Swirling Waters Part 9

"You are a scientist," she continued slowly, watching him to note the effect of her words. "You are to meet a lady for the first time at Monte Carlo. Yet she knows you by your first name, John. You see that I know a good deal about you."

She waited for him to question her further, but he remained silent, deep in thought.

More than a little piqued that he would not question further, she gave him abruptly the solution of the riddle.

"Two nights ago I travelled here from Paris in the same train with an Englishwoman and her father. They took breakfast at the table near to mine in the restaurant car, and I could scarcely help overhearing what they were saying. They chatted about you. Then I found your name in the hotel register."

"But why did you look it up?" he challenged abruptly.

She parried the question. "The name caught my eye by accident. Naturally I was interested by the coincidence."

Riviere turned the conversation to the impersonal subject of Arles and its Roman remains, and soon after they said good-night.

"Shall I see you at breakfast?"

"I hope so," he answered.

As she moved out of the room, a splendidly graceful figure radiating health and energy and life full-tide, Riviere could not help following her with his eyes. His innermost being thrilled despite himself to the magic of her splendid womanhood.

It plucked at the strings of the primitive man within him.

In his room that evening he took up the blood-drenched handkerchief. In the corner was the name "Elaine Verney." The name conveyed nothing to him. He threw the handkerchief away, and shut her from his thoughts. He wanted no woman in this new life of his.

With the morning came a resolution to avoid her altogether. He rose very early and took the first train out of Arles.

It took him to Nimes.

CHAPTER VIII

WHO AND WHERE IS RIVIeRE?

"Who is Riviere?"

Here was a new factor in the situation. Lars Larssen mentally docketed it as a matter to be dealt with immediately. After sending off a reply telegram to Cherbourg (which reached the quayside too late and was afterwards returned to him), the s.h.i.+powner got a telephone call through to Olive at the Hotel des Hesperides.

"This is Mr Larssen speaking. Are you Mrs Matheson?"

"Yes. Good morning."

"Good morning. I called you up to say that your husband 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 s.h.i.+powner 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 s.h.i.+ndy."

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?"

"I want the address of Mr John Riviere. Or rather, Mrs Matheson wants it."

"Who is Mr John Riviere?"

This came as a fresh surprise to Lars Larssen, and made him doubly anxious to discover the man. Why all this mystery surrounding him?

"I understand from Mrs Matheson that Mr Riviere is her husband's half-brother. Lives somewhere around Paris."

"Strange! I've never heard of him myself. I'll make enquiries if you'll wait a moment."

Presently Coulter returned with the young English clerk of the office.

"It seems that Mr Riviere called here yesterday afternoon and enquired for Mr Matheson," explained Coulter.