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My dear Charlotte, it's incalculable.
[_ISIDORE gently raises himself and looks over the back of sofa._
CHARLOTTE.
[_In terror._] What's that?
ISIDORE.
[_Softly._] I beg your pardon.
_BLOND enters quietly, followed by CIS and MR. POSKET on tip-toe, MR.
POSKET holding on to CIS._
BLOND.
This way; be quick. Excuse me, the police are just entering the room in which these gentlemen were having supper. One of them is anxious not to be asked any questions. Please to hide him and his friend somewhere. They are both very nice gentlemen.
[_He goes out, leaving CIS and MR. POSKET._
MR. POSKET.
Cis, Cis. Advise me, my boy, advise me.
CIS.
It's all right, Guv, it's all right. Get behind something.
[_AGATHA POSKET peeps from under the table-cloth._
AGATHA POSKET.
aeneas, and my child!
[_MR. POSKET and CIS wander about, looking for hiding-places._
VALE.
[_To CIS._] Go away.
CIS.
Oh!
LUKYN.
[_To MR. POSKET, who is fumbling at the coats._] No, no.
BLOND.
[_Popping his head in._] The police--coming.
[_CIS disappears behind the window-curtain. MR. POSKET dives under the table._
AGATHA POSKET.
Oh!
MR. POSKET.
[_To AGATHA POSKET in a whisper._] I beg your pardon. I think I am addressing a lady. I am entirely the victim of circ.u.mstances. Accept my apologies for this apparent intrusion. [_No answer._] Madam, I applaud your reticence, though any statement made under the present circ.u.mstances would not be used against you. Where is that boy? Oh!
Madam, it may be acute nervousness on your part, but you are certainly pinching my arm.
[_There is the sound of heavy feet outside, then MESSITER, a gruff matter-of-fact Inspector of Police, enters, followed by HARRIS, a constable, and ACHILLE BLOND._
BLOND.
You need not trouble yourself--take my word for it.
MESSITER.
No trouble, Mr. Blond, thank you. [_Sniffing._] Candles--blown out--lately. This is where the light was.
BLOND.
Perhaps. My servant, Isidore, sleeps here; he has only just gone to bed.
MESSITER.
Oh! [_Taking a bull's-eye lantern from HARRIS and throwing the light on ISIDORE, who is apparently sleeping soundly._] Dead tired, I suppose?
BLOND.
I suppose so.
MESSITER.
[_Slightly turning down the covering._] He sleeps in his clothes?
BLOND.
Oh yes.
MESSITER.
Always?
BLOND.
