484 ANGEL PAVEMENT

He settled down at his desk, with the various books in
front of him, to work out the exact figures. For the next
hour he was lost in them, quite happy, at home in this
familiar little world of unchanging numerals and
balancing columns, this world in which you had only
to have patience enough and everything worked out
beautifully, perfectly.

"AND how's Mr. Benenden?" Mr. Smeeth asked, He
had called in the shop as he returned from lunch on
Wednesday, and had found the plump niece still behind
the counter there.

She remembered him, and at once smiled at the
prospect of a little chat and then looked sad because the
subject would be her stricken uncle. After that, she
compromised neatly between the two. "He's not as well
as he might be, thank you/* she replied. "Now they've
got him in there and had a good look at him, they've
found a lot of things wrong with him. He never would
go to a doctor himself, didn't believe in them, he said-
you know—silly. No, it isn't just with him being
knocked down like that, though that was bad enough,
but they examined him, you see, and now they say he's
not in a good way at all. They may have to operate."
"That's bad, isn't it? What's wrong exactly?"
"Now I couldn't tell you. You know what they are in
these hospitals. If they know themselves, they don't let
on. I went to see him on Sunday, and I told him about
the shop and who'd been in and all that. You're not
Mr. Bromfield, are you?"