"I
appreciate your feelings," he said. "They do you credit, Dean. You're
sound and straight, and that's what I want in my young men."
Dean looked up in surprise. "I don't think you quite understand, sir.
I've come here to-day--come at my own expense--to hand you in my
resignation."
"Well, there's no need for it. You've been worrying yourself over a
bogey."
"A bogey!"
"Yes. There's been no 'fraud' at all. Clifford Matheson is as alive as
you are. He knows perfectly well that you've been in Canada for him."
"But the overcoat and stick! They were his--I'll swear to it!"
"Yes, they were his right enough. He laid them by the river-bank at
Neuilly himself."
"Why?"
"That's complicated to answer. I don't know that I ought to tell you
without Mr Matheson's express permission. In fact, I want you to keep
what I've just told you entirely to yourself."
Dean felt bewildered. There was suspicion in his eyes.
Larssen saw the suspicion and continued rapidly. "You think I'm trying
to bluff you? I never bluff with my staff, whatever I may do outside.
I'll give you proof. Have you got those signatures of Clifford
Matheson's?"
Dean produced them from his pocket-book.
The shipowner rapidly unlocked his desk and drew out a printed document
which he placed in the young man's hands.
"Now see here. This prospectus was printed off a week after you left for
Canada. You can know that by the printed date. Now what is the wording
written over it in ink?"
"'O.
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