pread you
over half a column."

The shipowner smiled. "That's the talk I like. Make a policy and set the
buzzer going. Now see here...."

At the end of half an hour he had established a link of easy friendship,
and had brought the conversation round without difficulty to the matter
which was the real object of the interview.

"Dean was telling me about the help you gave him on his wild-goose chase
to-day. Many thanks. He's a steady young fellow and will get on--but a
little too ready to jump at conclusions. Of course you found nothing at
the hospital?"

On the answer much depended, but no one could have guessed it from the
shipowner's face, which was smilingly confident.

"Nothing doing!" answered Martin. "Our young friend with the cracked
skull met the holy Tartar last night. He's raving sore--wants to
prosecute him for assault, if he can find out who he is."

"Exactly. But there's a disappointment in store for him. I met my friend
to-day going off to Canada. What are you going to do about the coat and
stick at Neuilly?"

"Hunt around for a few more clues before turning it over to the police."
There was a tired disappointment in the journalist's voice that Lars
Larssen noted with keen satisfaction. "I doubt if the police'll do much
unless the relations kick up a shindy. Paris is the finest place in
Europe to get murdered in peacefully and without a lot of silly fuss.
You see, it might be a hoax. Your Parisian hoaxer likes a dash of Grand
Guignol horrors in his jokelet. The police have been had several times,
and they're very much hoax-shy. I could tell you some pretty tales about
mysterious disappearances that never get into the papers."

A little later the journalist took his departure. As the great shipowner
shook hands at the door, he said cordially: "If you want news from me
when I'm in Paris any time, come straight to me. I like your paper; I
like your methods."

Martin left without a suspicion that he had been "pumped" for vital
information.

Now the shipowner had to wait patiently for nightfall before the first
definite move of his game could be played. One of his secrets of success
was that he never allowed his mind to worry him. He shut the matter
completely out of his conscious thoughts; got a trunk telephone call to
his London office; sent off some cables to his New York office; and
generally immersed himself on business matters quite unrelated to the
Matheson case.

It was nearly ten o'clock