MRS. JONES. It's been missed; they think it's me. Oh! whatever made you do it, Jem?
JONES. I tell you I was in liquor. I don't want it; what's the good of it to me? If I were to pawn it they'd only nab me. I 'm no thief. I 'm no worse than wot that young Barthwick is; he brought 'ome that purse that I picked up – a lady's purse – 'ad it off 'er in a row, kept sayin' 'e 'd scored 'er off. Well, I scored 'im off. Tight as an owl 'e was! And d' you think anything'll happen to him?
MRS. JONES. [As though speaking to herself.] Oh, Jem! it's the bread out of our mouths!
JONES. Is it then? I'll make it hot for 'em yet. What about that purse? What about young BARTHWICK?
[MRS. JONES comes forward to the table and tries to take the box; JONES prevents her.] What do you want with that? You drop it, I say!
MRS. JONES. I 'll take it back and tell them all about it. [She attempts to wrest the box from him.]
JONES. Ah, would yer?
[He drops the box, and rushes on her with a snarl. She slips back past the bed. He follows; a chair is overturned. The door is opened; Snow comes in, a detective in plain clothes and bowler hat, with clipped moustaches. JONES drops his arms, MRS. JONES stands by the window gasping; SNOW, advancing swiftly to the table, puts his hand on the silver box.]
SNOW. Doin' a bit o' skylarkin'? Fancy this is what I 'm after. J. B., the very same. [He gets back to the door, scrutinising the crest and cypher on the box. To MRS. JONES.] I'm a police officer. Are you Mrs. Jones?
MRS. JONES. Yes, Sir.
SNOW. My instructions are to take you on a charge of stealing this box from J. BARTHWICK, Esquire, M.P., of 6, Rockingham Gate. Anything you say may be used against you. Well, Missis?
MRS. JONES. [In her quiet voice, still out of breath, her hand upon her breast.] Of course I did not take it, sir. I never have taken anything that did n't belong to me; and of course I know nothing about it.
SNOW. You were at the house this morning; you did the room in which the box was left; you were alone in the room. I find the box 'ere. You say you did n't take it?
MRS. JONES. Yes, sir, of course I say I did not take it, because I did not.
SNOW. Then how does the box come to be here?
MRS. JONES. I would rather not say anything about it.
SNOW. Is this your husband?
MRS. JONES. Yes, sir, this is my husband, sir.
SNOW. Do you wish to say anything before I take her?
[JONES remains silent, with his head bend down.]
Well then, Missis. I 'll just trouble you to come along with me quietly.
MRS. JONES. [Twisting her hands.] Of course I would n't say I had n't taken it if I had – and I did n't take it, indeed I did n't. Of course I know appearances are against me, and I can't tell you what really happened: But my children are at school, and they'll be coming home – and I don't know what they'll do without me.
SNOW. Your 'usband'll see to them, don't you worry. [He takes the woman gently by the arm.]
JONES. You drop it – she's all right! [Sullenly.] I took the thing myself.
SNOW. [Eyeing him] There, there, it does you credit. Come along, Missis.
JONES. [Passionately.] Drop it, I say, you blooming teck. She's my wife; she 's a respectable woman. Take her if you dare!
SNOW. Now, now. What's the good of this? Keep a civil tongue, and it'll be the better for all of us.
[He puts his whistle in his mouth and draws the woman to the door.]
JONES. [With a rush.] Drop her, and put up your 'ands, or I 'll soon make yer. You leave her alone, will yer! Don't I tell yer, I took the thing myself.
SNOW. [Blowing his whistle.] Drop your hands, or I 'll take you too. Ah, would you?
[JONES, closing, deals him a blow. A Policeman in uniform appears; there is a short struggle and JONES is overpowered. MRS. JONES raises her hands avid drops her face on them.]
The curtain falls.
SCENE II
The BARTHWICKS' dining-room the same evening. The BARTHWICKS are seated at dessert.
MRS. BARTHWICK. John! [A silence broken by the cracking of nuts.] John!
BARTHWICK. I wish you'd speak about the nuts they're uneatable. [He puts one in his mouth.]
MRS. BARTHWICK. It's not the season for them. I called on the Holyroods.
[BARTHWICK fills his glass with port.]
JACK. Crackers, please, Dad.
[BARTHWICK passes the crackers. His demeanour is reflective.]
MRS. BARTHWICK. Lady Holyrood has got very stout. I 've noticed it coming for a long time.
BARTHWICK. [Gloomily.] Stout? [He takes up the crackers – with transparent airiness.] The Holyroods had some trouble with their servants, had n't they?
JACK. Crackers, please, Dad.
BARTHWICK. [Passing the crackers.] It got into the papers. The cook, was n't it?
MRS. BARTHWICK. No, the lady's maid. I was talking it over with Lady Holyrood. The girl used to have her young man to see her.
BARTHWICK. [Uneasily.] I'm not sure they were wise —
MRS. BARTHWICK. My dear John, what are you talking about? How could there be any alternative? Think of the effect on the other servants!
BARTHWICK. Of course in principle – I wasn't thinking of that.
JACK. [Maliciously.] Crackers, please, Dad.
[BARTHWICK is compelled to pass the crackers.]