and arranged that the letters dictated should be retyped on hotel paper
at Cherbourg and posted there. Dean was to catch a night train to
Cherbourg, take steamer ticket there for Quebec, and proceed to
Montreal. There were a host of directions as to his conduct while in
Canada, and as Larssen poured out a stream of detailed orders, searching
into every cranny and crevice of the situation, the young clerk felt
once more the glamour of the master-mind.

Here was an employer worth working for!

Early next morning Dean was at grimy Cherbourg, and after posting off
his letters he sent the following telegram to Mrs Matheson at Monte
Carlo:--

"Sailing this morning for Canada on 'La Bretagne.' Urgent and very
private business. Larssen, Grand Hotel, Paris, will explain. Sailing as
Arthur Dean to avoid Canadian reporters. Good-bye. Much love."

As the liner lay by the quayside with smoke pouring from her funnels and
the bustle of near departure on her decks, a telegram in reply was
brought to Arthur Dean. He opened and read:--

"Most annoying. Cannot understand why business could not have been given
to somebody else. However, expect nothing from you nowadays. Where is
Rivière? Not arrived, and no line from him."

Rivière? Who was this man? Lars Larssen had made no mention of this
name. It was the one facet of the situation of which the shipowner knew
nothing--the one unknown link in the chain of circumstance.