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.K., Clifford Matheson,'" read out Dean.
"Compare it with your two signatures."
"It's the same."
"Exactly. That prospectus was passed by Mr Matheson some time after you imagined him dead and buried."
Dean could answer nothing. The world had turned upside down for him. Larssen took the prospectus and the two specimen signatures, and locked them away in his desk.
"Well?" he asked smilingly. "Am I the devil tempting you to run crooked?"
"I must apologize, sir—apologize sincerely! I didn't know of all this. I thought——I thought——"
"That's all over now. We'll forget it. You've proved to me you're sound and straight. You've carried out orders well. Carry out future orders in the same way, and I'll do everything I've promised for you. You know that I never break a promise to my staff?"