The information that he had obtained did not seem to elate him. He turned toward the hall, plodding along with lowered head and set, inexpressive countenance.
There was no one to bar his progress up the stairs, and it was well for such that there was none. Segunder was going up to the meeting room regardless of any obstacles that might obstruct his path.
The Icelander strode into the hall where, with head still lowered, he gazed at Cavard with dull, listless eyes. The walking delegate and head of the union was absorbed in a litter of documents on his desk. At first he did not see Olsen, and there was no one else in the room to inform him of the other man's presence.
Finally the big Icelander coughed to attract the other man's attention.
Cavard glanced up; then a scowl overspread his face.
"What do you want here?" demanded the leader, half irritably.
Segunder did not answer.
"I say, what do you want?"
"I want you. I come speak with you."
"Get out of here! I want nothing to do with a scab!"