in the streets, and make a disturbance as he sometimes does.

MARLOW. [Holding up the empty decanter.] Not a drain! Next time
he hits you get a witness and go down to the court----

MRS. JONES. Yes, I think I 've made up my mind. I think I ought
to.

MARLOW. That's right. Where's the ciga----?

[He searches for the silver box; he looks at MRS. JONES, who is
sweeping on her hands and knees; he checks himself and stands
reflecting. From the tray he picks two half-smoked cigarettes,
and reads the name on them.]

Nestor--where the deuce----?

[With a meditative air he looks again at MRS. JONES, and,
taking up JACK'S overcoat, he searches in the pockets.
WHEELER, with a tray of breakfast things, comes in.]

MARLOW. [Aside to WHEELER.] Have you seen the cigarette-box?

WHEELER. No.

MARLOW. Well, it's gone. I put it on the tray last night. And
he's been smoking. [Showing her the ends of cigarettes.] It's not
in these pockets. He can't have taken it upstairs this morning!
Have a good look in his room when he comes down. Who's been in
here?

WHEELER. Only me and Mrs. Jones.

MRS. JONES. I 've finished here; shall I do the drawing-room now?

WHEELER. [Looking at her doubtfully.] Have you seen----Better do
the boudwower first.

[MRS. JONES goes out with pan and brush. MARLOW and WHEELER
look each other in the face.]

MARLOW. It'll turn up.

WHEELER. [Hesitating.] You don't think she----
[Nodding at the door.]

MARLOW. [Stoutly.] I don't----I never believes anything of
anybody.

WHEELER. But the master'll have to be told.

MARLOW. You wait a bit, and see if it don't turn up. Suspicion's
no business of ours. I set my mind against it.

The curtain falls.

The curtain rises again at once.

SCENE III

BARTHWICK and MRS. BARTHWICK are seated at the breakfast table.
He is a man between fifty and sixty; quietly important, with a
bald forehead, and pince-nez, and the "Times" in his hand. She
is a lady of nearly fifty, well dressed, with greyish hair,
good features, and a decided manner. They face each other.

BARTHWICK. [From behind his paper.] The Labour man has got in at
the by-election for Barnside, my dear.

MRS. BARTHWICK. Another Labour? I can't think what on earth the
country is about.

BARTHWICK. I predicted it. It's not a matter of vast impo