The secretary was a quiet, self-contained, silent man of thirty or
thirty-one. A heavy dark moustache curtained expression from his lips.
Not only could he carry out orders to the letter, but he was to be
trusted to keep his head in any unforeseen emergency and act on his own
responsibility in a sound, common-sense way. But Lars Larssen trusted no
man beyond the essentials of any situation. His was the brain to plan
and direct. He preferred obedient tools to brilliant, independent
helpers.

At the train-side, Larssen gave a final direction to his subordinate:
"Keep me in touch with every move."

Back at his hotel, Sylvester occupied himself with the development of
some films he had taken on the Channel passage. In his hours of leisure
he was a devoted amateur photographer. At the present time there was
nothing to be done but wait the possible answer to the advertisement.




CHAPTER IX

AT MONTE CARLO


Next day, the wonderful panorama of the Riviera was unfolding itself
before the eyes of the shipowner. The red rocks and the dwarf pines of
the Esterel coves, against which an azure sea lapped in soft caress....
Cannes with its far-flung draperies of white villas.... The proud
solemnity of the Alpes Maritimes thrusting up to the snow-line and