s of
thousands of dollars sunk in perfect securities, in various European
centers, toned down the grievousness of his losses. Whatever it was he
grew calmer, and with calmness his scheming nature reasserted itself.

He moved from his seat and helped himself liberally to the whisky which
was in his cabinet. He needed the generous spirit, and drank it off at
a gulp. His chair behind him creaked. He started. His ashen face became
more ghastly in its hue. He looked round fearfully. Then he understood,
and he wheezed heavily. Once more he sat himself down, and the warming
spirit steadily did its work.

Suddenly his mind leapt forward, as it were, from its stagnatory
condition of abject fear. It traveled swiftly, urged by a pursuing dread
over plans for the future. The guiding star of his thought was safety.
At all costs he must find safety for his property and himself. So long
as Retief was at large there could be no safety for him in Foss River.
He must get away. He must get away, bearing with him the fruits which
yet remained to him of his life's toil. He had contemplated retiring
before. His retirement from business would mean ruin to many of those
who had borrowed from him he knew, and to those on whose property he
held mortgages as security. But that could not be helped. He was not
going to allow himself to suffer through what he considered any
humanitarian weakness. Yes, he would retire--get away from the reach of
Retief and his companions, and--ah!

His thoughts merged into another channel--a channel which, under the
stress of his terrors, had for the moment been obscured. He suddenly
thought of the Allandales. Here for the instant was a stumbling block.
Or should he renounce his passion for Jacky? He drummed thoughtfully
with his finger-tips upon the arms of his chair.

No, why should he give her up? Something of his old nerve was returning.
He held all the cards. He knew he could, by foreclosing, ruin "Poker"
John. Why should he give the girl up, and see her calmly secured by that
cursed Bunning-Ford? His bilious eyes half closed and his sparse
eyebrows drew together in a deep concentration of thought. Then
presently his forehead smoothed, and his lashless eyes gleamed wickedly.
He rose heavily to his feet and labored to and fro across the floor,
with his beefy hands clasped behind his back.

"Excellent--excellent," he muttered. "The devil could not have designed
it better." There was a grim, evil smile about h