He seized his hat and departed. Once in the street, however, his irritation passed. As was the habit of the man, he began more clearly to see Newmark's side, and so more emphatically to blame himself. After all, when he got right down to the essentials, he could not but acknowledge that Newmark's anger was justified. For his own private ends he had jeopardised the firm's property. More of a business man might have reflected that Newmark, as financial head, should have protected the firm against all contingencies; should have seen to it that it met Heinzman's notes, instead of tying up its resources in unnecessary ways. Orde's own delinquency bulked too large in his eyes to admit his perception of this. By the time he had reached Heinzman's office, the last of his irritation had vanished. Only he realised clearly now that it would hardly do to ask Newmark for a renewal of the personal note on which depended his retention of his Boom Company stock unless he could renew the Heinzman note also. This is probably what Newmark intended.
“Mr. Heinzman?” he asked briefly of the first clerk.
“Mr. Heinzman is at home ill,” replied the bookkeeper.
“Already?” said Orde. He drummed on the black walnut rail thoughtfully. The notes came due in ten days. “How bad is he?”
The clerk looked up curiously. “Can't say. Probably won't be back for a long time. It's smallpox, you know.”
“True,” said Orde. “Well, who's in charge?”
“Mr. Lambert. You'll find him in the private office.”
Orde passed through the grill into the inner room.
“Hullo, Lambert,” he addressed the individual seated at Heinzman's desk. “So you're the boss, eh?”
Lambert turned, showing a perfectly round face, ornamented by a dot of a nose, two dots of eyes set rather close together, and a pursed up mouth. His skin was very brown and shiny, and was so filled by the flesh beneath as to take the appearance of having been inflated.