"What is your wage?"
"I get five pound a week."
"I give you ten. You are my man. You leave for my place in Croatia when the show is over. My secretary will see you are looked after. Serve me well and you will never regret it. I am generous, when I am pleased." He turned to his companion. "See that all arrangements are made. If he has a wife and children bring them if he desires it. If he will be happier without them let them remain here. I must have him. He has intelligence and industry. Look you, he has gone back to his work. He loves his engine as a good groom does his horse."
The mechanic had indeed crawled again under the huge car. The count could have added that he was cautious for he drew his legs well into cover.
The count and the secretary went off. The secretary was to call at the office next day and arrange things. The manager was deferential, but when they had left the glass-roofed hall he permitted himself to laugh. Then he crossed to the car and bent down.
"It's all right, Mr. Trent," he said, "they've gone now; you can come out."
Anthony Trent looked up at him and grinned.
"You can always get a job as an actor," he said.
"Your accent is a bit of all right," the manager returned, gratified.