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Updated: June 29, 2025
Larssen unhurriedly produced from a drawer in his desk a private draft prospectus such as is offered to the underwriters. On it was a list of names the firms to whom it was being shown confidentially before public issue.
Later in the afternoon, Jimmy Martin of the Europe Chronicle sent in his card at the Grand Hotel, and Lars Larssen did not keep him waiting beyond a few moments. The tubby little journalist was no hero-worshipper. Few journalists can be they see too intimately the strings which work the affairs of the world for the edification of a trustful public.
"Give me time to get details settled. Is Clifford in London?" "I don't know where he is." "I suppose I could get his address through Miss Verney?" "No doubt." "Where is she in Wiesbaden?" "With Dr Hegelmann." "Just one more question: are you a good sailor?" "Yes; but why? What a curious question!" Larssen smiled at her reassuringly. "You'll have to trust me a little.
"The Deferred Shares are not to get a cent of dividend until a fifteen per cent. dividend is paid on the Ordinary Shares. That's the squarest deal for the public that ever was," retorted Larssen. "But you hold control." Both men knew the tremendous import of that word. The fortunes of the world's financial giants have all been built up on "control."
Sir Francis came in, shook hands cordially with Larssen, and all three made their way to dinner. Rivière was left looking into an empty room. With sudden decision he made his way out of the grounds of Thornton Chase. He would see the shipowner to-morrow in his office at Leadenhall Street rather than thrash out the coming quarrel in front of Olive and Sir Francis.
Lars Larssen summed him up with lightning rapidity of thought, and adjusted his own attitude to a friendly, confidential basis. Said Martin: "You want to talk about contraband of war? I'd better tell you the Chronicle's red-hot against the olive-branch merchants, so I hope you're not one of them. Say you agree with us, and I can spread you over half a column." The shipowner smiled.
Larssen knew this latter was an overwhelming reason to the baronet's mind. "Very well; pass that suggestion," said he. "Here's a far better one. Suppose we could get the underwriting done at 3 per cent. straight. That would save the company £75,000." "What house would take it on at that?" "I would." "You!" exclaimed the amazed Sir Francis. "Why not?" quietly replied the shipowner.
Rivière spoke of his wife's unexpected entry into the office at Leadenhall Street, and the scene that had followed when Olive and Larssen together had bent their joint wills to the task of forcing him to his knees. When he concluded on the signature wrung out of the shipowner at the last moment, Elaine cried her relief: "Then you're not beaten down! I'm glad I'm glad!"
"All your orders are being carried out, and the car's on the way here from the garage." For a few tense moments Larssen hesitated. The underwriting of the five-million issue was an absolute essential to a successful flotation, and the negotiations were not yet completed. If Matheson were to interfere in them during his absence from London, big difficulties might develop.
"As you see, I sent it to Clifford to O.K.," he said. Sir Francis looked at the signature through his pair of business eyeglasses, and nodded an official confirmation. Larssen continued: "There's no alteration necessary Clifford passes it as it stands. But I've thought of one point which I reckon would add very considerable weight in its appeal to the public." "What's that?" "The underwriting.
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