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 glinting white against the sun.... Fairy bungalows nesting in tropic gardens and waving welcome with their palm-fronds to the rushing train.... The Baie des Anges laughing with sky and hills.... The many-tunnelled cliff-route from Villefranche to Cap D'Ail, where moments of darkness tease one to longing for the sight of the azure coves dotted with white-winged yachts and foam-slashed motor-boats.... Europe's silken, jewelled fringe!
But scenery made no appeal to Lars Larssen. Scenery would not help him to the attainment of his great ambitions. Scenery was no use to him. His delight lay in men and women and the using of them. Business—the turning of other men's energies to his own ends—was the very breath of his being.
He was glad to reach the hectic crowdedness of the tiny principality of Monaco—that triple essence of civilization and sensuous luxury. He felt at home with the big idea that drew the whole world to the gaming tables to pay homage to the goddess Fortune. For a moment the suggestion came to him to buy up some beautiful islet and build a pleasure city on it which should be a wonder of the world. He was making a note of it for future consideration, when Olive and her father met him on the platform at Monte Carlo.
"I thought perhaps you would bring John Rivière with you," said Olive after they had exchanged greetings. A strong desire had sprung up to see this mysterious relation of Clifford's, and to be balked of any passing whim was keen annoyance to her.
"Bring a will-o'-the-wisp," answered Larssen.
"Can't you find him?" asked Sir Francis. Larssen shook his head. "Gad, that's curious. Why doesn't he write? Bad form, you know. But when a man's lived all his life in the backwoods of Canada, I suppose one can't expect him to know what's what."
Olive studied the shipowner keenly as they drove to their hotel. His massive strength of body and masterful purpose of mind, showing in every line of his face, attracted her strongly. Olive worshipped power, money, and all that breathed of them. Here was the living embodiment of money and power.
After dinner that evening all three went to the Casino. The order had been given to Sir Francis Letchmere's valet that he was to bring over to the Salle de Jeux any telegram or 'phone message that might arrive.