Swirling Waters Part 25

"Then what are the facts?" challenged Matheson.

Lars Larssen took a deep breath before he leaned forward across the horseshoe desk to answer. At the same time he moved a hidden lever under the desk. This was a device allowing any conversation of his to be heard telephonically in the adjoining room where his private secretary worked.

It was useful occasionally when he needed an unseen listener to a business interview of his; and now he particularly wanted Sylvester to hear what he and Matheson were saying to one another. It would give Sylvester his cue if he were to be called in at any point.

"Matheson," said the s.h.i.+powner, "the facts of your case don't make a very edifying story. If you're sure you want to hear them as you'd hear them in a court of law, I'll spare another five minutes to tell you.

You're quite certain you'd like to hear the outside view of your actions this past three weeks?"

"I'm listening."

With brutal directness Larssen proceeded: "On the night of March 14th, you decided you were tired of your wife. Thought you'd like a change of bedfellow. You left your coat and stick about a quarter-mile down the left bank of the Seine from Neuilly bridge, so that people would think you dead. You cut a knife-slit in the ribs of your coat to make a neater story of it. Then, as I guessed you would, you went honeymooning with the other woman. Away to the sunny South. I had you followed.

"You registered together at the Hotel du Forum at Arles, taking the names of John Riviere and Elaine Verney. A man doesn't change his name unless he's got some shady reason for it. Every court of law knows that.

You dallied for a day or two at Arles, getting this woman to write a lying letter to your wife saying that you were down with fever. We have that letter."

"We!"

"Yes, _we_. We have that letter. I advised your wife to let me keep it for possible emergencies. I have it in this office along with the other evidence. I don't bluff--shall I ring and have my secretary show it to you?"

"Get on."

"Then you moved to Nimes, staying for shame's sake at different houses.

Hers was the Hotel de Provence, and yours was the Villa Clementine. You went lovemaking with this woman in the moonlight, up to a quiet place on the hillside, and there you nearly got what was coming to you from a peasant called Crau. Then you had this Verney woman stay with you in your Villa Clementine, and finally you took her off to Wiesbaden."

Larssen ostentatiously pressed an electric bell.

"I'll give you chapter and verse," he said.

Morris Sylvester came in quietly from his room close by, a slow smile under his heavy dark moustache, and nodded greeting to Matheson. He had heard by the telephone device all of his chief's case against Matheson, and was quite ready to take up his cue.

"Sylvester, you recognize this man?" said Larssen.

"Yes. He is the Mr John Riviere I shadowed at Arles and Nimes."

Larssen turned to the financier. "Want to ask him any questions? Ask anything you like."

"No."

"Sure?"

"Quite," answered Matheson. There was nothing to be gained at this stage by cross-examining the secretary.

"That will do, Sylvester."

The secretary left the room.

Larssen leant forward across the desk once more and snarled: "There's the facts of the case as they'll go before the divorce court."

"Do you know that Miss Verney is blind?" There was a hoa.r.s.eness in Matheson's voice; he cleared his throat to relieve it.

"That's no defence in a divorce court."

"Blind and undergoing an operation this very morning? Do you know that it's doubtful if she will ever recover any of her sight?"

Larssen's mouth tightened a shade more. At last he found the heel of Achilles. He could get at Matheson through Elaine. Ruthlessly he answered: "That's no concern of mine. I'm stating facts to you. These facts are not all in your wife's possession. Do you want me to put them there?"

"Your facts are a chain of lies. There's one sound link: that I changed my name. The rest are poisonous lies--provable lies."

"Whatever they may be, do you want them put before your wife?" He reached for a swinging telephone by his desk and called to the house operator: "Get me P. O. Richmond, 2822. Name, Mrs Matheson."

While he was waiting for the connection to be made, Sylvester entered the room and silently showed a visiting-card to his chief. It was Olive's card. Acting on a sudden impulse, she had motored to the office to see this mysterious John Riviere before he should evade her. She knew that the interview was to be at eleven o'clock, and by thus calling in person, she would make certain of meeting him.

Larssen said aloud to his secretary: "Show her up when I ring next."

Then to Matheson: "There's no need to 'phone. Your wife is waiting below."

Sylvester left the room.

As the s.h.i.+powner's hand hovered over the b.u.t.ton of the electric bell, waiting for a yes or no from his antagonist, a great temptation lay before Matheson.

The recital of the events of the past three weeks, as given in the brutal wording of the s.h.i.+powner, had torn at his nerves like the pincers of an inquisitor. He saw now how the world would judge the relations between Elaine and himself. The change of name, the meeting at the same hotel at Arles, the second meeting, the companions.h.i.+p of that fateful week at Nimes--the world would put only one interpretation on it all.

Elaine, lying helpless in her close-curtained room at the nursing home in Wiesbaden, would be fouled with the imaginings of the prurient. Not only had he brought blindness to her, but now he was to bring her to the pillory with the scarlet letter fixed upon her.

Yet he could avoid it if he chose. A choice lay open to him. Larssen would be ready to exchange silence for silence. If Matheson would stand aside and let the Hudson Bay scheme go through, no doubt Larssen would play fair in the matter of Elaine. That in effect was what he offered as his hand hovered over the electric bell.

The s.h.i.+powner, though an easy smile of triumph masked his feelings as he lay back in his chair, knew that he was at the critical point of his career. If Matheson decided to let Olive be shown in, then Olive would have in her hands the judgment between the two men. To be dependent on a woman's mood, a woman's whim, would be Larssen's position. It galled him to the quick. The seconds that slipped by while Matheson considered were minute-long to him.

If only Matheson would weaken and propose compromise!

Larssen uttered no word of persuasion one way or another. He knew that, if his desire could be attained, it would be attained through silence.

Presently Matheson stirred in his chair.

"Ring!" said he firmly.

The fight had begun again.

Larssen pressed the bell without a moment's hesitation. His bluff had to be carried through with absolute decisiveness. He could not gauge how far his threat of the divorce court had intimidated Matheson. Beyond that, he was not at all sure that Olive would side with him in the matter. She was unstable, unreliable.

But on the outside no trace of his doubts appeared. He was perfectly cool, entirely master of himself. As he waited for Sylvester to fetch Mrs Matheson, he took out a pocket-knife and began to trim his nails lightly.

Olive's appearance as she entered the throne-room was greatly changed from that of the evening before. The transient effect of the drug had worn off. Her features were now heavy and listless, and there were dark shadows under the eyes.

Both men rose to offer a seat.

"I came along to catch Mr Riviere before he left you," she explained to Larssen, and turned with a set smile towards the visitor.

For a moment or two she stared at Matheson in amazement. Then: