Part 50 (1/2)

”That's very short notice.”

”You can get them on the telephone. If they're here to-morrow morning and consent--there ought to be no difficulty about that--you three Directors can sick the lawyers on to me at once and fix up the security deeds in a day or so.”

”You ought to have been born an Englishman!” said the baronet admiringly.

”One point occurs to me. Let's keep this matter close until the prospectus is actually launched. I don't want any Stock Exchange 'wreckers!' trying to stick a knife into my back. You know some of their tricks?”

”Certainly--certainly!”

”I don't think I'd even mention it to your daughter. Women--even the best of them--can't help talking.”

”Women are not meant for business,” agreed the baronet sententiously.

CHAPTER x.x.xIII

LARSSEN'S APPEAL

In pursuance of his second move, Larssen had to see Miss Verney. To write to her would probably be fruitless waste of time; and it was emphatically not the kind of interview to delegate to a subordinate. He had to seek her in person.

It was curious to reflect that, in this tangle of four lives, the balance of power had s.h.i.+fted successively from one to the other. At first it was with Matheson. A letter of his had brought the s.h.i.+powner hastening to Paris to see him. Later, it was Larssen who sat still and Matheson who hurried to find him. Later again, it was Olive who held decision between the two men. And now Elaine.

As soon as he had settled the underwriting affair with Sir Francis and his two co-Directors, Larssen went straight to Wiesbaden to the surgical home, and had his card sent in to Elaine.

Elaine received him in the garden of the home, under the soft shade of a spreading linden, where she had been chatting with another patient. Near by, a laburnum drooped in shower of gold over a bush of delicate white guelder-rose as Zeus over Danae. Upon the wall of the home wistaria hung her pastel-shaded pendants of flower, like the notes of some beautiful melody, sweet and sad, along the giant staves of her stem. A Chopin could have harmonized the melody, weaving in little trills and silvery treble notes from the joy-song of the nesting birds.

The bandages had been removed from the patient's eyes, and she wore a pair of wide dark gla.s.ses side-curtained from the light.

After a few conventional words of greeting and inquiry, Larssen drew up a chair beside hers. ”You're wondering why I've called on you,” he began. ”You're thinking that a stranger--and a busy man at that--wouldn't have travelled to Wiesbaden merely to inquire after you.

You're thinking that I want something.”

”What is it you want from me?” asked Elaine with frank directness.

”I want your help,” returned Larssen with an a.s.sumption of equal frankness.

”My help! For what?”

”For Matheson.”

”And what is this help you want from me?”

”It's simple enough, but first let me spread out the situation as I see it. If I'm wrong, you'll correct me.... To begin with, Matheson is a man of complex character and high ideals. The latter have been snowed under in his business career. He's like an Alpine peak. From the distance, it looks cold and aloof, but underneath there's a carpet of blue gentian waiting to spring out into blossom when the sun melts off the snow-layer. I don't pay idle compliments when I say that I haven't far to look for the sun that's melting off the snow.”

He paused.

Elaine remained silent, but Larssen's vivid metaphor went home to her.

”I used to admire Matheson as a financier,” pursued the s.h.i.+powner. ”Now I respect him as a man. He's put up the fists to me over what he believes to be his duty to the British public, and I like him all the better for it.”