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.”

Vijal cast down his eyes humbly.

“I can try again,” said he. “I have made a mistake this time; the next time I will make sure.”

There was something in the tone of his voice so remorseless and so vengeful that Potts felt reassured.

“You are a good lad,” said he, “a good lad. And you’ll try again?”

“Yes,” said Vijal, with flashing eyes.

“You’ll make sure this time?”

“I’ll make sure this time. But I must have some one with me,” he continued. “You need not trouble yourself. Send John with me. He won’t mistake. If he is with me I’ll make sure.”

As the Malay said this a brighter and more vivid flash shone from his eyes. He gave a malevolent smile, and his white teeth glistened balefully. Instantly he checked the smile, and cast down his eyes.

“Ah!” said Potts. “That is very good. John shall go. Johnnie, you don’t mind going, do you?”

“I’ll go,” said John, languidly.

“You’ll know the fellow, won’t you?”

“I rather think I should.”

“But what will you do first?”

“Go to Denton,” said John.

“To Denton?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because Brandon is there.”

“How can he be?”

“Simply,” said John, “because I know the man that Vijal attacked must have been Brandon. No other person answers to the description. No other person would be so quick to dodge the cord, and so quick with the revolver. He has humbugged Vijal somehow, and this fool of a nigger has believed him. He was Brandon, and no one else, and I’m going on his track.”

“Well—you’re right, perhaps,” said Potts; “but take care of yourself, Johnnie.”

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.”

“I’ll not make a mistake this time,” was Vijal’s answer. And as he spoke his eyes gleamed, and again that baleful smile passed over his face.

“That’s the man,” said John. “You understand that? That’s the man you’ve got to fix, do you hear? Don’t be a fool this time. You must manage it to-night, for I don’t want to wait here forever. I leave it to you. I only came to make sure of the man. I’m tired, and I’m going to bed soon. When I wake to-morrow I expect to hear from you that you have finished this business. If you don’t, d—n you, I’ll wring your infernal nigger’s neck.”

“It will all be done by to-morrow,” said Vijal, calmly.

“Then clear out and leave me. I’m going to bed. What you’ve got to do is to watch that man.”

Vijal retired.

The night passed. When the following morning came John was not up at the ordinary breakfast hour. Nine o’clock came. Ten o’clock. Still he did not appear.

“He’s a lazy fellow,” said the landlord, “though he don’t look like it. And where’s his servant?”

“The servant went back to Brandon at day-break,” was the answer.

Eleven o’clock came. Still there were no signs of John. There was a balcony in the inn which ran in front of the windows of the room occupied by John. After knocking at the door once or twice the landlord tapped at the window and tried to peep in to see if the occupant was awake or not. One part, of the blind was drawn a little aside, and showed the bed and the form of a man still lying there.

“He’s an awful sleeper,” said the landlord. “It’s twelve o’clock, and he isn’t up yet. Well, it’s his business, not mine.”

About half an hour after the noise of wheels was heard, and a wagon drove swiftly into the yard of the inn. An old man jumped out, gave his horse to the hostler, and entered the inn.

He was somewhat flushed and flurried. His eyes twinkled brightly, and there was a somewhat exuberant familiarity in his address to the landlord.

“There was a party who stopped here last night,” said he, “that I wish to see.”

“There was only one person here last night,” answered the landlord; “a young man—”

“A young man, yes—that’s right; I want to see him.”

“Well, as to that,” said the landlord, “I don’t know but you’ll have to wait. He ain’t up yet.”

“Isn’t he up yet?”

“No; he’s an awful sleeper. He went to bed last night early, for his lights were out before eleven, and now it’s nearly one, and he isn’t up.”

“At any rate, I must see him.”

“Shall I wake him?”

{Illustration: HE TORE DOWN THE COVERLET, WHICH CONCEALED THE GREATER PART OF HIS FACE.}

“Yes, and be quick, for I’m in a hurry.”

The landlord went up to the door and knocked loudly. There was no answer. He knocked still more loudly. Still no answer. He then kept up an incessant rapping for about ten minutes. Still there was no answer. He had tried the door before, but it was locked on the inside. He went around to the windows that opened on the balcony; these were open.

He then went down and told the old man that the door was fastened, but that the windows were unfastened. If he chose to go in there he might do so.

“I will do so,” said the other, “for I must see him. I have business of importance.” He went up.

The landlord and some of the servants, whose curiosity was by this time excited, followed after.

The old man opened the window, which swung back on hinges, and entered. There was a man in the bed.

He lay motionless. The old man approached. He recognized the face.

A cold chill went to his heart. He tore down the coverlet, which concealed the greater part of his face. The next moment he fell forward upon the bed.

“Johnnie!” he screamed—“Johnnie!”

There was no answer. The face was rigid and fixed. Around the neck was a faint, bluish line, a mark like what might have been made by a cord.

“Johnnie, Johnnie!” cried the old man again, in piercing tones. He caught at the hands of the figure before him; he tried to pull it forward.

There was no response. The old man turned away and rushed to the window, gasping, with white lips, and bloodshot eyes, and a face of horror.

“He is dead!” he shrieked. “My boy—my son—my Johnnie! Murderer! You have killed him.”

The landlord and the servants started back in horror from the presence of this father in his misery.

It was for but a moment that he stood there. He went back and flung himself upon the bed. Then he came forth again and stood upon the balcony, motionless, white-faced, speechless—his lips muttering inaudible words.

A crowd gathered round. The story soon spread. This was the father of a young man who had stopped at the inn and died suddenly. The crowd that gathered around the inn saw the father as he stood on the balcony.

The dwellers in the cottage that was almost opposite saw him, and Asgeelo brought them the news.