“He said everything was O.K.”
The foreman breathed a sigh of relief. “Well, that’s something to be thankful for. You’re a brick, Nash! You certainly know how to handle some things.”
Nash accepted the praise, such as it was, without replying. The only thing that had been troubling him since the inspector’s departure leaped to his tongue.
“Do you know how many men are under me, Hooker?” he inquired.
“Why, I suppose so. Don’t you? Don’t the books show?”
“Yes, the books show—but they don’t balance with mine.”
The foreman allowed a frown to creep around his lips; his brow wrinkled. “What are you getting at, Nash?”
“I checked off the pay roll to Boyer last night,” Nash said. “Your books credit my department with something greater than five thousand dollars. There’s a mistake, of course. I allowed it to go at the time, because I wasn’t absolutely certain until I compared the totals with my own memoranda.”
During their conversation, they had gradually left the big dining hall and had covered perhaps a quarter of a mile in the direction of Nash’s operations. This last remark, delivered in such a matter-of-fact tone by Nash, brought Hooker to an abrupt halt.
“Your memoranda?” exclaimed the foreman. “Say, what are you driving at, Nash?”