sure. We'll 'ave to
come back for this. [He gives the dais a vigorous push with his
foot.] Not a fixture, as I understand. Perhaps you'd like us to
leave these 'ere for a bit. [He indicates the tea things.]

WELLWYN. Ah! do.

[The humble-men go out. There is the sound of horses being
started, and the butt end of the van disappears. WELLWYN stays
on his stool, smoking and brooding over the fare. The open
doorway is darkened by a figure. CANON BERTLEY is standing
there.]

BERTLEY. WELLWYN! [WELLWYN turns and rises.] It's ages since I
saw you. No idea you were moving. This is very dreadful.

WELLWYN. Yes, Ann found this--too exposed. That tall house in
Flight Street--we're going there. Seventh floor.

BERTLEY. Lift?

[WELLWYN shakes his head.]

BERTLEY. Dear me! No lift? Fine view, no doubt. [WELLWYN nods.]
You'll be greatly missed.

WELLWYN. So Ann thinks. Vicar, what's become of that little
flower-seller I was painting at Christmas? You took her into
service.

BERTLEY. Not we--exactly! Some dear friends of ours. Painful
subject!

WELLWYN. Oh!

BERTLEY. Yes. She got the footman into trouble.

WELLWYN. Did she, now?

BERTLEY. Disappointing. I consulted with CALWAY, and he advised me
to try a certain institution. We got her safely in--excellent
place; but, d'you know, she broke out three weeks ago. And since--
I've heard [he holds his hands up] hopeless, I'm afraid--quite!

WELLWYN. I thought I saw her last night. You can't tell me her
address, I suppose?

BERTLEY. [Shaking his head.] The husband too has quite passed out
of my ken. He betted on horses, you remember. I'm sometimes
tempted to believe there's nothing for some of these poor folk but
to pray for death.

[ANN has entered from the house. Her hair hangs from under a
knitted cap. She wears a white wool jersey, and a loose silk
scarf.]

BERTLEY. Ah! Ann. I was telling your father of that poor little
Mrs. Megan.

ANN. Is she dead?

BERTLEY. Worse I fear. By the way--what became of her accomplice?

ANN. We haven't seen him since. [She looks searchingly at
WELLWYN.] At least--have you--Daddy?

WELLWYN. [Rather hurt.] No, my dear; I have not.

BERTLEY. And the--old gentleman who drank the rum?

ANN. He got fourteen days. It was the fifth time.

BERTLEY. Dear me!

ANN. When he came out he got more drunk than ever. Rather a score