"Come along," he said, and linking his arm within the other's, he led
the way over to the store; the doctor, equally eager, bringing up the
rear.

Bill suffered himself to be thus led. He knew that in such company
Lablache could not very well refuse him admission to his office. He had
a decided wish to be present when the money-lender told his tale.
However, in this he was doomed to disappointment. Lablache had already
decided upon a plan of action.

At the store the three friends made their way through the crowd of
curious people who had gathered on the unexpected return of the chief
actors in last night's drama; they made their way quickly round to the
back where the private door was.

Lablache was within, and with him Horrocks. The heavy voice of the
money-lender answered "Poker" John's summons.

"Come in."

He was surprised when the door opened, and he saw who his visitors were.
John and the doctor he was prepared for, but "Lord" Bill's coming was a
different matter. For an instant he seriously meditated an angry
objection. Then he altered his mind, a thing which was rare with him.
After all the man's presence could do no harm, and he felt that to
object to him, would be to quarrel with the rancher. On second thoughts
he would tolerate what he considered the intrusion.

Lablache was ensconced in his basket chair, and Horrocks was at the
great man's desk. Neither moved as their visitors entered. The troubles
of the previous night were plainly written on both men's faces. There
was a haggard look in their eyes, and a generally dishevelled appearance
about their dress. Lablache in particular looked unwashed and untidy.
Horrocks looked less troubled, and there was a strong air of
determination about his face.

"Poker" John showed no niceness in broaching the subject of his visit.
His libations had roused him to the proper pitch for plain speaking.

"Well, what happened to you last night, Lablache? I guess you're looking
about as blue as they make 'em. Say, I thought sure Retief was going to
do for you when I heard about it."

"Ah. Who told you about--about me?"

"Your clerk."

"Rodgers?"

"No, Thompson."

"Ah! Have you seen Rodgers at all?"

"No." John turned to the other two. "Have you?"

Neither of the men had seen the clerk, and old John turned again to
Lablache.

"Why, what's happened to Rodgers?"

"Oh, nothing. I haven't seen him since I have been back--that's all."

"Well, now tell us a