For comment, the shipowner flicked thumb and forefinger together.
"No, I'll do more," pursued Matheson. "I'll make you a more than fair offer—shoulder the whole expenses myself."
Larssen ignored the offer. "I went into the preliminaries of the scheme on the understanding that we were to pull together."
"I know."
"It means big money for you—enough to retire on."
"I know."
"Then what the hell's the reason for this sudden attack of scruples?"
For a moment Matheson's eyes blazed black anger, but the anger died out of them and the tired look of the platform of the Gare de Lyon took its place. "You wouldn't understand," he answered. "The whirlpool."
"What's that?"
"It would be useless to explain. I have private reasons.... I've made you a thoroughly fair offer, and I don't think there's anything more to be said." Matheson rose and walked to the window, pulling up the blind and gazing out on the sombre splendour of the big banking houses of the Rue Laffitte and the Rue Pillet-Will.