Fosdick brought his fist down on the table and laughed with a kind of savage joy. "The damned scoundrels!" he exclaimed. Then, hastily, "Just step to the telephone, Miss Siersdorf, and call up your brother and tell him on no account to give that information."
Narcisse hesitated. "But—that's a very common occurrence in our business," objected she. "I don't see how we can refuse—unless the man is a trifler. Anyone who is building likes to have a concrete example to go by."
"Please do as I ask, Miss Siersdorf," said Fosdick. "We'll discuss it afterwards."
Narcisse obeyed, and when she returned said, "My brother will give out nothing more. But I find I was mistaken. He gave the estimates yesterday afternoon."
Fosdick sank back in his chair, his features contracted in anger and anxiety. When she tried to speak, he waved her imperiously into silence. "I must think," he said curtly. "Don't interrupt!" She watched his face, but could make nothing definite of its vague reflections of his apparently dark and stormy thoughts. Finally he said, in a nearer approach to his usual tone and manner, "It's soon remedied. Your brother can send for the man. You know who he was?"
"His name was Delmar. He represented the Howlands, the Chicago drygoods people."
"Um," grunted Fosdick, reflecting again; then, as if he had found what he was searching for, "Yes—that's the trail. Well, Miss Siersdorf, as I was saying, your brother will send for Delmar and will tell him there was a mistake. And he'll give him another set of figures—say, doubling or trebling the first set. He'll say he neglected to make allowance for finer materials and details of stonework and woodwork—hardwood floors, marble from Italy, and so forth and so forth. You understand. He'll say he meant simply the ordinary first-rate office building—and wasn't calculating on such palaces as he's putting up for the O.A.D."
Narcisse sat straight and silent, staring into her lap. Fosdick's cigar had gone out. She had never before objected especially to its odor; now she found it almost insupportable.
"You'd better telephone him," continued Fosdick. "No—I'll just have the butler telephone him to come up here. We might as well make sure of getting it straight."
Narcisse did not stir while Fosdick was out of the room, nor when he resumed his seat and went on, "All this is too intricate to explain in detail, Miss Siersdorf, but I'll give you an idea of it. It's a question of the secrecy of our accounts."