"Well, first call at any rate. We might get out a special edition in front of the other fellows. We've started a new evening paper at the Daily Truth office, and I'd like to secure a scoop for one of the two.... My stars, if I could have seen the scrap between you and Larssen! There must have been some juicy copy in that!"
"No doubt," commented Rivière drily. "Well, I'll say good-bye now."
"Anyhow, thanks for your promise. I'll look forward to the next meeting. Au revoir, as they say in this whisker-ridden country."
Boulogne harbour was crowded with grimy tramp steamers, fishing boats, and a rabble of plebeian harbour craft, but the yacht "Starlight" was not in view. Rivière inquired at the office of the harbour-master, and was informed that a telegram promised the yacht's arrival by nightfall.
She arrived true to promise, and lay out beyond the twin piers of the harbour-mouth in the quiet of sunset of the evening of April 30th—a trim-lined, quietly capable, three-masted craft. Larssen had referred to her as a "small cruising yacht," but in reality the "Starlight" was much more than that casual description would convey. In addition to her extensive sailing power, she had a set of marine oil engines for use in light winds or special emergency, and her cabins and saloons were roomy and comfortable. She could carry a party of a dozen passengers with comfort if there were need, and had four life-boats as well as a shore dinghy. The kitchen equipment was admirable. Altogether, a trim, well-found yacht which might have voyaged round the world without mishap.
The dinghy was sent off with the mate and a couple of seamen, and entered the harbour to enquire for Rivière at the harbour-master's office, according to arrangement.
"Pleased to meet you, sir," said the mate. "Mrs Matheson's compliments, and will you come aboard?"
"Is Mr Larssen on the yacht?"
"No. Mrs Matheson, her maid, and Master Olaf—that's all. We're giving the little chap a training in seamanship.... Jim, take the gentleman's luggage."
They rowed out to the "Starlight," lying trimly at anchor like a capable, self-possessed hostess awaiting the arrival of a week-end guest at a country-house. Olive waved greeting to her husband as he came near. By her side was Larssen's little son, holding her hand. He might have almost been posed there by the shipowner to inspire confidence in the peaceful intentions of the yachting cruise.