560 ANGEL PAVEMENT

Dersingham. I thought you'd want to know now, This
is the position, counting everything in."

They went over that now, spending about half an hour
in what was mostly futile discussion, as Mr. Smeeth, sick
at heart, knew only too well.

"It's no good, Smeeth," the other said finally, "there's
no getting away from it. It was a tight squeeze paying
that swine all that commission in advance, and now
we've got to sell every square foot of stuff at a loss, on
all those orders/'

"It's a terrible loss. The business as it is will never
stand it, Mr. Dersingham."

"I know that. And what's left of the business, even
supposing I could borrow enough to see me through this
mess? Where should we be? Only back where we were
before we began handling this stuff, before Golspie came,
doing just about enough trade to pay expenses, and on
top of that I'd be up to the neck in debt. I couldn't carry
on a month. I've borrowed as much as I can, and even
if I could borrow any more, I wouldn't—it's only throw-
ing money away. Honestly, Smeeth, how can I go
on?"

Mr. Smeeth looked through the papers again, though
there was no real meaning in the glances he gave them,
He was trying to think of a way out, but it was impossible
to find one.

"What are you going to do, then, Mr. Dersingham?"
he asked miserably.

"Nothing. Finish. What else can I do? I'll buy what
I can of this lot, deliver it, and then finish. And if they
bankrupt the firm, they bankrupt it, and there's the end
of it. If they don't, I close down and clear out, anyhow,
and that's the end of it, too, I don't suppose it's the