Part 2 (1/2)

”No doubt he will!” commented Larssen ironically. He drew up his chair closer to the other man. There was a dangerous gleam in his eye as he said: ”Now see here. All the points you've put up were known to you months ago. What's happened to make you switch at the last moment?”

He had put his finger on the very core of the matter, but Matheson met his searching gaze without flinching. ”What's happened is an entirely private matter. I've reasons for not wis.h.i.+ng to be a.s.sociated with your scheme unless you agree to half the Deferred Shares being held by Lord ---- as trustee. These reasons of mine have only arisen during the last few weeks. Circ.u.mstances are different with me from what they were when you first broached the plan. If you don't care to agree to my suggestion, I call the deal off. As regards the expenses you've incurred, I'll go halves.”

For comment, the s.h.i.+powner flicked thumb and forefinger together.

”No, I'll do more,” pursued Matheson. ”I'll make you a more than fair offer--shoulder the whole expenses myself.”

Larssen ignored the offer. ”I went into the preliminaries of the scheme on the understanding that we were to pull together.”

”I know.”

”It means big money for you--enough to retire on.”

”I know.”

”Then what the h.e.l.l's the reason for this sudden attack of scruples?”

For a moment Matheson's eyes blazed black anger, but the anger died out of them and the tired look of the platform of the Gare de Lyon took its place. ”You wouldn't understand,” he answered. ”The whirlpool.”

”What's that?”

”It would be useless to explain. I have private reasons.... I've made you a thoroughly fair offer, and I don't think there's anything more to be said.” Matheson rose and walked to the window, pulling up the blind and gazing out on the sombre splendour of the big banking houses of the Rue Laffitte and the Rue Pillet-Will.

Larssen looked at the silhouette of his antagonist with a tense set of his jaws. Many plans were revolving in his mind. Moralists might have labelled them ”blackmail,” but Lars Larssen was utterly free from scruples where his own interests were concerned. Honesty with him was a mere matter of policy. To a man with the average sense of honour, such an att.i.tude of mind is scarcely realisable, but Lars Larssen was no normal man. In him the Napoleonic madness--or genius--burned fiercely.

He had ambitions colossal in scale--he regarded his present wealth and power as a mere stepping-stone to the realisation of his Great Idea.

That great ultimate purpose of his life he had never revealed to man or woman--save only to his dead wife. He aimed to be controlling owner of the world's carrying trade; to hold decision on peace and war between nation and nation because of that control of the vital food supply. To be Emperor of the Seven Seas.

He had one child only--his boy Olaf, now aged twelve, at school in the States. Olaf was to hold the seat of power after him and perpetuate his dynasty.

That was Larssen's life-dream.

Any man or woman who stood between him and his great goal was to be thrust aside or used as a stepping-stone. Matheson, for instance--he was to be _used_. There must be something underlying Matheson's sudden access of scruples--what was it? A case of _cherchez la femme_? Or political ambitions, perhaps? If he could arrive at the motive, it might open up a new avenue for persuasion.

He searched the silhouette of the man at the window for an answer to the riddle. But Matheson's face was set, and the answer to the riddle was such as Lars Larssen could never have guessed. It lay outside the s.h.i.+powner's pale of thought--beyond the limitations of his mind.

For Matheson also had his big life-scheme, and it now filled his mind with a blaze of light as he stood by the window, silent.

Larssen resolved to play for time while he set to work to ferret out his antagonist's motive for the sudden change of plan. He did not dream for a moment of relinquis.h.i.+ng control on the Hudson Bay scheme. As he had stated openly, control was _creed_ to him.

He broke the long silence with a conciliatory remark. ”Let's think matters over for a day or two. My scheme might be modified on the financial side. I'm prepared to make concessions to what you think is fair to the shareholders. We shall find some common ground of agreement.”

The smooth words did not deceive Matheson. So his answer came with deliberate finality: ”I've said my last word.”

”Well, I'll consider it carefully. Meanwhile, doing anything to-night? I hear that Polaire is on at the Folies Bergeres with her opium-den scene.

A thriller, I'm told.”