The police-officer’s face was a study.  As he listened to the masterful tone of his companion his color came and went.  His dark skin flushed and then rapidly paled.  A blaze of anger leapt into his keen, flashing eyes.  Lablache had flicked him sorely.  He struggled to keep cool.

“Unfortunately my position will not allow me to fall out with you,” he said, with scarcely-suppressed heat, “otherwise I should call you sharply to account for your insulting remarks.  For the moment we will pass them over.  In the meantime, Mr. Lablache, let me tell you, my experience leads me to trust largely to the story of that man.  Gautier has sold me a good deal of excellent information in the past, and I am convinced that what I have now heard is not the least of his efforts in the law’s behalf.  Rascal—­scoundrel—­as he is, he would not dare to set me on a false scent—­”

“Not if backed by a man like Retief—­and all the half-breed camp?  You surprise me.”

Horrocks gritted his teeth but spoke sharply.  Lablache’s supercilious tone of mockery drove him to the verge of madness.

“Not even under these circumstances.  I shall attend that pusky and effect the arrest.  I understand these people better than you give me credit for.  I presume your discretion will not permit you to be present at the capture?”

It was Horrocks’s turn to sneer now.  Lablache remained unmoved.  He merely permitted the ghost of a smile.

“My discretion will not permit me to be present at the pusky.  There will be no capture, I fear.”

“Then I’ll bid you good-night.  There is no need to further intrude upon your time.”

“None whatever.”

The money-lender did not attempt to show the policeman any consideration.  He had decided that Horrocks was a fool, and when Lablache formed such an opinion of a man he rarely attempted to conceal it, especially when the man stood in a subordinate position.

After seeing the officer off the premises, Lablache moved heavily back to his desk.  The alarm clock indicated ten minutes to nine.  He stood for some moments gazing with introspective eyes at the timepiece.  He was thinking hard.  He was convinced that what he had just heard was a mere fabrication, invented to cover some ulterior motive.  That motive puzzled him.  He had no fear for Horrocks’s life.  Horrocks wore the uniform of the Government.  Lawless and all as the Breeds were, he knew they would not resist the police—­unless, of course, Retief were there.  Having decided in his mind that Retief would not be there he had no misgivings.  He failed to fathom the trend of affairs at all.  In spite of his outward calm he felt uneasy, and he started as though he had been shot when he heard a loud knocking at his private door.

The money-lender’s hand dropped on to the revolver lying upon the desk, and he carried the weapon with him when he went to answer the summons.  His alarm was needless.  His late visitor was “Poker” John.