THE PAW OF THE CAT

Lablache was alone.  Horrocks had left him to set out on his final effort to discover Retief’s hiding-place.  The great man was eagerly waiting for his return.  Evening was drawing on and the officer had not yet put in an appearance, neither had the money-lender received any word from him.  In consequence he was beginning to hope that Horrocks had succeeded.

All day the wretched man had been tortured by horrid fears.  And, as time passed and evening drew on, his mood became almost a panic.  The money-lender was in a deplorable state of mind; his nerves were shaken, and he was racked by a dread of he scarce knew what.  What he had gone through the night before had driven him to the verge of mental collapse.  No bodily injury could have thus reduced him; for, whatever might have been his failings, physical cowardice was not amongst the number.  Any moral weakness which might have been his had been so obscured by long years of success and prosperity, that no one knowing him would have believed him to be so afflicted.  No, in spite of his present condition Lablache was a strong man.

But the frightful mental torture he had endured at Retief’s hands had told its tale.  The attack of the last twenty-four hours had been made against him alone; at least, so Lablache understood it.  Retief’s efforts were only in his direction; the raider had robbed him of twenty thousand head of cattle; he had burnt his beautiful ranch out, in sheer wantonness it seemed to the despairing man; what then would be his next move if he were not stopped?  What else was there of his—­Lablache’s—­that the Breed could attack?  His store—­yes—­yes; his store!  That was all that was left of his property in Foss River.  And then—­what then?  There was nothing after that, except, perhaps—­except his life.

Lablache stirred in his seat and wheezed heavily as he arrived at this conclusion.  His horrified thoughts were expressed in the look of fear that was in his lashless eyes.

His life—­yes!  That must be the raider’s culminating object.  Or would he leave him that, so that he might further torture him by burning him out of Calford.  He pondered fearfully, and hard, practical as was his nature, the money-lender allowed his imagination to run riot over possibilities which surely his cooler judgment would have scoffed at.

Lablache rose hurriedly from his chair.  It only wanted a quarter to five.  Putting his head through the partition doorway he ordered his astonished clerks to close up.  He felt that he could not—­dare not keep the store open longer.  Then he inspected the private door of his office.  The spring catch was fast.  He locked his safe.  All the time he moved about fearfully—­like some hunted criminal.  At last he returned to his seat.  His bilious eyes roved over the various objects in the room.  A hunted look was in them.  His mind seemed fixed on one thought alone—­the coming of Retief.