of the cord, severing them all; then
dropping the knife he plunged his hand into the pocket of his coat, and
before Vijal could recover from his surprise he drew forth a revolver
and pointed it at him.

[Illustration: VIJAL LOOKED EARNESTLY AT IT. HE SAW THESE WORDS: "JOHN
POTTS."]

Vijal saw at once that he was lost. He nevertheless plunged his spurs
into his horse and made a desperate effort to escape. As his horse
bounded off Brandon fired. The animal gave a wild neigh, which sounded
almost like a shriek, and fell upon the road, throwing Vijal over his
head.

In an instant Brandon was up with him. He leaped from his horse before
Vijal had disencumbered himself from his, and seizing the Malay by the
collar held the pistol at his head.

"If you move," he cried, sternly, "I'll blow your brains out!"

Vijal lay motionless.

"Scoundrel!" exclaimed Brandon, as he held him with the revolver pressed
against his head, "who sent you to do this?"

Vijal in sullen silence answered nothing.

"Tell me or I'll kill you. Was it Potts?"

Vijal made no reply.

"Speak out," cried Brandon. "Fool that you are, I don't want _your_
life."

"You are the murderer of my father," said Vijal, fiercely, "and therefore
I sought to kill you."

Brandon gave a low laugh.

"The murderer of your father?" he repeated.

"Yes," cried Vijal, wildly; "and I sought your death."

Brandon laughed again.

"Do you know how old I am?"

Vijal looked up in amazement. He saw by that one look what he had not
thought of before in his excitement, that Brandon was a younger man than
himself by several years. He was silent.

"How many years is it since your father died?"

Vijal said nothing.

"Fool!" exclaimed Brandon. "It is twenty years. You are false to your
father. You pretend to avenge his death, and you seek out a young man
who had no connection with it. I was in England when he was killed. I
was a child only seven years of age. Do you believe now that I am his
murderer?"

Brandon, while speaking in this way, had relaxed his hold, though he
still held his pistol pointed at the head of his prostrate enemy. Vijal
gave a long, low sigh.

"You were too young," said he, at last. "You are younger than I am. I
was only twelve."

"I could not have been his murderer, then?"

"No."

"Yet I know who his murderer was, for I have found out."

"Who?"

"The same man who killed my own father."

Vijal looked at Brandon with awful eyes.

"Your father had a brother?" said Brandon.

"Yes."

"Do you know his name?"

"Yes. Zangorri."

"Right. Well, do you know what Zangorri did to avenge his brother's
death?"

"No; what?"

"For many years he vowed death to all Englishmen, since it was an
Englishman who had caused the death of his brother. He had a ship; he
got a crew and sailed through the Eastern seas, capturing English ships
and killing the crews. This was his vengeance." Vijal gave a groan.

"You see he has done more than you. He knew better than you who it was
that had killed your father."

"Who was it?" cried Vijal, fiercely.

"I saw him twice," continued Brandon, without noticing the question, of
the other. "I saw him twice, and twice he told me the name of the man
whose death he sought. For year after year he had sought after that man,
but had not found him. Hundreds of Englishmen had fallen. He told me the
name of the man whom he sought, and charged me to carry out his work of
vengeance. I promised to do so, for I had a work of vengeance of my own
to perform, and on the same man, too.

"Who was he?" repeated Vijal, with increased excitement.

"When I saw him last he gave me something which be said he had worn
around his neck for years. I took it, and promised to wear it till the
vengeance which he sought should be accomplished. I did so for I too had
a debt of vengeance stronger than his, and on the same man."

"Who was he?" cried Vijal again, with restless impetuosity.

Brandon unbuttoned his vest and drew forth a Malay creese, which was
hung around his neck and worn under his coat.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked, solemnly.

Vijal took it and looked at it earnestly. His eyes dilated, his nostrils
quivered.

"My father's!" he cried, in a tremulous voice.

Can you read English letters?"

"Yes."

"Can you read the name that is cut upon it?"

And Brandon pointed to a place where some letters were carved.

Vijal looked earnestly at it. He saw these words:

JOHN POTTS.

"That," said Brandon, "is what your father's brother gave to me."

"It's a lie!" growled Vijal, fiercely.

"It's true," said Brandon, calmly, "and it was carved there by your
father's own hand."

Vijal said nothing for a long time. Brandon arose, and put his pistol in
his pocket. Vijal, disencumbering himself from his horse, arose also.
The two stood together on the road.

For hours they remained there talking. At last Brandon remounted and
rode on to Denton. But Vijal went back to the village of Brandon. He
carried with him the creese which Brandon had given him.

CHAPTER LVI.

FATHER AND SON.

Vijal, on going back to Brandon village, went first to the inn where he
saw John. To the inquiries which were eagerly addressed to him he
answered nothing, but simply said that he wished to see Potts. John,
finding him impracticable, cursed him and led the way to the bank.

As Vijal entered Potts locked the door carefully, and then anxiously
questioned him. Vijal gave a plain account of every thing exactly as it
had happened, but with some important alterations and omissions. In the
first place, he said nothing whatever of the long interview which had
taken place and the startling information which he had received. In the
second place, he assured Potts that he must have attacked the wrong man.
For when this man had spared his life he looked at him closely and found
out that he was not the one that he ought to have attacked.

"You blasted fool," cried Potts. "Haven't you got eyes? D--n you; I wish
the fellow, whoever he is, had seized you, or blown your brains out."

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