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Updated: June 29, 2025
There was nothing to be gained at this stage by cross-examining the secretary. "That will do, Sylvester." The secretary left the room. Larssen leant forward across the desk once more and snarled: "There's the facts of the case as they'll go before the divorce court." "Do you know that Miss Verney is blind?" There was a hoarseness in Matheson's voice; he cleared his throat to relieve it.
"I can see you've been born lucky," she whispered to Larssen. "I'll try to share it with you," he answered, and suggested some numbers with firm, decisive confidence. Though he had keen pride in his intellect and his will, he had also firm reliance on his intuitive sense. With Lars Larssen, all three worked hand in hand. Olive began to win.
He had chosen to take up the name of his dead half-brother because he had been taking up the latter's life-work. The motives that had urged him to this strange double life were such as a Lars Larssen could scarcely comprehend. Every man has his mental as well as his physical limitations.
Olive was ill at ease a most unusual frame of mind for her. Larssen guessed she had some confession to make, and prepared himself for an outwardly sympathetic attitude. "No doubt she's got the hooks into Clifford tight enough," he answered. "It'll be merely a question of time. No cause for you to worry. Wait quietly. Have them watched." "I intend to do nothing of the kind!" said Olive sharply.
He jumped into the waiting taxi once again, and ordered the chauffeur to drive across London to Barnes Common and Roehampton. If he could not confront Larssen at office or house, he would run him to earth that evening in his own home. No doubt Larssen was going there to talk business with Sir Francis. Roehampton is a country village held within the octopus arms of Greater London.
He's a couple of years older than Clifford, I believe.... When are you coming yourself?" "To-night's train or to-morrow. I'm not sure if I can get away to-night." "Do you play roulette?" "No. Never been at the tables." "Then I must teach you," said Olive gaily. "Delighted!" After the telephone conversation, Larssen went straight to No. 8, Rue Laffitte.
He held up a beautiful model yacht, perfect in line and rig, with which he was playing. Underneath it was a crudely-made contrivance of wood and wire, with four corks for wheels the handiwork of Arthur Dean. "Was that your idea?" inquired Larssen. "No, Dad.... Now, watch me sail her up to windward." "Wait. You ought to have thought out that idea for yourself." "I haven't any tools on board, Dad."
Finality had not been reached either in regard to his relations towards his wife, towards Elaine, or towards Larssen; in regard to the Hudson Bay scheme, or in his regard to his future freedom for work on the lines he so earnestly desired. The whirlpool had sucked him back, and he was once more battling with swirling waters.
I had half committed myself to a deal involving five millions of the public's money with Lars Larssen, the shipowner " "Larssen!" she exclaimed. "You know him?" "No; but he was once pointed out to me at the Academy, the year the portrait of his little boy was exhibited there. I could feel at once the tremendous strength of will behind the man. Something beyond the human.
She arrived true to promise, and lay out beyond the twin piers of the harbour-mouth in the quiet of sunset of the evening of April 30th a trim-lined, quietly capable, three-masted craft. Larssen had referred to her as a "small cruising yacht," but in reality the "Starlight" was much more than that casual description would convey.
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