strength.
Duchene glanced at the figures. “This is very bad,” he said. “What is the reason?”
Simon produced a paper bag of powdered cement. “This is the sample.” They dipped their fingers in it; the powder was rough and gritty to the touch. “It has passed once only through the kiln,” said Duchene. He fingered it again, with forty years’ experience behind the touch. “Or—some of it. Half—more than a quarter and less than half—has passed once only. Has any of this stuff gone out?”
Simon said: “This is from Batch CX/684, monsieur. I regret infinitely that much of it has been already shipped. Itrust that this is not a true sample of the rest.”
The old man bit his lip. “Where did the shipment go to?” he enquired. This was a serious matter for the prestige of the company.
Charles said: “It was sold through Brest. Much of it was shipped to Lorient, and some to Audierne, Douarnenez, and Morgat. It has all gone to the same district.”
They discussed the distribution for some little time. It was a major crisis, and most serious to them commercially. “I will ring up the Commission of Control,” Duchene said in the end. “They must know about this first of all, and quickly, in case they think that we have made a sabotage. Then they must arrange at the ports that every sack is put in quarantine till we have made a test-piece from that sack and broken it. Every sack is to be tested. I will not take a risk in matters of this sort.”
The designer nodded. “I will go and see to it myself,” he said. “They cannot say that we are taking this lightly if I go myself to do the tests.”
The old man beamed his approval; he was fond of Charles. “That is a very good suggestion,” he said. “I will tell the Commission that I am sending my chief engineer to make this inspection. You must be ready to start immediately, and make my apologies to all the commandants concerned. Telegraph immediately what replacements are required.”
The Commission were annoyed, and naturally so, but somewhat mollified by the suggestion that the S.A.F.C. de Corbeil proposed to send their chief engineer in person to inspect the defective batch. Half a dozen telegrams were sent without delay isolating the material, and Charles was given all the necessary permits for his journey and told to get off at once. He travelled up next morning to Paris, a city of desolate, dirty streets and closed shops. He lunched sadly in a little restaurant and took the afternoon train for Brittany.
He went first to Brest. At the station he took the common hotel bus, an ancient horse-drawn vehicle, and asked to be put down at the Hôtel Moderne. The driver looked at him curiously. “Monsieur has not visited Brest recently, perhaps?” he said. “The hotel is closed.”
He found that it was closed indeed, or rather that it stood wide open to the sky. There was much bomb damage in the town; he was fortunate to get a room in the Hôtel des Voyageurs.
He went to the agent next day, and sat in conference with him for an hour. Monsieur Clarisson was much concerned about thedefects of Batch CX/684, and said he could not believe that there was really much wrong with it. He himself had taken samples and had tested them as soon as the news reached him, and all his samples had come out in strength well above specification. The two engineers drank several cups of coffee in the office, bitter stuff tasting of acorns, and gloomed over the samples that Simon had brought with him from Corbeil. Monsieur Clarisson gave Charles the names of all the local German commandants that he would have to see, and expressed his irritation that he would not be able to accompany Monsieur Simon on his trip from town to town along the coast. The German regulations in that part were very strict.
“I should warn you, monsieur,” he said confidentially, “that here in Brittany it is necessary to be most discreet.” He hesitated. “You will not mind if I say this?
Duchene glanced at the figures. “This is very bad,” he said. “What is the reason?”
Simon produced a paper bag of powdered cement. “This is the sample.” They dipped their fingers in it; the powder was rough and gritty to the touch. “It has passed once only through the kiln,” said Duchene. He fingered it again, with forty years’ experience behind the touch. “Or—some of it. Half—more than a quarter and less than half—has passed once only. Has any of this stuff gone out?”
Simon said: “This is from Batch CX/684, monsieur. I regret infinitely that much of it has been already shipped. Itrust that this is not a true sample of the rest.”
The old man bit his lip. “Where did the shipment go to?” he enquired. This was a serious matter for the prestige of the company.
Charles said: “It was sold through Brest. Much of it was shipped to Lorient, and some to Audierne, Douarnenez, and Morgat. It has all gone to the same district.”
They discussed the distribution for some little time. It was a major crisis, and most serious to them commercially. “I will ring up the Commission of Control,” Duchene said in the end. “They must know about this first of all, and quickly, in case they think that we have made a sabotage. Then they must arrange at the ports that every sack is put in quarantine till we have made a test-piece from that sack and broken it. Every sack is to be tested. I will not take a risk in matters of this sort.”
The designer nodded. “I will go and see to it myself,” he said. “They cannot say that we are taking this lightly if I go myself to do the tests.”
The old man beamed his approval; he was fond of Charles. “That is a very good suggestion,” he said. “I will tell the Commission that I am sending my chief engineer to make this inspection. You must be ready to start immediately, and make my apologies to all the commandants concerned. Telegraph immediately what replacements are required.”
The Commission were annoyed, and naturally so, but somewhat mollified by the suggestion that the S.A.F.C. de Corbeil proposed to send their chief engineer in person to inspect the defective batch. Half a dozen telegrams were sent without delay isolating the material, and Charles was given all the necessary permits for his journey and told to get off at once. He travelled up next morning to Paris, a city of desolate, dirty streets and closed shops. He lunched sadly in a little restaurant and took the afternoon train for Brittany.
He went first to Brest. At the station he took the common hotel bus, an ancient horse-drawn vehicle, and asked to be put down at the Hôtel Moderne. The driver looked at him curiously. “Monsieur has not visited Brest recently, perhaps?” he said. “The hotel is closed.”
He found that it was closed indeed, or rather that it stood wide open to the sky. There was much bomb damage in the town; he was fortunate to get a room in the Hôtel des Voyageurs.
He went to the agent next day, and sat in conference with him for an hour. Monsieur Clarisson was much concerned about thedefects of Batch CX/684, and said he could not believe that there was really much wrong with it. He himself had taken samples and had tested them as soon as the news reached him, and all his samples had come out in strength well above specification. The two engineers drank several cups of coffee in the office, bitter stuff tasting of acorns, and gloomed over the samples that Simon had brought with him from Corbeil. Monsieur Clarisson gave Charles the names of all the local German commandants that he would have to see, and expressed his irritation that he would not be able to accompany Monsieur Simon on his trip from town to town along the coast. The German regulations in that part were very strict.
“I should warn you, monsieur,” he said confidentially, “that here in Brittany it is necessary to be most discreet.” He hesitated. “You will not mind if I say this?
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