The seaman, who had been the man on watch when the "Starlight" struck the unlighted derelict, had cursed intermittently at the cause of the disaster. "Why didn't they show a blasted light?" he kept on repeating with obstinate illogicality. "Why didn't the fools show a blasted light?"

"Old man Larssen will give you h.e.l.l when we get to sh.o.r.e."

Olive, in her delirium, caught at the words. "I can see the sh.o.r.e!" she cried. "Over there--over there! Why don't you row? You want to kill me first!"

Matheson tried to soothe her.

"We'll soon be on sh.o.r.e. A boat will pick us up at daybreak."

"Why didn't they show a blasted light?" cursed the seaman.

The sullen dawn uncurtained a waste of slag-coloured, heaving waters.

The gale had spent its sudden fury, as though its work were now accomplished, but the sky was grey and inhospitable. Matheson raised himself on his knees on the keel of the boat again and again to search around, but no sail or steamer-smoke gave hope of rescue.

It was not until ten o'clock that a trawler came within distance of seeing them, but apparently their signals of distress were not noticed, for the fishing vessel pa.s.sed on to its work and disappeared over the horizon.

A few fitful gleams of sunlight mocked their shiverings with promise of warmth--promise unfulfilled. Their brandy was now exhausted, and some ship's biscuits in the boatswain's pocket were sodden and uneatable.

Thirst began to add to the horrors of the situation. Olive was moaning for water, and they had none to give her.

The afternoon was far advanced before a Copenhagen-Hull packet ran across them, taking on board three exhausted men and a woman in delirium.

CHAPTER x.x.xVI

FINALITY

At Hull, prepared by wireless, doctors and nurses were waiting for Olive when the vessel reached port late at night. As Matheson hurried with the ambulance along the quayside, a tubby little figure of a man came up to him.

"You remember me--Martin?" he asked. "I'm covering this story for the _Daily Truth_."

"Come with me," answered Matheson. "I'll give you the information you want presently."

He had first to see Olive safely in hospital. It was all that he could do for her. Then he returned to the journalist.

"I suppose that you know that the other two boats were picked up early this morning?" said Martin.

"Good! and Larssen's little boy?"

"Quite sound. I made a special interview with him.... By the way, you know that the Hudson Bay flotation is going strong on the wing?"

He held out a newspaper folded back to the financial page. A few moments' glance was sufficient to tell Matheson all that he needed to know--that the issue had been launched in his name on the night of April 30th; that to-morrow at twelve o'clock the lists were to be closed.

If he were to act at all, he must act now--_at once_. His jaw squared and his mouth tightened as he thought out the situation.

Then to the journalist: "We've got to smash this--you and I."

From the wallet in his breast-pocket Matheson took out Larssen's two agreements--blurred with sea-water, but now dried and fit for his purpose. He handed the agreements to Martin, who whistled surprise as he read them.

"He's underwritten it himself," was the latter's comment.

"Yes. That evades his agreement with me.... What's the price of a full-page advertis.e.m.e.nt in your paper?"

"First, what's the idea?" returned the journalist.

Matheson led the way to a hotel near at hand, and on a sheet of hotel note-paper wrote these words:--

"The use of my name on the Hudson Bay prospectus is absolutely unauthorized. I earnestly advise all investors to cancel their applications by wire--at once.

(Signed) "Clifford Matheson"

"I want that on a full page," he said decisively.

The journalist read the words, and then looked up suspiciously.

"I knew you as a Mr John Riviere," he objected.

"I know, but I'm Clifford Matheson. I'll prove it to you. I'll bring you the two survivors from the 'Starlight' to testify."

"That's not much evidence."

"In town I could take you to my bankers, but to-night it's impossible.

Martin, you've _got_ to believe me! Hear what those two men have to say!"

The journalist considered the matter in sober silence.

"An advertis.e.m.e.nt like this is sheer libel," he answered presently.

"Larssen could rook you for goodness knows what damages if you got it published."

"I know. That goes."

"But my owners wouldn't stand for the damages. They'd be equally liable, you know."

"I'll guarantee them up to my last shilling. Get your editor on the trunk wire, and find out how much guarantee he'll want me to put up."

Martin looked at him half in admiration and half in doubtfulness.

"It would be a tremendous risk for me to take!"

Matheson looked him square in the eye.

"If you want a scoop that will make your career," he answered slowly, "it's here. Waiting for you to pick it up. I promised you first call on my news--here it is. Have you the pluck to take your opportunity?"

"Exclusive?" asked Martin, the magic word "scoop" setting him aflame.

"Exclusive," agreed Matheson.