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.