band has sailed for
Canada on 'La Bretagne.' I had a line from Cherbourg this morning."

"So had I."

"I suppose he explained matters to you?"

"No, he referred me to you for explanations. Just like Clifford!... What
about Riviere--is he coming to Monte?"

Lars Larssen had to tread warily here. So he answered: "I didn't quite
catch that name."

"John Riviere, my husband's half-brother. He lives in some suburb of
Paris, I forget where, and Clifford was to bring him along to Monte."

The shipowner decided that he must find this man and discover if he knew
anything. The words of Jimmy Martin flashed through his brain: "I doubt
if the police'll do much unless the relatives kick up a shindy."
Meanwhile, there was nothing to do but tell the truth, which was his
usual resource when in an unforeseen difficulty.

"Don't know anything about him. If you give me his Paris address I'll
dig him out."

"We don't know his address."

"Then I'll find it at the office. As soon as I get a line on him I'll
wire you. Riviere? The name sounds French."

"French-Canadian. 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 had wired the night before to London to have a secretary
sent over--Sylvester, his usual confidential man, if the latter were
back at business; if not, another subordinate he named. Catching the
nine o'clock train from Charing Cross, the secretary would arrive in
Paris about five in the afternoon. Meanwhile, Larssen, had to make his
search for Riviere in person.

The business of a financier differs radically from a mercantile
business on the point of staff. The main work of negotiation can only be
carried out by the head of the firm himself, as a rule, and the routine
work for subordinates is small, except when a public company flotation
is being made. Matheson had found that his Paris office needed only a
manager, Coulter, and a couple of clerks, one English and one French.
Coulter was a steady-going, reliable man of forty odd, extremely
trustworthy and not too imaginative.

He knew Lars Larssen, of course, and received him deferentially.

"What can I have the pleasure of doing for you, sir?"