Part 1 (1/2)

Swirling Waters.

by Max Rittenberg.

CHAPTER I

THE WHIRLPOOL

On the crucial night of his career, 14 March, 191-, Clifford Matheson, financier, was speeding in a taxi-cab to the Gare de Lyon.

He was a clean-limbed man of thirty-seven. There was usually a look of masterfulness in the firm lines of his face, the straight, direct glance, the stiff, close-cut moustache. But to-night his eyes were tired, very tired. He leant back in a corner of the cab with drooping shoulders as though utterly world-weary.

At the station his wife and father-in-law were looking impatiently for his arrival. They stood at the door of their _wagon-lit_ in the Cote d'Azur Rapide, searching the crowded platform for him. It was now ten to eight, and the express was timed to pull out of the Gare de Lyon at eight o'clock sharp.

”Late again!” growled Sir Francis Letchmere. ”Clifford makes a deuced casual sort of husband. Bad form, you know!”

Good form and bad form were the foot-rules by which he measured mankind.

Olive bit her lip. It galled her pride that Clifford should not be early on the platform to see to her comforts. The attentions of her father and maid did not satisfy her; she wanted Clifford to be there to fetch and carry for her.

Pride was the keynote of her character. It was pride and not love that had decided her, five years before, to marry the financier. She had admired the way in which he had slashed out for himself his place in the world of London and Paris finance, from his humble beginning as a clerk in a Montreal broker's office. It ministered to her pride to be the wife of a man who had plucked success from the whirlpool of life. As to the methods by which he had ama.s.sed his money, with these she was not concerned. She knew, of course, that there were many who had bitter things to say about his methods.

”Probably it's his brother who's delayed him,” said Olive, looking for an explanation which would salve her _amour propre_. ”They both seem to be crazy over their rubbishy scientific experiments.”

”Who's this brother?”

”I know scarcely anything about him. His name's Riviere--he's a half-brother. He turns up unexpectedly from the wilds of Canada, and lives like a hermit, so Clifford tells me, in some tumbledown villa outside Paris.”

”What's he like?”

”I've never seen him.”

”What's the scientific experiment?”

”Clifford told me something about it, but I forgot. I wasn't interested in the slightest. No money in it, I could see at once. I told Clifford so.”

Sir Francis tugged at his watch impatiently. ”He'll miss this train for certain!”

”No; there he is!”

Matheson was striding rapidly through the press of people on the platform. He quickly caught sight of his wife and father-in-law, and came up with a gesture of apology.

”Sorry I'm so late. Very sorry, too, I shan't be able to travel with you to-night.”

”Experiment to finish?” queried Olive, with an unconcealed note of contempt in her voice.

”A very important business engagement for this evening. Will you excuse me? I can follow to-morrow.”

”Can't it wait?”