554 ANGEL PAVEMENT

I got a letter from Golspie this morning, saying that he
was clearing out. Here, you can read it for yourself/*

Mr. Smeeth read it through twice. It pretended to be
an ordinary business letter, but there was a good deal of
unpleasant irony in it. One phrase, which practically
said that Mr. Dersingham had tried to sneak the agency
for himself and had not succeeded, made Mr. Smeeth
look up and ask a question. "Did you really write to
those people and try to get the agency yourself, sir?" he
asked.

Mr, Dersingham nodded.

Mr. Smeeth hesitated a moment. "I don't think you
ought to have done that, sir," he said finally, respectful
but reproachful.

'That's my business, Smeeth/'

Mr. Smeeth looked down and remained silent.
Neither of them spoke for a minute or two, and the
room was strangely quiet.

"Oh well/' cried Mr. Dersingham, struggling with his
embarrassment, ''perhaps I oughtn't to. As it's turned
out, it was a bad move. But I wasn't really trying any-
thing underhand, y'know, Smeeth. It wasn't as if I was
trying to take a fellow's living away from him, working
behind his back. I know it might look a bit like that,
to anybody who didn't know the circumstances, but it
wasn't. This chap Golspie was obviously one of these
here-to-day-and-gone-to-rnorrow fellows—d idn't make
any secret of it, boasted of it—and I never liked the look
of him and I didn't know what tricks he might be up to.
He came here, made use of our connection with the trade
and our organisation and everything and drew a heavy
commission, as you know, and all the time he walked
about the place as if he owned it. As I told you before,