Kendrick, Stone, Morgan and Company when, at a few minutes after eleven
the following morning, Wingate descended from a taxicab, pushed open the
swing doors of the large general office and enquired for Mr. Kendrick.
Without a moment's delay he was shown into Roger Kendrick's private room,
but the little thrill caused by his entrance did not at once pass away.
It was like the visit of a general to Divisional Headquarters. Action of
some sort seemed to be in the air. Ideas of big dealings already loomed
large in the minds of the little army of clerks. Telephones were handled
longingly. Those of the firm who were members of the Stock Exchange
abandoned any work of a distracting nature and held themselves ready for
a prompt rush across the street.
Even Roger Kendrick, as he shook hands with his client, was conscious of
a little thrill of expectation. Wingate was a man who brought with him
almost a conscious sense of power. Carefully, but not overcarefully
dressed, muscular, with a frame like steel, eyes keen and bright,
carrying himself like a man who knows himself and his value, John Wingate
would have appeared a formidable adversary in any game in which he chose
to take a hand. Whatever his present intentions were, however, he seemed
in no hurry to declare himself. The two men spoke for a few minutes on
outside subjects.
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