Füger was still taking notes. He only spoke when the builder had stopped.
“Mr. Münster called here. His creditors are driving him into bankruptcy.”
Christopher Ulwing’s look became stern.
“Why didn’t you tell me that before?”
Füger shrugged his shoulders.
“I haven’t had a chance to put a word in....”
The builder stood motionless in the middle of the room. He contracted his brows as if he were peering into the far distance.
Martin George Münster, the powerful contractor, the qualified architect, was ruined. The last rival, the great enemy who had so many times baulked him, counted no more. He thought of humiliations, of breathless hard fights, and of the many men who had had to go down that he might rise. He had vanquished them all. Now, at last, he was really at the top.
With his big fingers he gave a contented twist to the smart white curl which he wore on the side of his head.
Füger watched him attentively. Just then, the candle lit up the builder’s bony, clean-shaven face, tanned by the cold wind. His hair and eyebrows seemed whiter, his eyes bluer than usual. His chin, turned slightly to one side and drawn tightly into an open white collar, gave him a peculiar, obstinate expression.