Matheson took the prospectus and read it through mechanically. The shipowner, with an appearance of casualness, turned to a map on the wall behind him and studied the position of his Atlantic liners as indicated by the flag-pins.

Olive remained seated, her eyes fixed remorselessly on her husband.

Presently Matheson reached for a pen. "What do you want on it?" he asked.

"Simply 'O.K., Clifford Matheson,'" answered the shipowner without turning round. "No date."

Matheson wrote across the printed doc.u.ment the formal letters "O.K.,"

and signed below.

Sylvester witnessed the signature, and pa.s.sed the doc.u.ment to his chief.

CHAPTER XXI

THE BOLTED DOOR

The moment he had that vital doc.u.ment safe in his breast-pocket, Lars Larssen was a changed man. His mask of cool indifference and his a.s.sumption of perfect leisure were thrown aside. His face was drawn with lines of anxiety as he snapped a rapid stream of orders at Sylvester:

"Send a wireless to the 'Aurelia' to put back at once to Plymouth.

'Phone Paddington to have a special ready for me in half-an-hour. 'Phone my house to pack me a portmanteau and send it to Paddington by fast car to catch the special. Get my office car round at once. Tell Bates and Carew and Grasemann I'd like them to travel with me to Plymouth to talk business. Let me know when all that's moving. Hurry!"

Sylvester sped away to execute his orders.

Larssen looked up at the portrait of his little boy, and the cablegram fluttered to the ground.

"What's the matter?" asked Olive.

"Pneumonia. Dangerously ill."

"Poor little chap!"

"My only child!"

"He'll get over it, I'm sure."

"He's never been strong and hardy."

"Still, with the best doctors...."

"If money can pull him through, I'll pour it out like water. I'm off to the States to look after those fool doctors. The 'Aurelia' is one of my fastest boats, and she'll take me across in five days. I'll give treble pay to every engineer and stoker."

"How long will you be away?"

"Can't say exactly."

"How unfortunate, just at this time!"

"I can finish off the Hudson Bay deal by wireless. My ordinary business on this side will run on in the hands of Bates, Carew, and Grasemann, who form my executive committee for London."

They had both ignored Matheson through this conversation. He was squeezed dry and done with. Larssen had no further use for him at present, and Olive had no sympathy to waste on a beaten man.

He had been sitting brokenly in a chair at the desk where he had signed away his independence, gazing into a new-spilt ink-blot on the polished surface of the desk, seeing visions in its glistening, blue-black pool.

But now he pushed back his chair with a rasping noise and rose decisively to face Larssen.

"We'll call it a month's truce!" he flung out.

"What d'you mean?"

"For a month from now neither you nor I will move further in the Hudson Bay scheme. For a month it'll be hung up."

"Who's to hang it up?"

"I."

"But I've got your signed approval in my pocket. Signed and witnessed!"

"The issue is not yet underwritten." It was a sheer guess, but in Larssen's face Matheson could read that his guess was correct.

"Well?" snapped Larssen.

"Either you or I will tell the underwriters that the scheme goes no further until a month from date--until May 3rd. Which is it to be--you or I?"

Sylvester came in rapidly. "All your orders are being carried out, and the car's on the way here from the garage."

For a few tense moments Larssen hesitated. The underwriting of the five-million issue was an absolute essential to a successful flotation, and the negotiations were not yet completed. If Matheson were to interfere in them during his absence from London, big difficulties might develop. Before that cablegram arrived, the shipowner could have beaten down any such threat on Matheson's part, but now, with his little son calling for his presence, with the special train at Paddington coupling up to speed him to Plymouth, with the "Aurelia" turning back, against the protest of its thousand pa.s.sengers, to take him on board, the situation was radically changed.

Matheson had realised the altered situation, and putting aside any over-fine scruples, had gripped advantage from it.

Larssen's eyes blazed anger at the financier. Then he held out his hand to Olive.

"Good-bye!" he said.

"Good-bye!" she answered, taking his hand.

"You or I?" repeated Matheson.

The shipowner turned at the door through which he was hurrying out.

"I," he conceded.

"Then sign on it."

"Don't sign!" cried Olive.