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 remain a two-pound-a-week clerk all
your life."

Dean's weakness of moral fibre had been shrewdly weighed up by Larssen.
The young man was plastic clay to be moulded by a firm grasp. £300 a
year opened out to him a vista of roseate possibilities. £300 a year was
his price.