"Anyhow, it will keep you
people busy and serve as a sort of visiting card here for me until--"
"Until what?" Kendrick asked, breaking a short pause.
"Until I can make up my mind how to deal with those fellows across the
way. On paper it still looks a good thing to sell them wheat, you know.
Peter Phipps has something up his sleeve for me, though. I've got to try
and find out what it is."
"You'll excuse me for a moment?" Kendrick begged. "I'm only a human
being, and I can't hold a couple of million pounds' worth of business in
my hand and not set it going. I'll be back directly."
"Don't hurry on my account," Wingate replied. "I'm going to use your
telephone, if I may."
"Of course! You have a private line there. The others will be all buzzing
away in a minute. I'll send Jenkins and Poore along to the House. What
about lunch?"
"To-morrow, one o'clock at the Milan," Wingate appointed. "I'm
busy to-day."
CHAPTER IV
Wingate made his way from the City to Shaftesbury Avenue, where he
entered a block of offices, studied the direction board on the wall for
a few minutes, and finally took the lift to the fourth floor. Exactly
opposite to him across the uncarpeted corridor was a door from which
half the varnish had peeled off, on which was painted in white
letters--MR. ANDREW SLATE. A knock on the panel resulted in an immediate
invitation to enter.
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