clerk and the business man in cold cash."

"I've made up my mind, sir," answered Dean firmly.

"Good!" said Lars Larssen, and held out his hand to his young employee.
"There's the right stuff in you!"

To have his hand shaken in friendship by the millionaire shipowner was
as strong wine to Arthur Dean. He flushed with pleasure as he stammered
out his thanks.

A couple of hours packed with feverish activity followed. Lars Larssen
knew that Clifford Matheson had the habit of carrying a small typewriter
with him on his journeys, in order to get through correspondence while
on trains and steamers. Many busy men carry them. This habit of
Matheson's was exceedingly useful for his present purpose. The letter
that Arthur Dean was to post off at Cherbourg--one to the Paris office
of Clifford Matheson and one of similar purport to the London
office--would only need the signature in holograph. Larssen had several
of Matheson's signatures on various letters that had passed between
them, and these he cut off and gave to his employee to copy.

He criticised the spacing and the general lay-out of the letter already
typed, showed Dean how to imitate Matheson's little habits of typing,
and arranged that the letters dictated should be retyped on hotel paper
at Cherbourg and posted there. Dean was to catch a night train to
Cherbourg, take steamer ticket there for Quebec, and proceed to
Montreal. 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!

Early next morning Dean was at grimy Cherbourg, and after posting off
his letters he sent the following telegram to Mrs Matheson at Monte
Carlo:--

"Sailing this morning for Canada on 'La Bretagne.' Urgent and very
private business. Larssen, Grand Hotel, Paris, will explain. Sailing as
Arthur Dean to avoid Canadian reporters. Good-bye. Much love."

As the liner lay by the quayside with smoke pouring from her funnels and
the bustle of near departure on her decks, a telegram in reply was
brought to Arthur Dean. He opened and read:--

"Most annoying. Cannot understand why business could not have been given
to somebody else. However, expect nothing from you nowadays. Where is
Riviere? Not arrived, and no line from him."

Riviere? Who was this man? Lars Larss