"Well, then, how do you know he's heard? Has he told you?"
"No," said the factotum mysteriously. "But I think he's heard." And upon this Mr. Haim slouched off quite calmly. Often he had assisted at the advent of such vital news in the office—news obtained in advance by the principals through secret channels—and often the news had been bad. But the firm's calamities seemed never to affect the smoothness of Mr. Haim's earthly passage.
The door into the principals' room opened, and Mr.
Enwright's head showed. The gloomy, resenting eyes fixed George for an instant.
"Well, you've lost that competition," said Mr. Enwright, and he stepped into full view. His unseen partner had ceased to dictate, and the shorthand-clerk could be heard going out by the other door.
"No!" said George, in a long, outraged murmur. The news seemed incredible and quite disastrous; and yet at the same time had he not, in one unvisited corner of his mind, always foreknown it? Suddenly he was distressed, discouraged, disillusioned about the whole of life. He thought that Everard Lucas, screwing up a compass, was strangely unmoved. But Mr. Enwright ignored Lucas.
"Who's got it?" George asked.
"Whinburn."
"That chap!... Where are we ?"
"Nowhere."