give myself up, or what?

KEITH. When--when--what----?

LARRY. Last night.

KEITH. Good God! How? Where? You'd better tell me quietly from
the beginning. Here, drink this coffee; it'll clear your head.

He pours out and hands him a cup of coffee. LARRY drinks it
off.

LARRY. My head! Yes! It's like this, Keith--there's a girl----

KEITH. Women! Always women, with you! Well?

LARRY. A Polish girl. She--her father died over here when she was
sixteen, and left her all alone. There was a mongrel living in the
same house who married her--or pretended to. She's very pretty,
Keith. He left her with a baby coming. She lost it, and nearly
starved. Then another fellow took her on, and she lived with him two
years, till that brute turned up again and made her go back to him.
He used to beat her black and blue. He'd left her again when--I met
her. She was taking anybody then. [He stops, passes his hand over
his lips, looks up at KEITH, and goes on defiantly] I never met a
sweeter woman, or a truer, that I swear. Woman! She's only twenty
now! When I went to her last night, that devil had found her out
again. He came for me--a bullying, great, hulking brute. Look!
[He touches a dark mark on his forehead] I took his ugly throat, and
when I let go--[He stops and his hands drop.]

KEITH. Yes?

LARRY. [In a smothered voice] Dead, Keith. I never knew till
afterwards that she was hanging on to him--to h-help me. [Again he
wrings his hands.]

KEITH. [In a hard, dry voice] What did you do then?

LARRY. We--we sat by it a long time.

KEITH. Well?

LARRY. Then I carried it on my back down the street, round a corner,
to an archway.

KEITH. How far?

LARRY. About fifty yards.

KEITH. Was--did anyone see?

LARRY. No.

KEITH. What time?

LARRY. Three in the morning.

KEITH. And then?

LARRY. Went back to her.

KEITH. Why--in heaven's name?

LARRY. She way lonely and afraid. So was I, Keith.

KEITH. Where is this place?

LARRY. Forty-two Borrow Square, Soho.

KEITH. And the archway?

LARRY. Corner of Glove Lane.

KEITH. Good God! Why, I saw it in the paper this morning. They
were talking of it in the Courts! [He snatches the evening paper
from his armchair, and runs it over anal reads] Here it is again.
"Body of a man was found this morning under an archway in Glove Lane.
From marks about the throat grave suspicion of foul play are
ent