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Walker Street would be full when the buzzers sounded in a few minutes’ time. However, it was worth a sacrifice to save the boy from possible trouble with the police. He got out of the car, shut the door carefully, gave his usual rather dour smile in farewell, and turned along the street towards Ashworth Town Hall.
    2
    Sunshine blazed on the windows of the Borough Treasurer’s Office, and a wave of warm stale air puffed into Ernest’s face as he pushed open one of the heavy swing doors. He entered and stood for a moment gazing seriously about him, taking in the appearance of the place, which he had not before visited.
    It was a long room divided by a high wooden counter on which wire netting still further cut off the clerks from the public—like a post office, decided Ernest, reassured. Signs directed where one should go in and out and transact various kinds of business—it’s everywhere the same nowadays, reflected Ernest; can’t stir a step without a notice. Still, on the whole he approved. It made for dignity and order, and gave everyone his proper turn, his rightful due. The place was almost empty; no queues anywhere, probably because it’s near on closing time, thought Ernest; just a woman or two paying rates (as Millie paid theirs) and a young man in a sports coat discussing some problem about a printed form, with a clerk at a pay here sign. Driving licences, it appeared, were dealt with at the far corner. There was nobody waiting at that section of the counter at all; a young clerk with sandy hair very neatlybrushed stood there unoccupied, gazing dreamily out of the window.
    Pleased, Ernest made his way with his usual dignified step down the length of the room, planted himself in front of the driving licence position and thrusting his hand into the inner pocket of his coat, withdrew Ken’s licence and the printed form, which Ken, to give him his due, had filled in very neatly. He laid these on the counter, hauled the necessary silver from his trousers pocket and pushed the whole paraphernalia under the brass netting towards the sandy-haired clerk.
    The sandy-haired clerk, however, was not there.
    Ernest gaped. At what point in Ernest’s progress down the room had the lad vanished? It was impossible to say. But vanished he certainly had; he was not visible, either at the counter or amongst the rows of high desks in the back portion of the room. It was keenly disappointing. Ernest leaned against the counter and waited.
    â€œHe’ll be back,” he told himself.
    He waited.
    The hand of an electric clock on the wall moved with an emphatic tick.
    Ernest started, and shifted his position so that he could look up at the clock. The time was now two minutes to five.
    â€œHe’ll be back,” Ernest told himself uneasily.
    He waited.
    One of the rate-paying women gathered up her change and left.
    Ernest began to feel hot and cross.
    The clock gave forth another tick.
    Ernest seized one of Kenneth’s halfcrowns and beat a strong tattoo with it on the counter.
    The nearest clerk, who was still engaged in serious discussion with the young man in the sports coat, raised his head and called:
    â€œHe’ll be back in a minute.”
    A minute’s going to be too long, thought Ernest grimly.
    He waited.
    The young man in the sports coat and the clerk arrived at some mutually satisfactory conclusion; the young man offered pound notes and the clerk began to make out a receipt.
    Far above Ernest’s head the Town Hall clock began to strike five. Behind the counter a bustle of preparations for door-locking and home-going began.
    Ernest lost his temper.
    â€œHere I’ve given up the chance of a lift home and I’ll have to stand in a crowded bus and I’m dead tired already and I haven’t got Kenneth’s licence all because this little whipper-snapper isn’t at his post!” he shouted to himself.
    He snatched up his property from the counter; his