Free Fatal Venture by Freeman Wills Crofts Page B

March the first advertisement appeared.
    This took the form of a short news paragraph saying that an enterprising French company were proposing to provide the British public with a double attraction: a chance of luxurious cruising to the beauty spots of their own islands, and an up-to-date and well-run casino, where those who wished might indulge in harmless gaming.
    The paragraph appeared in all the principal papers and was followed by a flood of letters to the editor from persons all over the country. (Each received from two to five guineas for allowing his or her name and address to be attached to Gillow’s effort.) Most of the letters were complimentary, congratulating the French firm on its determination to confer this double benefit on the British, and arguing that if we in this country had not groaned under the most grandmotherly legislation known to history, we would long since have had our own casinos. A few – enough to dispel the suspicion of inspiration – took a rabid view of the evils of gambling, and asked what the Churches were doing to allow such a blatant misuse of the sea.
    In reply to these letters, several other people wrote from genuine conviction, with the nett result that by the time the correspondence ceased, interest in the venture was both general and keen. This was kept alive by judiciously worded advertisements until at last, a month before the time, Tuesday, May 24th, was named as the opening date.
    It had been Stott’s intention to issue invitations to a thousand of the great of the land to visit the ship for lunch and a short cruise on the day before the opening. But so many of those tentatively approached indicated a regretful inability to be present that he abandoned the idea. From his subsequent moodiness, Morrison saw that he was hard hit, and thought that for the first time the possibility of failure had seriously entered the man’s mind.
    However, this doubt was speedily relieved by the avalanche of bookings which now began to pour in. It was soon evident that not only would the ship be full up on her first night, but that many applications would have to be refused. Stott again became jubilant and everywhere optimism reigned.
    As each booking was registered, it became Morrison’s duty to arrange the journey from the passenger’s home to the ship. On this first occasion, when a greater number would be embarked than on any subsequent occasion, it was decided that the ship herself should berth at Southampton. Morrison had arranged with the Southern Railway to run three Pullman specials from Waterloo in the forenoon, the ship being timed to sail just after tea.
    But if this day, May 24th, was to be the red-letter day of the scheme as a whole, Morrison’s came some fortnight earlier. He had been told on that day to close his temporary office in London and, with his staff of two, to move to his permanent establishment on the ship. To heighten the illusion of the French company, the
Hellenic
had been worked down from the Clyde and was now lying at Havre. Morrison, who had never been on a really big ship, was looking forward with intense eagerness to the experience.
    Excitement prevented him from sleeping on the Southampton boat and he was on deck long before they drew in between the moles at Havre. There she was at anchor in the Avant-Port! She looked absolutely huge, dwarfing all the other shipping! And what grace she showed! What elegance! What lovely lines! His heart swelled, as if she were his own private possession. He noticed also that her name had been altered. She was now the
Hellénique
. A happy touch, that! There was ocular demonstration of the reality of her new nationality. Whimsically, he wondered how it would square with the sea superstition. Did the mere alteration from the English to the French form of the word constitute a technical change of name? He noted it as a point for use on board, should he ever run out of conversation.
    As they passed across the harbour, he was