462 ANGEL PAVEMENT

"If he goes, what happens then, Mr. Smeeth?"

"If he goes? That would depend. A lot might happen,
or nothing might happen. But, anyhow, Mr. Golspie's
not going/'

"I think he is—soon, too."

Mr. Smeeth stared at him. Turgis was obviously quite
serious. ''Where did you get that idea from?"

"I think he is."

"What's the good of talking like that! You think
he is! Why should he now? What's the object? He's
making plenty of money out of the business, as I know
better than you do. He's making a surprising amount,
for a trade like this—I don't mind telling you. He'd be
a fool if he did go, unless, of course—well—" And Mr.
Smeeth thought of several possibilities, but kept them
to himself, "No, that's silly talk, Turgis. What put that
into your head?"

"It isn't silly, Mr. Smeeth/' cried Turgis, goaded into
saying more than he had ever intended to say. "I know
he's going. At least, I know he's not staying with the
firm long. I know he doesn't think much of Mr.
Dersingham either. I know that, too."

"But where have you got all this from?" Mr. Smeeth
was more angry than alarmed. "This is the first I've
heard of it. How did you learn it? You're not trying
to be funny, are you?"

"Well," roared the large man, "Get a move on, eh?
You coming to eat with me, Charlie? That's right. See
you Monday, Tom, eh? Course 111 be there. You
betcher life, boy! Wouldn't miss it. Am I what? Oh-
you wicked feller, Tom, you wicked feller! So long, boy.
Morning, miss. Morning, Sam." And the silence he left
behind him was almost startling.