this, run after her! When
they've done with her tell her to come to us.

FERRAND. [Taking the card, and reading the address.] "No. 7, Haven
House, Flight Street!" Rely on me, Monsieur--I will bring her
myself to call on you. 'Au revoir, mon bon Monsieur'!

[He bends over WELLWYN's hand; then, with a bow to ANN goes
out; his tattered figure can be seen through the window,
passing in the wind. WELLWYN turns back to the fire. The
figure of TIMSON advances into the doorway, no longer holding
in either hand a waterproof leg-piece.]

TIMSON. [In a croaky voice.] Sir!

WELLWYN. What--you, Timson?

TIMSON. On me larst legs, sir. 'Ere! You can see 'em for yerself!
Shawn't trouble yer long....

WELLWYN. [After a long and desperate stare.] Not now--TIMSON not
now! Take this! [He takes out another card, and hands it to
TIMSON] Some other time.

TIMSON. [Taking the card.] Yer new address! You are a gen'leman.
[He lurches slowly away.]

[ANN shuts the street door and sets her back against it. The
rumble of the approaching van is heard outside. It ceases.]

ANN. [In a fateful voice.] Daddy! [They stare at each other.] Do
you know what you've done? Given your card to those six rotters.

WELLWYN. [With a blank stare.] Six?

ANN. [Staring round the naked room.] What was the good of this?

WELLWYN. [Following her eyes---very gravely.] Ann! It is stronger
than me.

[Without a word ANN opens the door, and walks straight out.
With a heavy sigh, WELLWYN sinks down on the little stool
before the fire. The three humble-men come in.]

CHIEF HUMBLE-MAN. [In an attitude of expectation.] This is the
larst of it, sir.

WELLWYN. Oh! Ah! yes!

[He gives them money; then something seems to strike him, and
he exhibits certain signs of vexation. Suddenly he recovers,
looks from one to the other, and then at the tea things. A
faint smile comes on his face.]

WELLWYN. You can finish the decanter.

[He goes out in haste.]

CHIEF HUMBLE-MAN. [Clinking the coins.] Third time of arskin'!
April fool! Not 'arf! Good old pigeon!

SECOND HUMBLE-MAN. 'Uman being, I call 'im.

CHIEF HUMBLE-MAN. [Taking the three glasses from the last
packing-case, and pouring very equally into them.] That's right.
Tell you wot, I'd never 'a touched this unless 'e'd told me to, I
wouldn't--not with 'im.

SECOND HUMBLE-MAN. Ditto