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Updated: June 29, 2025
There were a host of directions as to his conduct while in Canada, and as Larssen poured out a stream of detailed orders, searching into every cranny and crevice of the situation, the young clerk felt once more the glamour of the master-mind. Here was an employer worth working for!
It was as though he were a spectator of a bioscope drama, standing in darkness while a scene was being pictured for him in remorseless detail behind the lighted window. That Olive's feeling for Larssen had grown beyond mere friendship was plain beyond question. She was infatuated with the man; and he was playing with her infatuation.
When the conversation had concluded, the shipowner called the young secretary and asked him to bring in the new "Thor" travelling typewriter he had purchased that afternoon. Larssen had proved right in his guess of the make of machine with which his scrap of typing had been done. "Take a letter. Envelope first," said Larssen. "You want me to take it direct on the machine, sir?" "Yes."
"Then what is it you do want?" "I want half the Deferred Shares in the hands of Lord ." He named a Canadian statesman and empire-builder whose integrity was beyond all suspicion. "I want him to hold them as trustee for the ordinary shareholders. He will consent if I ask him." "No doubt he will!" commented Larssen ironically. He drew up his chair closer to the other man.
Rivière judged it advisable to return to England, and there to wait for overtures on the part of Larssen. He had taken ticket for London, and was preparing for travel, when two letters reached him, from Olive and Elaine. The latter gave him a keen thrill of pleasure. It was written by Elaine herself, and this was proof indeed of the miracle of surgery wrought by Dr Hegelmann.
He was typical of that very large class of leisured landowner in whose creed good form is next above godliness. "Yes, Clifford has his head screwed on right," he said. "Before he left for Canada," continued Larssen, "he managed to gouge me for a tidy extra in shares for you and for Mrs Matheson."
In pursuit of two of the clues, Sylvester travelled as far north as Valognes in the Cotentin, and as far east as Gérardmer in the Hautes-Vosges. Both journeys were fruitless, and worse than fruitless waste of precious time and energy. While Larssen waited eagerly for definite news from his secretary with whom he kept constantly in touch by telegram, news came in unexpected fashion through Olive.
Presently the answer came down the house 'phone that Mr Larssen had gone to his home in Hampstead. Rivière re-entered the taxi and gave an address on the Heath. He wanted to thrash out the matter with Larssen with the least possible delay. He would have preferred to confront the shipowner in his office, but since that plan had miscarried, he would seek him out in his private house.
The order had been given to Sir Francis Letchmere's valet that he was to bring over to the Salle de Jeux any telegram or 'phone message that might arrive. Larssen was keenly interested in the throng of smart men and women clustered around the tables. Here was the raw material of his craft human nature. Moths around a candle well, he himself had lit many candles.
You know what you asked me to do wasn't right! It's fraud!" The words came clear and strong now. If Larssen had been a man of ordinary passions, he would have kicked Dean out of the door and told him to go to the devil. But the shipowner had not reached his present power by giving way to ordinary feelings. He answered very quietly: "I should have liked to meet that Mr Way.
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