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: [Illustration: ^ /|\ [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, lustrous 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.