"Then you moved to Nîmes, staying for shame's sake at different houses. Hers was the Hotel de Provence, and yours was the Villa Clémentine. You went lovemaking with this woman in the moonlight, up to a quiet place on the hillside, and there you nearly got what was coming to you from a peasant called Crau. Then you had this Verney woman stay with you in your Villa Clémentine, and finally you took her off to Wiesbaden."
Larssen ostentatiously pressed an electric bell.
"I'll give you chapter and verse," he said.
Morris Sylvester came in quietly from his room close by, a slow smile under his heavy dark moustache, and nodded greeting to Matheson. He had heard by the telephone device all of his chief's case against Matheson, and was quite ready to take up his cue.
"Sylvester, you recognize this man?" said Larssen.
"Yes. He is the Mr John Rivière I shadowed at Arles and Nîmes."
Larssen turned to the financier. "Want to ask him any questions? Ask anything you like."
"No."
"Sure?"
"Quite," answered Matheson. There was nothing to be gained at this stage by cross-examining the secretary.