the Morgue
and the Malesherbes. We'll pick up a cab on the Avenue de Neuilly.
Newspaper life, my young friend, is one dam taxi after another."

The Morgue is, of course, no longer the public peep-show that it used to
be, but Martin's card procured him instant admission. On the inclined
marble slabs, down which ice water gently trickles, were two ghastly
white figures of women which had been waiting identification for some
days. The object of their search was not at the Morgue.

They proceeded across Paris to the Hopital Malesherbes, but at the Place
de l'Opera Dean asked to be put down. The journalist promised to 'phone
to the Grand Hotel if anything of interest came to light, and Arthur
Dean went to make his report to Lars Larssen. It was already past
mid-day, and without doubt the shipowner would be impatient to hear
news.

Only stopping at a telephone call office for a few minutes, Dean hurried
to his employer's suite of rooms.

"Well?" asked Lars Larssen.

"To begin at the beginning, sir, I waited last night in the Rue Laffitte
until Mr Matheson came out of his office. It was not long before he
appeared, and then----"

The shipowner interrupted curtly. "I want the heart of the matter."

Dean gulped and answered: "I believe Mr Matheson has been murdered."

"Believe! Do you _know_?"

"Of course I don't know for certain, sir; but this morning I assisted
at the finding of his coat and stick on the banks of the Seine."

"Sure they were his?"

"Yes, quite sure. I was with a journalist friend of mine, but I didn't
let him know that I recognized the coat and stick. I thought perhaps you
would like me to tell you before the matter was made public."

"Good! Now give me the full story."

Arthur Dean summoned up his nerve to tell the connected tale he had
thought out during the long cab rides that morning. It was essential
that he should disguise his cowardice and his failure to carry out
orders of the night before. With that exception, his account was a
truthful and detailed story of all that had happened. He concluded
with:--

"I 'phoned up Mr Matheson's office--without telling my name--and asked
if he was in or had been to the office this morning. They said no. I got
his hotel address from them and 'phoned the hotel. They also could tell
me nothing about Mr Matheson."

Lars Larssen paced the room in silence for some time. Finally he shot
out a question.

"Your salary is?"

"L100 a year, sir."

"Enga