Part 52 (1/2)
Riviere was a keen judge of men, and he felt instinctive confidence in the honesty of the whimsical little journalist. One could trust this man. There was n.o.body within hearing along the corridor of the railway carriage. Accordingly he answered:
”If you'll keep the information strictly to yourself until I want publication, I'll tell you.”
Martin sobered instantly. ”Mr Riviere,” said he, ”you can trust me absolutely. I play square.”
”So I judge.... You ask me who banged the lid down. I did.”
”Phew! You must have landed Larssen a hefty one on the solar plexus.”
”The matter is not finally settled yet. It's just possible that I might need the platform you offered me. Then I'll talk further.”
”Exclusive?” asked Martin, with the journalist part of him on top.
”I can't promise that. It depends.”
”Well, first call at any rate. We might get out a special edition in front of the other fellows. We've started a new evening paper at the _Daily Truth_ office, and I'd like to secure a scoop for one of the two.... My stars, if I could have seen the sc.r.a.p between you and Larssen! There must have been some juicy copy in that!”
”No doubt,” commented Riviere drily. ”Well, I'll say good-bye now.”
”Anyhow, thanks for your promise. I'll look forward to the next meeting.
_Au revoir_, as they say in this whisker-ridden country.”
Boulogne harbour was crowded with grimy tramp steamers, fis.h.i.+ng boats, and a rabble of plebeian harbour craft, but the yacht ”Starlight” was not in view. Riviere inquired at the office of the harbour-master, and was informed that a telegram promised the yacht's arrival by nightfall.
She arrived true to promise, and lay out beyond the twin piers of the harbour-mouth in the quiet of sunset of the evening of April 30th--a trim-lined, quietly capable, three-masted craft. Larssen had referred to her as a ”small cruising yacht,” but in reality the ”Starlight” was much more than that casual description would convey. In addition to her extensive sailing power, she had a set of marine oil engines for use in light winds or special emergency, and her cabins and saloons were roomy and comfortable. She could carry a party of a dozen pa.s.sengers with comfort if there were need, and had four life-boats as well as a sh.o.r.e dinghy. The kitchen equipment was admirable. Altogether, a trim, well-found yacht which might have voyaged round the world without mishap.
The dinghy was sent off with the mate and a couple of seamen, and entered the harbour to enquire for Riviere at the harbour-master's office, according to arrangement.
”Pleased to meet you, sir,” said the mate. ”Mrs Matheson's compliments, and will you come aboard?”
”Is Mr Larssen on the yacht?”
”No. Mrs Matheson, her maid, and Master Olaf--that's all. We're giving the little chap a training in seamans.h.i.+p.... Jim, take the gentleman's luggage.”
They rowed out to the ”Starlight,” lying trimly at anchor like a capable, self-possessed hostess awaiting the arrival of a week-end guest at a country-house. Olive waved greeting to her husband as he came near.
By her side was Larssen's little son, holding her hand. He might have almost been posed there by the s.h.i.+powner to inspire confidence in the peaceful intentions of the yachting cruise.
Olive thoroughly believed that Larssen's sole object in placing the yacht at her disposal was to reconcile husband and wife, and so indirectly to smooth over the quarrel between himself and Clifford. She had no suspicion that his real objective was to get Matheson on the high seas, the only region where he could not hear of the coming flotation of the Hudson Bay Transport, Ltd. Larssen had told her that she was free to order the yacht's movements as she pleased--he merely suggested in a perfectly casual way that a cruise to the Norwegian fjords might prove enjoyable.
”It was good of you to come!” said Olive as her husband mounted the gangway to the white-railed deck. There was unmistakable sincerity in her greeting.
”I'm to be captain of the 'Starlight' as soon as I get my skipper's ticket,” confided the little boy as he shook hands.
Matheson had made up his mind to carry out Elaine's wish. He had come back to his wife; and he was prepared to fall in with any plan that she might propose. Accordingly, when she suggested the alternatives of a cruise down the Channel and up to the Hebrides, or a cruise to Norway, he left the decision to her. She chose Norway. Matheson, with the s.h.i.+powner's agreement in his pocket to extend their truce to May 20th, raised no objection. There was ample time to be back in England before that date.
Olive gave her orders to the captain. Before weighing anchor, the latter sent on sh.o.r.e for further provisions. At the same time he dispatched a telegram to Larssen stating that they were bound for Norway that evening.
A smooth deft dinner was served to Matheson and his wife in the comfortable saloon as the yacht weighed anchor, slung round to a light wind from the south-east, and made gently towards the outer edge of the Goodwins. Through the starboard portholes Wimereux Plage twinkled gaily to them from its string of lights on esplanade and summer villas; Cap Grisnez flashed its calm white light of guardians.h.i.+p; Calais town sent a message of kindly greeting from the far distance; only the Varne Sands whispered a wordless warning as they swirled the waters above them and sent a flock of s.h.i.+vering wavelets to beat against the smooth hull of the ”Starlight.”
On that night of April 30th, while Clifford Matheson slept on board the yacht, the presses of Fleet Street thundered off millions of newspapers which bore on their financial page the impressive prospectus of Hudson Bay Transport, Ltd. The post bore off to every town and village in the United Kingdom hundreds of thousands of copies of the issue in its full legal detail.
Heading the prospectus were these names on the Board of Directors:--