Lablache’s ejaculation was the result of the sudden apparition of a dark face peering in at his window.  He swung round with lightning rapidity, and before Horrocks could realize what he was doing his fat hand was grasping the butt of a revolver.  Then, with a grunt of annoyance, he turned back to his guest.

“That’s your Breed, I take it.  For the moment I thought it was some one else; it’s always best in these parts to shoot first and inquire afterwards.  I occasionally get some strange visitors.”

The policeman laughed as he went to the door.  His irritation at the money-lender’s manner was forgotten.  The strangeness of the sight of Lablache’s twenty stone of flesh moving with lightning rapidity astonished him beyond measure.  Had he not seen it nothing would have convinced him of the man’s marvelous agility when roused by emergency.  It was something worth remembering.

Sure enough, the face on the other side of the window belonged to Gautier, and, as Horrocks opened the door, the Breed pushed his way stealthily in.

“It’s all right, boss,” said the man, with some show of anxiety, “I’ve slipped ’em.  I’m watched pretty closely, but—­good evening, sir,” he went on, turning to Lablache with obsequious politeness.  “This is bad medicine—­this business we’re on.”

Lablache cleared his throat and spat, but deigned no reply.  He intended to take no part in the ensuing conversation.  He only wished to observe.

Horrocks at once became the officer to the subordinate.  He turned sharply on the Breed.

“Cut the cackle and come to business.  Have you anything to tell us about this Retief?  Out with it sharp.”

“That depends, boss,” said the man, with a cunning smile.  “As you sez.  Cut the cackle and come to business.  Business means a deal, and a deal means ‘cash pappy.’  Wot’s the figger?”

There was no obsequious politeness about the fellow now.  He was about as bad a specimen of the Breed as could well be found.  Hence his late employment by the authorities.  “The worse the Breed the better the spy,” was the motto of those whose duty it was to investigate crime.  Gautier was an excellent spy, thoroughly unscruplous and rapacious.  His information was always a saleable commodity, and he generally found his market a liberal one.  But with business instincts worthy of Lablache himself he was accustomed to bargain first and impart after.

“See here,” retorted Horrocks, “I don’t go about blind-folded.  Neither am I going to fling bills around without getting value for ’em.  What’s your news?  Can you lay hands on Retief, or tell us where the stock is hidden?”

“Guess you’re looking fer somethin’ now,” said the man, impudently.  “Ef I could supply that information right off some ’un ’ud hev to dip deep in his pocket fur it.  I ken put you on to a good even trail, an’ fifty dollars ‘ud be small pay for the trouble an’ the danger I’m put to.  Wot say?  Fifty o’ the best greenbacks?”