Cord and Creese Part 98

Despard flung himself on his knees beside Langhetti. He saw his hands torn and bleeding, and blood covering his face and breast. A low groan was all that escaped from the sufferer.

"Leave me," he gasped. "Save Bice."

In his grief for Langhetti, thus lying before him in such agony, Despard forgot all else. He seized his handkerchief and tried to stanch the blood.

"Leave me!" gasped Langhetti again. "Bice will be lost." His head, which Despard had supported for a moment, sank back, and life seemed to leave him.

Despard started up. Now for the first time he recollected the stranger; and in an instant understood who he was, and why this had been done.

Suddenly, as he started up, he felt his pistol s.n.a.t.c.hed from his hand by a strong grasp. He turned.

It was the horseman--it was Clark--who had stealthily dismounted, and, in his desperate purpose, had tried to make sure of Despard.

But Despard, quick as thought, leaped upon him, and caught his hand. In the struggle the pistol fell to the ground. Despard caught Clark in his arms, and then the contest began.

Clark was of medium size, thick-set, muscular, robust, and desperate.

Despard was tall, but his frame was well knit, his muscles and sinews were like iron, and he was inspired by a higher Spirit and a deeper pa.s.sion.

In the first shock of that fierce embrace not a word was spoken. For some time the struggle was maintained without result. Clark had caught Despard at a disadvantage, and this for a time prevented the latter from putting forth his strength effectually.

At last he wound one arm around Clark's neck in a strangling grasp, and forced his other arm under that of Clark. Then with one tremendous, one resistless impulse, he put forth all his strength. His antagonist gave way before it. He reeled.

Despard disengaged one arm and dealt him a tremendous blow on the temple. At the same instant he twined his legs about those of the other.

At the stroke Clark, who had already staggered, gave way utterly and fell heavily backward, with Despard upon him.

The next instant Despard had seized his throat and held him down so that he could not move.

The wretch gasped and groaned. He struggled to escape from that iron hold in vain. The hand which had seized him was not to be shaken off.

Despard had fixed his grasp there, and there in the throat of the fainting, suffocating wretch he held it.

The struggles grew fainter, the arms relaxed, the face blackened, the limbs stiffened. At last all efforts ceased.

Despard then arose, and, turning Clark over on his face, took the bridle from one of the horses, bound his hands behind him, and fastened his feet securely. In the fierce struggle Clark's coat and waistcoat had been torn away, and slipped down to some extent. His shirt-collar had burst and slipped with them. As Despard turned him over and proceeded to tie him, something struck his eye. It was a bright, red scar.

He pulled down the shirt. A mark appeared, the full meaning of which he knew not, but could well conjecture. There were three brands--fiery red--and these were the marks:

[Ill.u.s.tration: ^ /| [three lines, forming short arrow]

R [sans-serif R]

+ [plus sign] ]

CHAPTER LII.

FACE TO FACE.

On the same evening Potts left the bank at about five o'clock, and went up to the Hall with John. He was morose, gloomy, and abstracted. The great question now before him was how to deal with Smithers & Co. Should he write to them, or go and see them, or what? How could he satisfy their claims, which he knew would now be presented? Involved in thoughts like these, he entered the Hall, and, followed by John, went to the dining-room, where father and son sat down to refresh themselves over a bottle of brandy.

They had not been seated half an hour before the noise of carriage-wheels was heard; and on looking out they saw a dog-cart drawn by two magnificent horses, which drove swiftly up to the portico. A gentleman dismounted, and, throwing the reins to his servant, came up the steps.

The stranger was of medium size, with an aristocratic air, remarkably regular features, of pure Grecian outline, and deep, black, l.u.s.trous eyes. His brow was dark and stern, and clouded over by a gloomy frown.

"Who the devil is he?" cried Potts. "D--n that porter! I told him to let no one in to-day."

"I believe the porter's playing fast and loose with us. But, by Jove! do you see that fellow's eyes? Do you know who else has such eyes?"

"No."

"Old Smithers."

"Smithers!"

"Yes."

"Then this is young Smithers?"

"Yes; or else the devil," said John, harshly. "I begin to have an idea,"

he continued. "I've been thinking about this for some time."

"What is it?"

"Old Smithers had these eyes. That last chap that drew the forty thousand out of you kept his eyes covered. Here comes this fellow with the same eyes. I begin to trace a connection between them."

"Pooh! Old Smithers is old enough to be this man's grandfather."

"Did you ever happen to notice that old Smithers hadn't a wrinkle in his face?"

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, nothing--only his hair mightn't have been natural; that's all."

Potts and John exchanged glances, and nothing was said for some time.

"Perhaps this Smithers & Son have been at the bottom of all this,"

continued John. "They are the only ones who could have been strong enough."

"But why should they?"

John shook his head.

"Despard or Langhetti may have got them to do it. Perhaps that d----d girl did it. Smithers & Co. will make money enough out of the speculation to pay them. As for me and you, I begin to have a general but very accurate idea of ruin. You are getting squeezed pretty close up to the wall, dad, and they won't give you time to breathe."

Before this conversation had ended the stranger had entered, and had gone up to the drawing-room. The servant came down to announce him.