Swirling Waters | Page 8

my young friend, is one dam taxi after another."
The Morgue is, of course, no longer the public peep-show that it used
to be, but Martin's card procured him instant admission. On the inclined
marble slabs, down which ice water gently trickles, were two ghastly
white figures of women which had been waiting identification for some
days. The object of their search was not at the Morgue.
They proceeded across Paris to the Hôpital Malesherbes, but at the
Place de l'Opera Dean asked to be put down. The journalist promised to
'phone to the Grand Hotel if anything of interest came to light, and
Arthur Dean went to make his report to Lars Larssen. It was already
past mid-day, and without doubt the shipowner would be impatient to
hear news.
Only stopping at a telephone call office for a few minutes, Dean hurried
to his employer's suite of rooms.
"Well?" asked Lars Larssen.
"To begin at the beginning, sir, I waited last night in the Rue Laffitte
until Mr Matheson came out of his office. It was not long before he
appeared, and then----"
The shipowner interrupted curtly. "I want the heart of the matter."
Dean gulped and answered: "I believe Mr Matheson has been
murdered."
"Believe! Do you know?"
"Of course I don't know for certain, sir; but this morning I assisted at
the finding of his coat and stick on the banks of the Seine."
"Sure they were his?"
"Yes, quite sure. I was with a journalist friend of mine, but I didn't let
him know that I recognized the coat and stick. I thought perhaps you

would like me to tell you before the matter was made public."
"Good! Now give me the full story."
Arthur Dean summoned up his nerve to tell the connected tale he had
thought out during the long cab rides that morning. It was essential that
he should disguise his cowardice and his failure to carry out orders of
the night before. With that exception, his account was a truthful and
detailed story of all that had happened. He concluded with:--
"I 'phoned up Mr Matheson's office--without telling my name--and
asked if he was in or had been to the office this morning. They said no.
I got his hotel address from them and 'phoned the hotel. They also
could tell me nothing about Mr Matheson."
Lars Larssen paced the room in silence for some time. Finally he shot
out a question.
"Your salary is?"
"£100 a year, sir."
"Engaged, or likely to be?"
The young man blushed deeply as he replied: "I hope to be shortly."
"You can't marry on two pound a week."
"I am hoping to get promotion in the office, and then----"
"Do you understand how to get promotion?"
"Of course, sir. I intend to work hard and study the details of the
business outside my own department, and learn Spanish as well as
French----"
Lars Larssen flicked thumb and finger together contemptuously. "The
men I pay real money to are not that kind of men."

Arthur Dean looked in surprise.
"Now see here," pursued the shipowner, fixing his eyes deep into the
young man's, "why did you lie to me just now?"
Dean went deathly white, and began to falter a denial.
"Don't lie any further! Something happened last night that you haven't
told me of. I know, because you brought in no report last night. Out
with it!"
Under that merciless look the young clerk made a clean breast of the
matter. His voice shook as he realized that it probably meant instant
dismissal for him. Here was the end of all his hopes.
Lars Larssen made no comment until the last details had been faltered
out. Then he said abruptly: "I propose to raise you £300 a year."
Dean stared at him in silent amazement.
"£300 a year is good salary for a young man. If I pay it, I want it earned.
Now understand this: what I want in my men is absolute loyalty,
absolute obedience to orders, and absolute truthfulness to me. Lie to
others if you like--that's no concern of mine--but not to me. Further,
understand what orders mean. If I tell you to do a thing, I am wholly
responsible for its outcome. The responsibility is not yours--it's mine.
Got that?"
"It's very generous of you to give me such a chance, sir. It's much more
than I have the right to expect. You can count on my loyalty and
obedience to the utmost--of course, provided that----"
"The men I want to raise in my employ, and the men I have raised,
leave fine scruples to me. That's my end. Your end is to carry out
orders. If you're going to set store on niceties of truthfulness when
business interests demand otherwise, you'll