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Authors: John Galsworthy

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BOOK: The Silver Box
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BARTHWICK. Ask Mr. John to come down.

 

[MARLOW goes out, and BARTHWICK walks uneasily about.]

 

And how long have you enjoyed his acquaintanceship?

 

UNKNOWN. Only since—only since Good Friday.

 

BARTHWICK. I am at a loss—I repeat I am at a—

 

[He glances at this unknown lady, who stands with eyes cast down, twisting her hands And suddenly Jack appears. He stops on seeing who is here, and the unknown lady hysterically giggles. There is a silence.]

 

BARTHWICK. [Portentously.] This young—er—lady says that last night—I think you said last night madam—you took away—

 

UNKNOWN. [Impulsively.] My reticule, and all my money was in a crimson silk purse.

 

JACK. Reticule. [Looking round for any chance to get away.] I don't know anything about it.

 

BARTHWICK. [Sharply.] Come, do you deny seeing this young lady last night?

 

JACK. Deny? No, of course. [Whispering.] Why did you give me away like this? What on earth did you come here for?

 

UNKNOWN. [Tearfully.] I'm sure I didn't want to—it's not likely, is it? You snatched it out of my hand—you know you did—and the purse had all my money in it. I didn't follow you last night because I didn't want to make a fuss and it was so late, and you were so—

 

BARTHWICK. Come, sir, don't turn your back on me—explain!

 

JACK. [Desperately.] I don't remember anything about it. [In a low voice to his friend.] Why on earth couldn't you have written?

 

UNKNOWN. [Sullenly.] I want it now; I must have, it—I've got to pay my rent to-day. [She looks at BARTHWICK.] They're only too glad to jump on people who are not—not well off.

 

JACK. I don't remember anything about it, really. I don't remember anything about last night at all. [He puts his hand up to his head.] It's all—cloudy, and I've got such a beastly headache.

 

UNKNOWN. But you took it; you know you did. You said you'd score me off.

 

JACK. Well, then, it must be here. I remember now—I remember something. Why did I take the beastly thing?

 

BARTHWICK. Yes, why did you take the beastly—  [He turns abruptly to the window.]

 

UNKNOWN. [With her mesmeric smile.] You weren't quite were you?

 

JACK. [Smiling pallidly.] I'm awfully sorry. If there's anything I can do—

 

BARTHWICK. Do? You can restore this property, I suppose.

 

JACK. I'll go and have a look, but I really don't think I've got it.

 

[He goes out hurriedly. And BARTHWICK, placing a chair, motions to the visitor to sit; then, with pursed lips, he stands and eyes her fixedly. She sits, and steals a look at him; then turns away, and, drawing up her veil, stealthily wipes her eyes. And Jack comes back.]

 

JACK. [Ruefully holding out the empty reticule.] Is that the thing? I've looked all over—I can't find the purse anywhere. Are you sure it was there?

 

UNKNOWN. [Tearfully.] Sure? Of course I'm sure. A crimson silk purse. It was all the money I had.

 

JACK. I really am awfully sorry—my head's so jolly bad. I've asked the butler, but he hasn't seen it.

 

UNKNOWN. I must have my money—

 

JACK. Oh! Of course—that'll be all right; I'll see that that's all right. How much?

 

UNKNOWN. [Sullenly.] Seven pounds-twelve—it's all I've got in the world.

 

JACK. That'll be all right; I'll—send you a cheque.

 

UNKNOWN. [Eagerly.] No; now, please. Give me what was in my purse; I've got to pay my rent this morning. They won't' give me another day; I'm a fortnight behind already.

 

JACK. [Blankly.] I'm awfully sorry; I really haven't a penny in my pocket.

 

[He glances stealthily at BARTHWICK.]

 

UNKNOWN. [Excitedly.] Come I say you must—it's my money, and you took it. I 'm not going away without it. They'll turn me out of my place.

 

JACK. [Clasping his head.] But I can't give you what I haven't got. Don't I tell you I haven't a beastly cent.

 

UNKNOWN. [Tearing at her handkerchief.] Oh! do give it me! [She puts her hands together in appeal; then, with sudden fierceness.] If you don't I'll summons you. It's stealing, that's what it is!

 

BARTHWICK. [Uneasily.] One moment, please. As a matter of—er —principle, I shall settle this claim. [He produces money.] Here is eight pounds; the extra will cover the value of the purse and your cab fares. I need make no comment—no thanks are necessary.

 

[Touching the bell, he holds the door ajar in silence. The unknown lady stores the money in her reticule, she looks from JACK to BARTHWICK, and her face is quivering faintly with a smile. She hides it with her hand, and steals away. Behind her BARTHWICK shuts the door.]

 

BARTHWICK. [With solemnity.] H'm! This is nice thing to happen!

 

JACK. [Impersonally.] What awful luck!

 

BARTHWICK. So this is the way that forty pounds has gone! One thing after another! Once more I should like to know where you 'd have been if it hadn't been for me! You don't seem to have any principles. You—you're one of those who are a nuisance to society; you—you're dangerous! What your mother would say I don't know. Your conduct, as far as I can see, is absolutely unjustifiable. It's—it's criminal. Why, a poor man who behaved as you've done —d' you think he'd have any mercy shown him? What you want is a good lesson. You and your sort are—[he speaks with feeling]—a nuisance to the community. Don't ask me to help you next time. You're not fit to be helped.

 

JACK. [Turning upon his sire, with unexpected fierceness.] All right, I won't then, and see how you like it. You wouldn't have helped me this time, I know, if you hadn't been scared the thing would get into the papers. Where are the cigarettes?

 

BARTHWICK. [Regarding him uneasily.] Well I'll say no more about it. [He rings the bell.] I'll pass it over for this once, but— [MARLOW Comes in.] You can clear away.

 

[He hides his face behind the "Times."]

 

JACK. [Brightening.] I say, Marlow, where are the cigarettes?

 

MARLOW. I put the box out with the whisky last night, sir, but this morning I can't find it anywhere.

 

JACK. Did you look in my room?

 

MARLOW. Yes, sir; I've looked all over the house. I found two Nestor ends in the tray this morning, so you must have been smokin' last night, sir. [Hesitating.] I 'm really afraid some one's purloined the box.

 

JACK. [Uneasily.] Stolen it!

 

BARTHWICK. What's that? The cigarette-box! Is anything else missing?

 

MARLOW. No, sir; I've been through the plate.

 

BARTHWICK. Was the house all right this morning? None of the windows open?

 

MARLOW. No, sir. [Quietly to JACK.] You left your latch-key in the door last night, sir.

 

[He hands it back, unseen by BARTHWICK]

 

JACK. Tst!

 

BARTHWICK. Who's been in the room this morning?

 

MARLOW. Me and Wheeler, and Mrs. Jones is all, sir, as far as I know.

 

BARTHWICK. Have you asked Mrs. Barthwick?

 

[To JACK.] Go and ask your mother if she's had it; ask her to look and see if she's missed anything else.

 

[JACK goes upon this mission.]

 

Nothing is more disquieting than losing things like this.

 

MARLOW. No, sir.

 

BARTHWICK. Have you any suspicions?

 

MARLOW, No, sir.

 

BARTHWICK. This Mrs. Jones—how long has she been working here?

 

MARLOW. Only this last month, sir.

 

BARTHWICK. What sort of person?

 

MARLOW. I don't know much about her, sir; seems a very quiet, respectable woman.

 

BARTHWICK. Who did the room this morning?

 

MARLOW. Wheeler and Mrs. Jones, Sir.

 

BARTHWICK. [With his forefinger upraised.] Now, was this Mrs. Jones in the room alone at any time?

 

MARLOW. [Expressionless.] Yes, Sir.

 

BARTHWICK. How do you know that?

 

MARLOW. [Reluctantly.] I found her here, sir.

 

BARTHWICK. And has Wheeler been in the room alone?

 

MARLOW. No, sir, she's not, sir. I should say, sir, that Mrs. Jones seems a very honest—

 

BARTHWICK. [Holding up his hand.] I want to know this: Has this Mrs. Jones been here the whole morning?

 

MARLOW. Yes, sir—no, sir—she stepped over to the greengrocer's for cook.

 

BARTHWICK. H'm! Is she in the house now?

 

MARLOW. Yes, Sir.

 

BARTHWICK. Very good. I shall make a point of clearing this up. On principle I shall make a point of fixing the responsibility; it goes to the foundations of security. In all your interests—

 

MARLOW. Yes, Sir.

 

BARTHWICK. What sort of circumstances is this Mrs. Jones in? Is her husband in work?

 

MARLOW. I believe not, sir.

 

BARTHWICK. Very well. Say nothing about it to any one. Tell Wheeler not to speak of it, and ask Mrs. Jones to step up here.

 

MARLOW. Very good, sir.

 

[MARLOW goes out, his face concerned; and BARTHWICK stays, his face judicial and a little pleased, as befits a man conducting an inquiry. MRS. BARTHWICK and hey son come in.]

 

BARTHWICK. Well, my dear, you've not seen it, I suppose?

 

MRS. BARTHWICK. No. But what an extraordinary thing, John! Marlow, of course, is out of the question. I 'm certain none of the maids as for cook!

 

BARTHWICK. Oh, cook!

 

MRS. BARTHWICK. Of course! It's perfectly detestable to me to suspect anybody.

 

BARTHWICK. It is not a question of one's feelings. It's a question of justice. On principle—

 

MRS. BARTHWICK. I shouldn't be a bit surprised if the charwoman knew something about it. It was Laura who recommended her.

 

BARTHWICK. [Judicially.] I am going to have Mrs. Jones up. Leave it to me; and—er—remember that nobody is guilty until they're proved so. I shall be careful. I have no intention of frightening her; I shall give her every chance. I hear she's in poor circumstances. If we are not able to do much for them we are bound to have the greatest sympathy with the poor. [MRS. JONES comes in.] [Pleasantly.] Oh! good morning, Mrs. Jones.

 

MRS. JONES. [Soft, and even, unemphatic.] Good morning, sir! Good morning, ma'am!

 

BARTHWICK. About your husband—he's not in work, I hear?

 

MRS. JONES. No, sir; of course he's not in work just now.

 

BARTHWICK. Then I suppose he's earning nothing.

 

MRS. JONES. No, sir, he's not earning anything just now, sir.

 

BARTHWICK. And how many children have you?

 

MRS. JONES. Three children; but of course they don't eat very much sir. [A little silence.]

 

BARTHWICK. And how old is the eldest?

 

MRS. JONES. Nine years old, sir.

 

BARTHWICK. Do they go to school?

 

MRS. JONES, Yes, sir, they all three go to school every day.

 

BARTHWICK. [Severely.] And what about their food when you're out at work?

 

MRS. JONES. Well, Sir, I have to give them their dinner to take with them. Of course I 'm not always able to give them anything; sometimes I have to send them without; but my husband is very good about the children when he's in work. But when he's not in work of course he's a very difficult man.

 

BARTHWICK. He drinks, I suppose?

 

MRS. JONES. Yes, Sir. Of course I can't say he doesn't drink, because he does.

 

BARTHWICK. And I suppose he takes all your money?

 

MRS. JONES. No, sir, he's very good about my money, except when he's not himself, and then, of course, he treats me very badly.

 

BARTHWICK. Now what is he—your husband?

 

MRS. JONES. By profession, sir, of course he's a groom.

 

BARTHWICK. A groom! How came he to lose his place?

 

MRS. JONES. He lost his place a long time ago, sir, and he's never had a very long job since; and now, of course, the motor-cars are against him.

 

BARTHWICK. When were you married to him, Mrs. Jones?

 

MRS. JONES. Eight years ago, sir that was in—

 

MRS. BARTHWICK. [Sharply.] Eight? You said the eldest child was nine.

 

MRS. JONES. Yes, ma'am; of course that was why he lost his place. He didn't treat me rightly, and of course his employer said he couldn't keep him because of the example.

 

BARTHWICK. You mean he—ahem—

 

MRS. JONES. Yes, sir; and of course after he lost his place he married me.

 

MRS. BARTHWICK. You actually mean to say you—you were—

 

BARTHWICK. My dear—

 

MRS. BARTHWICK. [Indignantly.] How disgraceful!

 

BARTHWICK. [Hurriedly.] And where are you living now, Mrs. Jones?

 

MRS. JONES. We've not got a home, sir. Of course we've been obliged to put away most of our things.

 

BARTHWICK. Put your things away! You mean to—to—er—to pawn them?

 

MRS. JONES. Yes, sir, to put them away. We're living in Merthyr Street—that is close by here, sir—at No. 34. We just have the one room.

 

BARTHWICK. And what do you pay a week?

 

MRS. JONES. We pay six shillings a week, sir, for a furnished room.

BOOK: The Silver Box
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