turned towards the money-lender. At this moment Lablache was at his
best. His was a dominating personality. There was no cowardice in his
nature--at least no physical cowardice. Doubtless, had it come to a
struggle where agility was required, he would have fallen an easy prey
to his lithe companion; but with him, somehow, it never did come to a
struggle. He had a way with him that chilled any such thought that a
would-be assailant might have. Will and unflinching courage are splendid
assets. And, amongst others, this man possessed both.

Mancha slunk back to the door, and, fumbling at the lock, opened it and
passed out. Lablache instantly whipped out a revolver, and, stepping
heavily on one side, advanced to the door, paused and listened. He was
well under cover. The door was open. He was behind it. He knew better
than to expose himself in the light for Mancha to make a target of him
from without. Then he kicked the door to. Making a complete circuit of
the walls of the office he came to the opposite side of the door, where
he swiftly locked and bolted it. Then he drew an iron shutter across the
light panelling and secured it.

"Good," he muttered, as, sucking in a heavy breath, he returned to the
stove and turned his back to it. "It's as well to understand Mexican
nature."

Then he lounged into his basket chair and rubbed his fleshy hands
reflectively. There was a triumphant look upon his repulsive features.

"Quite right, friend Pedro, it's not a bad deal," he said to himself,
blinking at the red light of the fire. "Not half bad. Seven thousand
dollars for two thousand dollars, and every cent of it realizable." He
shook with inward mirth. "The Hon. William Bunning-Ford will now have to
disgorge every stick of his estate. Good, good!"

Then he relapsed into deep thought. Presently he roused himself from his
reverie and prepared for bed.

"But I'll give him a chance. Yes, I'll give him a chance," he muttered,
as, after undergoing the simple operation of removing his coat, he
stretched himself upon his bed and drew the blankets about him. "If
he'll consent to renounce any claim, fancied or otherwise, he may have
to Joaquina Allandale's regard I'll refrain from selling him up. Yes,
Verner Lablache will forego his money--for a time."

The great bed shook as the monumental money-lender suppressed a chuckle.
Then he turned over, and his stertorous inhalations soon suggested that
the great man slept.

Shylock, the