"Are you going away from Paris?" shouted old Mme Dromet to her employer,
seeing the portmanteau and the other signs of departure. She was
stone-deaf, and in the manner of deaf people always shouted what she had
to say.

Rivière nodded assent, and produced a paper of written instructions.
These he read through with her, so as to make sure that she thoroughly
understood. Then he gave her a generous allowance to cover the next few
months.

Later in the afternoon, he was seated with his modest travelling
equipment in a cab, driving to No. 8, Rue Laffitte. He mounted to the
offices of the financier and, in order to test the efficacy of his
changed appearance, asked to see Mr Clifford Matheson.

For a moment the clerk stared at the visitor. The resemblance to his
employer was certainly very striking. Yet there were differences. Mr
Matheson wore a close-cut moustache, while this man was clean-shaven.
The commanding look, the hard-set mask of the financier were softened
away; there was joy of life, there was freedom of soul in the features
and in the attitude of this visitor.

"I am Mr John Rivière, his half-brother. Will you tell him that I am
here?"

The clerk felt somehow relieved. That of course explained the striking
resemblance. He replied: "Mr Matheson has not been at the office to-day,
sir. I fancy he has left for Monte Carlo. I am not sure, but I believe
that was his intention."