“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?”