fact that he had not seen Angmering for so many years.

At last Mr. Prohack, his hands in his pockets, his legs stretched out,
his gaze uplifted, he said suddenly:

"I suppose it'll hold water?"

"What? The roof of the car?"

"No. The will."

Mr. Softly Bishop gave a short laugh, but made no other answer.


IV

The car halted finally before an immense new block of buildings, and the
inheritors floated up to the fifth floor in a padded lift manned by a
brilliantly-uniformed attendant. Mr. Prohack saw "Smathe and Smathe" in
gilt on a glass door. The enquiry office resembled the ante-room of a
restaurant, as the whole building resembled a fashionable hotel.
Everywhere was mosaic flooring.

"Mr. Percy Smathe?" demanded Bishop of a clerk whose head glittered in
the white radiance of a green-shaded lamp.

"I'll see, sir. Please step into the waiting-room." And he waved a
patronising negligent hand. "What name?" he added.

"Have you forgotten my name already?" Mr. Bishop retorted sharply.