Lablache struck a table bell sharply, and one of his clerks, all of whom were still working in the store, entered.  The money-lender’s clerks always worked early and late.  It was part of the great man’s creed to sweat his employees.

“Just go over to the saloon, Markham, and tell them to send supper for one—­something substantial,” he called out after the man, who hastened to obey with the customary precipitance of all who served the flinty financier.

The man disappeared in a twinkling and Lablache turned to his visitor again.

“They’ll send it over at once.  There’s some whisky in that bottle,” pointing to a small cabinet, through the glass door of which gleamed the white label of “special Glenlivet.”  “Help yourself.  It’ll buck you up.”

Horrocks obeyed with alacrity, and the genial spirit considerably refreshed him.  He then reseated himself opposite to his host, who had faced round from his desk.

“My news is not the—­worst, as you seem to anticipate; although, perhaps, it might have been better,” the officer began.  “In fact, I am fairly well pleased with the result of my day’s work.”

“Which means, I take it, that you have discovered a clew.”

Lablache’s heavy eyes gleamed.

“Rather more than a clew,” Horrocks went on reflectively.  “My information relates more to the man than to the beasts.  We shall, I think, lay our hands on this—­Retief.”

“Good—­good,” murmured the money-lender, inclining his heavy jowled head.  “Find the man and we shall recover the cattle.”

“I am not so sure of that,” put in the other.  “However, we shall see.”

Lablache looked slightly disappointed.  The capture of Retief seemed to him synonymous with the recovery of his stock.  However, he waited for his visitor to proceed.  The money-lender was essentially a man to draw his own conclusions after hearing the facts, and no opinion of another was likely to influence him when once those conclusions were arrived at.  Lablache was a strong man mentally and physically.  And few cared to combat his decisions or opinions.

For a moment further talk was interrupted by the entry of a man with Horrocks’s supper.  When the fellow had withdrawn the police-officer began his repast and the narration of his story at the same time.  Lablache watched and listened with an undisturbed concentration.  He lost no point, however small, in the facts as stated by the officer.  He refrained from interruption, excepting where the significance of certain points in the story escaped him, and, at the conclusion, he was as conversant with the situation as though he had been present at the investigation.  The great man was profoundly impressed with what he heard.  Not so much with the shrewdness of the officer as with the simple significance of the loss of further trace of the cattle at the edge of the muskeg.  Up to this point of the story he felt assured that Horrocks was to be perfectly relied upon, but, for the rest, he was not so sure.  He felt that though this man was the finest tracker in the country the delicate science of deduction was not necessarily an accompaniment to his prairie abilities.  Therefore, for the moment, he concentrated his thoughts upon the features surrounding the great keg.