Von Holzen seemed to have somewhat of this feeling for Cornish. He offered him the best seat at the table. Roden was taking his books from a safe—huge ledgers bound in green pigskin, slim cash-books, cloth-bound journals. He named them as he laid them on the table before Mr. Wade. Major White looked at the great tomes with solemn and silent awe. Mr. Wade was already fingering his gold pencil-case. He eyed the closed books with an anticipatory gleam of pleasure in his face—as a commander may eye the arrayed squadrons of the foe.
“It is, of course, understood that this audit is strictly in confidence?” said Von Holzen. “For your own satisfaction, and not in any sense for publication. It is a trade secret.”
“Of course,” answered Cornish, to whom the question had been addressed. “We trust to the honor of these gentlemen.”
Cornish looked up and met the speaker's grave eyes. “Yes,” he said.
Roden, having emptied the large safe, leant his shoulder against the iron mantelpiece and looked down at those seated at the table—especially at Mr. Wade. His hands were in his pockets; his face wore a careless smile. He had not resumed his coat, and the cleanliness of the books testified to the fact that he always worked in shirt-sleeves. It was a trick of the trade, which exonerated him from the necessity of apologizing.
Mr. Wade took the great ledgers, opened them, fluttered the pages with his fingers, and set them aside one after the other. Then Roden seemed to recollect something. He went to a drawer and took from it a packet of neatly folded papers held together by elastic rings. The top one he unfolded and laid on the table before Mr. Wade.
“Trial balance-sheet of 31st of March,” he said.
Mr. Wade glanced up and down the closely written columns, which were like copper-plate—an astounding mass of figures. The additions in the final column ran to six numerals. The banker folded the paper and laid it aside. Then, he turned to the slim cash-books, which he glanced at casually. The journals he set aside without opening. He handled the books with a sort of skill showing that he knew how to lift them with the least exertion, how to open them and close them and turn their stiff pages. The enormous mass of figures did not seem to appal him; the maze was straight enough beneath such skillful eyes. Finally, he turned to a small locked ledger, of which the key was attached to Roden's watch-chain, who came forward and unlocked the book. Mr. Wade turned to the index at the beginning of the volume, found a certain account, and opened the book there. At the sight of the figures he raised his eyebrow and glanced up at Roden.
“Whew!” he exclaimed, beneath his breath. He had arrived at his destination—had torn the heart out of these great books. All in the room were watching his placid, shrewd old face. He studied the books for some time and then took a sheet of blank paper from a number of such attached by a string to a corner of the table. He reflected for some minutes, pushing the movable part of his gold pencil in and out pensively as he did so. Then he wrote a number of figures on the sheet of paper and handed it to Cornish. He closed the locked ledger with a snap. The audit of the malgamite books was over.
“It is a wonderful piece of single-handed bookkeeping,” he said to Roden.