. Delay followed while the two
chauffeurs upbraided one another with crimson epithets, and gave rival
versions of the incident to a gravely impartial policeman. When Riviere
at length reached Hampstead Heath, it was to find that the shipowner had
just left the house.

Riviere explained to the butler that it was very important he should
reach Larssen without delay, and his personality impressed the servant
as that of a visitor of standing. He therefore told Riviere what he
knew.

"Mr Larssen changed into evening dress, sir, and went off in his small
covered car. I don't know where he's gone, sir, but he told me if
anything important arose I was to ring him up at P. O. Richmond, 2882."

That telephone number happened to be quite familiar to Riviere. It was
the number of his own house at Roehampton.

He jumped into the waiting taxi once again, and ordered the chauffeur to
drive across London to Barnes Common and Roehampton. If he could not
confront Larssen at office or house, he would run him to earth that
evening in his own home. No doubt Larssen was going there to talk
business with Sir Francis.

Roehampton is a country village held within the octopus arms of Greater
London. Round it are a number of large houses with fine, spacious
grounds--country estates they were when Queen Victoria ascended the
throne of England. At Olive's special choice, her husband had purchased
one of the mansions and had it re-decorated for her in modern style. She
liked its nearness to London proper--it gave her touch with Bond Street
and theatreland in half-an-hour by fast car. She liked its spacious
lawns and its terraced Italian garden--they were so admirable for garden
parties and open-air theatricals. She liked the useless size of the
house--it ministered to her love of opulence.

Riviere had grown to hate it in the last few years.

The name of the estate was "Thornton Chase." The approach lay through a
winding drive bordered by giant beeches, and passed one of the
box-hedged lawns to curl before a front door on the further side of the
house.

When at the very gates another delay in that evening of delays occurred.
This time it was a tyre-burst. Riviere, impatient of further waste of
time, paid off the chauffeur and started on foot along the entrance
drive. The drizzle of the afternoon had ceased, and a few stars shone
halfheartedly through rents in the ragged curtain of cloud, as though
performing a duty against their will.

W