54 ANGEL PAVEMENT

"No, I give it up."

"Inspector from Scotland Yard."

"You've got 'em on the brain, you little chump/' said
Turgis. "Course he isn't."

"Well, I betcher. He looks just like one. You go
and have a look at him."

But Turgis was saved from the necessity, for the
visitor suddenly marched into the office itself.

"Where's that boy?" he demanded. "Oh, look here,
just go in again and tell Mr. What's-it—"

"Mr. Dersingham, sir," said Stanley brightly, proud
to serve Scotland Yard or anybody who suggested
it.

"Mr. Dersingham. Tell him I can't wait much
longer—I'm not used to hanging about like this—and
that if I go, / go for good and all, and then he'll be
sorry. D'you get that? All right then, trot off and speak
out. Wait a minute, though. He doesn't know what I
want, doesn't know who I am, so I'd better show him
I'm not going to waste his time." He took something
out of the small despatch-case he was carrying, aacl the
others recognised it at once as a sample book of veneers
and inlays, a few square inches of each specimen wood,
thin as cardboard, being fastened to each stout page.
"Now give him this, tell him to look it over, and say
that's what I've come to talk about, D'you under-
stand?"

Having thus dispatched the boy, Mr. Golspie stood
there at ease, his feet wide apart, his big chest thrown
out, coolly enjoying his cigar. It was one of the strictest
rules of the place that casual callers were not allowed
beyond the partition, and Turgis ought to have ordered
him out of the office at once. But somehow Turns felt