Murder flashed through the compradore’s eyes for an infinitesimal instant, and a venomous hiss snarled through his teeth. Holman had heard and seen a rabid dog snarl so once. But the Chinese commanded himself again instantly, and said meekly, almost sweetly: “Me no savee. Wantee more money, lelse no can do work.”
Holman commanded himself as quickly and as well as the native had, and said, speaking as calmly (and almost as slowly), “Get that ship loaded—three days’ pay—understand?”
But Tom Carruthers collapsed upon the window-seat. “If this was lording it over the poor, over-worked, underpaid natives, all he could say was——”
But the bitter and brilliant remark was never made, for as the compradore padded softly out, Murray, a senior clerk and the book-keeper, rushed in excitedly. And European clerks do not rush about much between noon and three in Hong Kong, not even indoors with drenched tatties at the windows and punkahs well manned. There were no tatties in this room—its occupants too often desired to keep an eye on the wharf.
“Out, John,” the book-keeper ripped at a Chinese clerk who had come in while Holman was speaking to the compradore, mounted his high stool, and began to write busily. At Murray’s order he slid off the stool, closed his book, and went out impassively.
Scarcely waiting until the door had closed, Murray said anxiously, “But, Mr. Holman, I understood you to say that the overdraft for the new dock had been arranged with the Bank—I drew up the exchange accordingly——”
“Quite correct—the transfer is to be made to-day.” But Holman’s voice was less sanguine than his words. He scented more trouble still, and he eyed askance the letter in Murray’s hand.
“There must be some mistake, sir,” Murray said desperately. “The Bank has just notified our accountancy department that an overdraft is impossible.”
“Why?”