Rope (US 1929)/Act II
ACT II
The Scene is the same as before, and no time has elapsed.
Brandon (in same attitude). Talk about rotting bones in chests, Rupert?
Rupert. Yes.
Brandon. What about them? (Turns round and begins poking fire again.)
Rupert. Do you remember when you were an infant, Brandon?
Brandon. M’m . . . (Finishes poking fire, puts poker back and commences to wipe his hands on his handkerchief.)
Rupert. And how you used to tell me stories round the fire?
Brandon. Yes. Rather. I remember.
Rupert. Do you remember your chest complex, Brandon?
Brandon. My chest complex?
Rupert. Yes. Whatever the story was—piratical, dective, murder, adventure or ghost—it always con- ed a marvellous dénouement with a bloody chest containing corpses. You had a perfect mania for it, don’t you remember?
Brandon (suddenly a trifle serious, forgetting himself). Yes, I’d forgotten that.
Rupert (looking at him. Pause). Why should you have remembered it?
Brandon (putting handkerchief away and walking over to sideboard for whisky). Yes, it’s quite true. I remember now. What about it, though?
Rupert (lightly). Oh, nothing. Just queer, that’s all. You were a morbid child.
Brandon (pouring out whisky. Quietly). How queer—exactly?
Rupert. Oh, just queer. Us all talking to-night about rotting bones in chests. It just came back to me, that’s all.
Brandon (intent upon pouring, and as though suddenly seeing light). Oh! I see what you mean! Yes! Are you going to have some of this, Rupert?
Rupert. What’s that? Whisky? Yes. Thank you.
Brandon. All right! Don’t get up. I’ll bring it over. . . . (Pours it out.) Say when. . . .
Rupert. When. No. A little more. When. When!
[Brandon brings it over to him.
Thank you.
Brandon (holding up his glass). Happy days.
Rupert. How’s the old man getting on with his books?
Brandon. Going to take the entire library away with him, as far as I can see. I’m simply saying good-bye to it.
Rupert. I didn’t know you were a book collector.
Brandon. I’ve only been one for about a year.
Rupert. What exactly is your line?
Brandon. Well—I’ve theories about some of the Victorians. Everything comes round, you know, in time.
Rupert. For example? . . .
Brandon. For example? Well . . . Matthew Arnold Carlyle, and people of that sort.
Rupert. Matthew Arnold, perhaps.
Brandon. What’s wrong with Carlyle, anyway?
Rupert. My dear Brandon. An unspeakable person. Pull yourself together.
Brandon. Oh, I don’t agree with you. He’s got guts, anyway.
Rupert (screwing up his face). Guts!
Brandon. And a kind of angry righteousness, which you don’t get nowadays.
Rupert. Thank God!
Brandon (swilling down remains of his whisky). Well. I must go in and function. Aren’t you coming?
Rupert (getting up). Yes.
[Gramophone heard again.
Ah—I like that one. (Beating time.) Dee de dee de dee dedeedee. (At door.) I say. What’s the time? (Compares his watch with the grandfather clock.) I want to be home fairly early to-night.
Brandon. Plenty of time. Come along.
[They go out together, Brandon switching off light. The room is in darkness except for the light in the passage which gleams through the door.
Brandon (off). Now I’ve left the cigarettes. Go along in, Rupert. I’ll be in in a moment.
[Brandon re-enters the room, his figure being silhouetted against the doorway as he comes in. There are voices from the next room as Rupert enters it. Brandon then comes down to the mantelpiece for cigarettes. Pause. He suddenly moves over to the window and draws the curtains back. He is silhouetted against the window’s light. The rain is heard, and seen, beating against the windows. Then he comes down to chest, standing by it. He sits on it, and bends down to lock. The gramophone in the next room ceases. There is a pause. Suddenly the light in the passage goes off, and then on again. The figure on the chest becomes upright and tense. Pause. All at once Granillo’s figure is seen against the light of the doorway. He closes the door. He is inside the darkened room. The figure on the chest remains motionless. Granillo is moving towards the chest. Pause.
[There is a horrible, shuddering, muffled scream from Granillo. He has touched the other’s body. At the same time Brandon cries “Damnation!” Granillo’s scream dies down into a sobbing noise. There is a heavy thud as Brandon, cursing furiously, rushes over to the little lamp on the table and switches it on.
Brandon (blazing). What in God’s name do you mean?
[Granillo has sunk down by the chest with his arms on it.
Granillo. Oh—oh! Oh, God!
Brandon (fiercely). What’s the matter, man? Tell me what’s the matter!
Granillo (from arms). I thought it was him. I thought it was him! I thought it was Ronald!
[Brandon goes over and switches on light. Then he goes over to sideboard, and pours out large whisky, spilling some of it over. He brings it over to Granillo.
Brandon. For God’s sake, drink that.
[Granillo takes it and sips it feebly.
Be quick—be quick, man!
Granillo. Why were you sitting there? Why were you trying to frighten me?
Brandon. I wasn’t trying to frighten you. I was wondering what you were up to. I wasn’t even sure it was you. Why did you want to sneak in like that? You got what you deserved. Hang you—you’ve upset me.
Granillo. I wanted to see that everything was all right. I’m sorry. My nerve’s going. I’m all right. I’ll be all right. (Finishes the rest of the whisky with a gulp, and makes a wry face as it goes down.) I’ll be all right. Give me some more of that.
Brandon (taking glass). Get up, get up! (Goes and pours him out some more.)
[Granillo gets up and sits om chest. Brandon gives him another glass full of whisky-and-soda.
Brandon. I’m going into the other room. Come in when you can. (Moving to door and pausing there.) Don’t get drunk on that.
Granillo. No.
[Brandon goes out, closing door. Pause. Granillo looks in front of him. He swills off remainder of whisky at one gulp again. Pause, as he looks in front of him. Then goes to sideboard and helps himself to another large glass. Takes another sip, comes slowly down to fireplace, giving a little stagger of drunkenness just before reaching it. Leans against mantelpiece, looking into fire. Slowly turns round and looks at chest. Quickly takes another long gulp at whisky. Pulls a long face and commences to cough. Continues coughing horribly. Cannot leave off. Stops to gasp, and then starts again. Brandon re-enters hurriedly.
Brandon (standing and looking at him). What’s the matter, man?
Granillo (straining). Cough. (Starts again.)
Brandon. Pull yourself together. Come on. Come on. You can stop if you want to. (Thuds him on back.) Come on. (The coughing slowly dies out.)
Granillo. All right. It went down the wrong way. (He now seems quite calm again in every way.) What are you back here for? (Sits down.)
Brandon. They want those Beethoven records. You know, those old ones. I couldn’t find them in there. You had them last, didn’t you? Are they in here, or upstairs?
Granillo. Oh yes. They’re upstairs in my room.
Brandon. I’ll go and get them. Where are they?
Granillo. They’ll be a hell of a nuisance to get at. They’re at the bottom of my trunk.
Brandon. What? The green one?
Granillo. Yes. But they’re right at the bottom, and it’s locked. Must they have their Beethoven records?
Brandon. All right, then. You come and tell them (Comes down to fire and puts coal on it.) You’re all right aren’t you?
Granillo (rising and going to door). Yes. Quite.
Brandon (still poking fire, and stopping Granillo at door). One moment, Granno.
Granillo. Yes.
Brandon. Shut the door.
Granillo (shutting it). Yes.
Brandon. You’ve got that little ticket, haven’t you? You’d better give it me and we’ll destroy it right away now.
Granillo. What ticket?
Brandon. Ronald’s ticket.
Granillo (vaguely, only half realising the significance of what he has been asked). What Ronald’s ticket?
Brandon (tersely, yet still quite coolly). Oh, don’t dither, Granno. Ronald’s ticket, Ronald’s Coliseum ticket.
Granillo. Ronald’s Coliseum ticket?
Brandon. Sh! Not so loud, you fool. Yes.
Granillo, I haven’t got the Coliseum ticket.
Brandon. Don’t be a fool, Granno. I gave it to you.
Granillo. You didn’t give it to me.
Brandon (clenching his hands and looking at the other). Granno!
Granillo (almost simultaneously). Wait! (He plunges his thumb into the waistcoat pocket where the ticket was. Pause. Does the same with other thumb in opposite pocket. Pause. Then in the right waistcoat pocket beneath, then quickly to the left. Looks at Brandon.)
Brandon. Granno!
[Granillo goes through all four waistcoat pockets again rapidly and in a panic. Looks at Brandon. Goes through two coat pockets, inside pockets, trousers pockets. Turns them out. Coat pockets again. Comes back to waistcoat pocket.
Granillo. You didn’t———
Brandon. Hip! Hip!—hip pocket!
[Granillo feels in hip pocket, with the same result.
Granillo. You didn’t———
Brandon, Look again. Look again!
[Granillo repeats entire performance, which lasts nearly a minute. This time, also, he brings out his wallet and looks in that.
Granillo (hoarsely). You didn’t give it to me. I never had it.
Brandon (looking at him with a kind of calm rage). I gave it into your hand.
Granillo. You didn’t. I never had it.
Brandon. I gave it into your hand!
Granillo. See if you’ve got it.
Brandon. I haven’t got it, I tell you. Where is it?
[Goes up towards sideboard. Commences rapidly and desperately searching himself with his back to audience. Commences banging on chest in sudden terrible rage.
Where is it? Where is it? Where is it?
Granillo. Shshshsh! I put it in my waistcoat pocket.
Brandon (shouting). You put it in your waistcoat pocket! You put it in your waistcoat pocket! Where is it now? Where is it now?
[Rupert has quietly entered, and is standing in doorway.
Rupert. My dear Brandon. What have you lost?
[There is a long pause as both glare into Rupert’s eyes, and he looks coolly at them.
Brandon (his hands still on chest after the last blow). My temper, Rupert. Sorry, Granno.
Granillo (very nervously and going over to give himself another drink). That’s all right.
Rupert. Oh———(hobbling down C.). I hope I’m not interfering.
Brandon (going down to fireplace and lighting cigarette). No. It’s my fault. You didn’t know that Granno and I behaved like that, did you, Rupert? But we often have outbursts, like this—and always about trifles, eh, Granno?
Granillo. Yes. (Drinking.)
Brandon. On this occasion it was a question of a case of Beethoven gramophone records, which poor old Granno couldn’t produce. I was chiding him for his remissness. The party’ll have to do without its Beethoven to-night.
Rupert. Well, it’s an ill wind that blows nobody any good. What a queer thing to quarrel about.
Brandon. Yes. But we do quarrel about queer things nowadays, don’t we, Granno?
Granillo. We do.
Rupert (sitting down). Can I have another drink, please?
[Granillo does not hear.
Brandon. Granno.
Granillo, Yes. Whisky?
Rupert. Yes, please.
[Granillo pours it out for him and brings it over. His hand is trembling violently as he gives it to him, and this does not go by unobserved by Rupert.
Rupert. Can I have some soda?
Granillo. Oh. Sorry. (Goes back and pours soda into glass. Returns with it to Rupert.)
Rupert. Thank you. Ever so much. (Drinks. Pause.) Well, as a matter of fact, I’m in here on an errand.
Brandon. An errand?
Rupert. Yes. I want some rope.
Brandon and Granillo. Rope!
Rupert. Yes. Why so excited? Rope. The young people in the other room, having exhausted the lyric possibilities of the gramophone, are now projecting their entire youthful élan and ingenuity into the composition of a parcel. And they want something to do it up with.
Brandon. A parcel?
Rupert. Yes. The old man’s books. You’d better see what goes into it. I’m sure he’s lifting all your best.
[There is a sudden, tremendous clap of thunder.
Rupert. Hullo—here we are. . . .
[There is another clap, which dies down into the distance.
I thought it was coming.
[There is an enormous downpour of rain. Brandon goes to window.
Brandon. Damnation. . . . Yes, it’s coming down all right.
Rupert. Surely———
[There is another, even more tremendous clap of thunder, which causes Rupert to rise to his feet. Granillo, now again at sideboard, drops a full glass om to the floor.
Granillo, Blast! (Tries to mop it up with his handkerchief. Gets into difficulties.) Oh, where are the servants? Where are the servants?
Rupert (going over to the window, after having looked atGranillo in a surprised way). My dear Brandon, surely you’re not going in this?
Brandon (also looking out of window). Oh yes, we’ll go all right. It’ll clear up soon.
[Another clap of thunder. Pause.
Besides, we’ve got nowhere to sleep here. The beds are all dismantled.
Rupert (coming down again). Oh, that needn’t worry you. You can come round and put up with me if you care. I’ve plenty of room.
Brandon (coming down and putting his arm round Rupert). No—thank you, old boy. I think we’ll try and make it.
Rupert. Very well, have it your own way.
[Raglan and Leila burst in. Raglan is carrying books and is behind Leila.
Leila. Hullo! Did you hear that?
Rupert. M’m. We heard it all right. We’re scared out of our wits.
Leila. I know! (Going to window.) And it’s simply coming down in sheets! Surely you’re not going to Oxford to-night!
Granillo. Certainly we are.
Leila. But, my dear, you can’t! You’ll be simply swamped out, my dear! Flooded, my dear!
Brandon. I hear you want some string, Leila.
Leila. Oh, yes—so we do! (Turning to Raglan.) Where are the books? Oh, here we are. We’re going to make a parcel, my dear. Come on. (Takes half the books from Raglan and planks them down on the chest.) We’ve got some paper. (To Raglan again.) Have you got the paper?
Raglan. Oh, no, I’ve forgotten the paper.
Leta. Well, go and get it! Be quick!
Raglan. Right you are. [Exits.
Brandon (down at fire. Going to door and shouting). And you might bring the cigarettes while you’re there, Kenneth!
Raglan (off). Right you are!
[Brandon comes down to fire. Rupert goes up to chest and begins looking at books.
Leila (spying the wireless). Hullo—can I see what’s on?
Brandon. Certainly.
[Leila touches indicators. For about ten seconds nothing happens.
Rupert. This, of course, is the time when I really enjoy the wireless.
Leila. That’s the storm, I expect.
[Raglan returns with paper and cigarettes. Hands cigarettes to Brandon.
Raglan. Here you are.
Brandon. Ta.
Raglan (giving paper to Leila). Here you are.
Leila. Thanks. Well, now we want the string. Where’s the string?
Brandon. Oh—the string’s in the other room. I’ll get it.
Raglan. No, no. I’ll get it. Where is it? (Obviously enjoying himself and frantically eager to serve.)
Brandon. It’s in that sort of big vase thing—you know.
Leila. Do you know the sort of big vase thing?
Raglan. Oh yes—I know. I’ll get it. (Rushes out again.)
Rupert (looking up from book and straight at Leila for a moment, mockingly.) Isn’t he sweet?
Leila. Yes, he is rather a lamb. (Begins to spread paper out on chest.)
Rupert (putting book down). Yes. (Hobbling over to chair, L.) A decided duck. (Sits down.)
[Raglan returns with ball of string.
Raglan. Here we are. (Standing over Leila helpfully as she arranges books. Turns to Brandon.) Oh! And Sir Johnstone wants to know whether he can browse on that sort of topshelf thing—I didn’t quite follow what he———
Brandon. Oh yes. I know what he means. (To Granillo, who, he notices, is about to have another drink.) I say, Granno, do go in and explain to him. The poor old man’s getting into hopeless muddles.
[Granillo at sideboard. Takes and swallows swiftly. Then comes over, and, walking unsteadily happens to stumble against chest. He walks out little insecurely in a slight pause and silence.
Leila (rolling her eyes). Just a little—I think?
Rupert. I should say completely.
Brandon. What? Granno blotto? Yes. He is a bit. It’s this whisky.
[There is another growl of thunder.
Raglan. Hullo, listen. Here we are again.
Leila (looking behind her). Oh, my hat!
Brandon. I believe you’re afraid of storms, Leila.
Leila, My dear! I am. I simply rush round in circles. It’s hereditary, you know. You should see my mother.
Rupert. What does she rush round in?
Leila. My dear! She doesn’t! She simply hides herself in cupboards.
Brandon. Really?
Leila (taking the string from Raglan). All entangled in the linen, my dear! If it comes on again, you’ll probably all see me suddenly take a violent plunge into this chest.
Raglan. I should love to see that.
Leila. Head-foremost, my dear! By the way, can you get into this chest, or is it locked?
[She is busy with string, and the remark goes unanswered. Brandon, lighting cigarette, pretends not to hear. There is a pause.
Rupert (repeating her words carefully and looking at Brandon). Can you get into this chest, Brandon, or is it locked?
Brandon (pretending that he has not heard). What? Oh! Yes, you can get into it if you want to.
Leila. Oh, well, then I’m safe.
Rupert (looking at chest from chair). Isn’t there a lock on that, though?
[Pause.
Brandon. Yes. There is.
Leila (suddenly and brightly). Oh, my dear! You’ve forgotten! (Handing the ball of string to Raglan.) He’s got his murdered man in here!
Raglan. Oh, so he has! We’d forgotten that, hadn’t we?
Leila. Well, you may have. I hadn’t. I say, can I have another spot?
Brandon. I’m sorry, Leila. (Goes over to sideboard.) And you too, Kenneth?
Raglan. Well—I think I would—really. . . .
Leila (tugging at string). Yes, that’s what he’s been committing (tug)—Murder—(tug)—(To Raglan) Finger, please. No—here. That’s right. And we’ve caught him (tug) red (tug) handed.
Brandon (from sideboard. Jokingly and easily.) Ah, Leila. You don’t know how near the mark you are.
Leila. Oh—don’t I? I know exactly what’s inside this chest.
Brandon. What?
Leila. There’s an old, old man. You picked him up selling papers in the street, and you did him to death for the gold fillings in his teeth. You’ve a lust for gold, my dear.
Brandon. Oh—I see you’ve been following me.
Leila (looking at lock and fumbling with it). No. It is locked, isn’t it? And why a padlock? What have you got in it?
Brandon. But you know, Leila. You have already explained to us what is in it.
Leila. No. (At parcel again.) I honestly think you ought to let us have a look. Have you got the key?
Brandon. Yes. I’ve got the key. It’s in my waistcoat pocket.
Leila. Well—hand it over and let’s have a look inside.
Brandon. I’m hanged if I do.
Leila. But why not, my dear? If you’re (tug) really (tug) innocent—you can prove it, dear.
Brandon. But how often have I to tell you, Leila that I am not innocent? My hands are red with a crime committed less than three hours ago.
Leila. Oh, well—if you won’t (tug—hurts her finger)—damn—you won’t. All the same, if I had strong men about me, they’d force it from you.
Raglan. I’ll be your strong man.
Leila. Will you? All right. Go and be strong.
Raglan. How do I do that?
Leila. Oh—that’s up to you.
Raglan (coming down). All right, then. (Strikes attitude.) Now then, Mr. Brandon, hand it over, or it will be the worse for you.
Leila. Said he, eyeing the other fearlessly.
Brandon. Come and get it, Kenneth.
Raglan (a little nervously, and rather wishing he hadn’t begun it). Which pocket is it in?
Brandon. Top. Right.
Raglan. My right or yours?
Brandon. Mine.
Leila. Go on. Seize it.
Raglan. I’ll give him ten seconds, shall I?
Leila. That’s right.
Brandon. Right you are. Ten seconds.
Leila. One. . . . Two. . . . Three. . . .
Raglan (creeping a little nearer). Won’t you surrender?
Brandon. No.
Leila. Four. . . . Five. . . . (Raglan creeps a little nearer still.) . . . Six. . . . Seven. . . .
[Suddenly Raglan makes a spring at Brandon, who is not ready for him.
Leila. Hooray!
[They begin to wrestle, both with a smile on their faces, but looking a little breathless and anxious. Also the thing becomes a little too protracted.
Leila. My dears! What will men not do for me!
[The struggle becomes a little more breathless, and even unfriendly, as Raglan looks for a moment as though he is going to get the best of it.
Leila. Slaughtering each other, of course!
[They continue. All at once, Brandon seizes the other’s wrist, has him at his mercy, and gives it a violent twist. Brandon is looking, suddenly entirely malicious.
Raglan (unexpectedly, and actually shouting). Ow!
[Brandon still grips wrist.
Rupert (who has been watching all carefully, now startled by the sheer noise). Mr. Raglan, we cannot on every occasion be Strong, but it is always possible to be Silent. What is he doing to you?
Raglan (released by Brandon). I thought he’d bust my arm. I say, Brandon, you don’t know your own strength, you know. (Rubbing it.) You gave it an absolutely foul tug.
Brandon. Kenneth. I’m profoundly sorry. Really.
Raglan. No. That’s all right. (Moving to Leila again.) That’s what you used to do to me at school. . . . (To Leila) So I’m not your Strong Man after all.
Leila. Never mind. You come back to the Mother Heart. I think he’s a beast.
Brandon. No, Leila. Only a desperate criminal, that’s all. You must forgive me.
Leila. All right. I’ll forgive you. There was room in her heart even for the lowest of God’s Creatures—a Criminal and an Outcast. . . .
Rupert. How fearfully interested in crime we all seem to-night. Why poor Brandon can’t be allowed to commit his own murders in quiet I don’t know.
Leila. Ah, but I’m a sleuth. I’m _ professionally interested, you see.
Raglan. Pearl White?
Leila. Yes. That’s right. Pearl White. Besides, it’s a simple question of bringing assassins to justice.
Rupert. Oh—how would you do that?
Leila. Why—by having them arrested, of course.
Rupert. Oh—would that do it? I have heard of assassins being brought to the Old Bailey, but I have seldom heard of them being brought to justice. I hope you’re not confusing the two.
Leila. Well, what’s wrong with the Old Bailey, anyway?
Rupert. My dear Leila, its blemish is single but ineradicable. It is human. Justice is not.
Brandon. Hear, hear!
Raglan. Oh, I say—are you one of these people who don’t approve of capital punishment?
Rupert. I think, possibly, I approve of murder too much to approve of capital punishment.
Leila and Raglan. Approve of murder!
[Brandon looks at Rupert sharply.
Rupert. My dear Leila, there are so many people I would so willingly murder—particularly the members of my own family—and including the aunt so felicitously described by Mr. Raglan as living in Bayswater—that it would be positively disingenuous to say that I don’t approve of murder. Furthermore, I have already committed murder myself.
Brandon. How do you get that?
Rupert. It is all simply a question of scale. You, my friends, have, paradoxically, a horror of murder on a small scale, a veneration for it on a large. That is the difference between what we call murder and war. One gentleman murders another in a back alleyway in London for, let us say, since you have suggested it, the gold fillings in his teeth, and all society shrieks out for revenge upon the miscreant. They call that murder. But when the entire youth and manhood of a whole nation rises up to slaughter the entire youth and manhood of another, not even for the gold fillings in each other’s teeth, then society condones and applauds the outrage, and calls it war. How, then, can I say that I disapprove of murder, seeing that I have, in the last Great War, acted on these assumptions myself? A lamentable thing, certainly, and responsible for the fact that to-night, instead of being able to fool around the gramophone with you two—a thing I should very much like to have done—I have to hobble about like an old man, on one leg. But the point is that I have proved that I don’t disapprove of murder. Haven’t I?
Leila. No. You’ve done nothing of the sort. You’d be the first to be horrified by murder if it happened under your own nose.
Rupert. I wonder. (Pause.)
Leila. Besides, you must have some moral standards.
Rupert. Must I? I can’t recall any.
Leila. Don’t be absurd. You wouldn’t hurt a fly.
Rupert. Wouldn’t I? I’ve hurt thousands in my time.
[There is a pause. Rupert and Leila begin talking at the same time.
Leila. | Well, I call——— | |
and | ||
Rupert. | Anyway, perhaps——— |
Rupert. I beg your pardon.
Leila. No, do go on.
Rupert. No, do go on, please.
Leila. No, do go on.
Rupert | All I was going to say——— | ||
and | |||
Leila. | I was merely about to——— |
Rupert. I’m very sorry.
Leila. No, do go on.
Rupert. Shall we toss up?
Leila. Well, all I was going to say———
Rupert. Yes?
Leila. All I was going to say is, that I call that a jolly good parcel. (Holds it up.)
Brandon. Excellent.
Leila. Well, now what were you going to say?
Rupert. I’ve really no idea. . . . What are your own moral standards, then, Leila?
Leila. Mine?
Brandon. Oh, Leila believes in the Ten Commandments, doesn’t she?
Rupert. Oh no. Surely not.
Raglan. Why, what’s wrong with the Ten Commandments?
Rupert. Nothing whatever. Indeed, I have no doubt that they were of the profoundest significance to the nomadic needs of the tribe to whom they were delivered. Their inadequacy and irrelevance for to-day, though, must be sufficient to condemn them. I have often attempted to discover whether it is within the range of any of us to observe even one of them. Honour my father and mother, of course I do. How could I do otherwise? Indeed, on the occasion of my birthday, I have never failed to send them a telegram of congratulation. Though whether this will make my days any longer in the land which has been given us must remain in doubt. But look at the others. Keep holy the Sabbath day. I don’t. Take not the name of the Lord in vain. I do. Thou shalt do no murder. But I have done murder, as I have explained.
Brandon. And the seventh, Rupert?
Rupert. Committed. Since infancy. (Pause.) Thou shalt not steal. But Property itself, as Proudhon has explained to us, is theft. And I am a man of property. Moreover, these are your matches. (Produces box.) Indeed the only clause I am sincerely capable of adhering to is the little stricture concerning my neighbour’s ox and my neighbour’s ass. Few and far between as are my neighbours who own oxes, and fewer and farther between as are my neighbours who own asses, I honestly think I could face either type, in an emergency, with a pure heart. But then it might be different if I lived in a rural district.
Leila. Well, anyway, I still say that you’d never commit a nation Your conscience wouldn’t let you.
Rupert. Ah, but have I a conscience?
Brandon. He’s quite right. And for one who hasn’t a conscience, I can understand murder being an entirely engrossing adventure.
Rupert. You mean a motiveless murder?
Brandon. Yes.
Raglan. Yes, That really does happen sometimes, doesn’t it? You do get people who murder purely sort of for the fun of the thing, don’t you?
Leila. What a peculiar idea of fun.
Raglan. No, but I’ve heard of cases like that.
Rupert. Certainly you have. And I for one can certainly enter into the excitement of it. The only trouble bout that sort of thing is that you’re bound to be found out.
Brandon (rather too quickly). Why should you be found out?
[Pause.
Rupert. Because, dear Brandon, that sort of murder would not be a motiveless murder at all. It would have a quite clear motive. Vanity. It would be a murder of vanity. And because of that, the criminal would be quite unable to keep from talking about it, or showing it off—in some fantastic way or another. The trouble with that sort of murderer is that he can’t keep quiet about it. He won’t hide it up. He wants to boast about it—and say something—do something—it may be something only just slightly outré—which gives him away. They have always done it and they always will.
Brandon. But then suppose your murderer—your really ideal, brilliantly clever and competent murderer—a genius at it, I mean—suppose he was alive to the fact that vanity was the Achilles heel to the thing, and went specially out of his way to see that he wasn’t caught like that. I’m talking of a genius at it.
Rupert (looking at him). Oh yes. But then he’d never be able to keep from talking about the very fact that he was so brilliantly clever, as you put it. So he’d give himself away just the same.
Brandon. Yes. But he might be so clever.
Rupert. Might. But wouldn’t. (Slight pause. Looks at him.) Don’t you think so?
[A roll of thunder in the distance.
Raglan. Ah—here we are. It’s coming back again.
Brandon (going over to window). Lord, yes. I’m getting sick of this storm.
Leila. Yes. So am I. I say, you know, it’s really about time I ought to be going.
Raglan. Yes. Same here, really.
Rupert (drily). Wha tan uncanny coincidence. Now you’ll both be able to go together.
[Another louder clap of thunder.
Leila. I say—isn’t it absolutely awful?
Raglan. Isn’t it terrible? Are you really still going you two?
Brandon. Certainly. It’s probably only just around London. Besides—it’s not so bad now. It’s not raining, as a matter of fact, now, if you’re thinking of getting off.
Leila. No—that’s what I thought.
Raglan. Same here.
Rupert. Which is another curious coincidence.
Leila. Oh, do shut up——— [The telephone rings.
Brandon. Ah-ha . . . (Goes over to telephone and sits down at it.) Hullo. . . . Hullohullohullo. . . . Yes. . . . Mayfair X143. . . . Hullo. . . . Yes. . . .
[All are listening in complete silence.
[A clap of thunder.
Brandon. Hullo. . . . Sorry—I can’t hear. It’s thundering this end. What? Who? Who? Oh! . . . Yes. Yes, rather. Will you hold the line a minute and I’ll get him? Right you are. Just hold on (Rises.) Sir Johnstone. . . .
[He goes out.
[There is a silence, Raglan grins at Leila. She grins back and comes down to fireplace and looks into it. Rupert, very abruptly, rises. He hobbles over to sideboard, and pours himself out a stiff drink. He gulps at it, takes some more, and gulps again. He seems, for the first time, rather nervous. He comes down and sits on chest. Voices heard coming from the other room and along the passage. Sir Johnstone and Brandon enter. sir Sir Johnstone has obviously had a very satisfactory time with the books. He leaves off talking and goes cheerfully over to telephone and takes up receiver.
Sir Johnstone. Hullo. . . . Hullo. . . . Hullo. . . . Hullo, hullo. . . . (To others.) No one here. . . . Oh, hullo—yes? . . . Oh yes. That you, dear? Oh, yes?
[The others are perfectly still.
Sir Johnstone. Ye-e-e-es. . . . Ye-e-e-es. . . . No, no . . . he’s not here. Yes, yes, that’s right.
[Granillo and Mrs. Debenham enter, Granillo talking, but immediately sense the silence of the others, and become as quiet as them. Sir Johnstone turns round and looks at them for a moment as he listens, and then turns back again.
Sir Johnstone. Yes, yes. That’s quite correct. Quite right, dear. . . . What? Oh, no, no. He’ll be back soon, I expect. Probably held up in the . . . What? Oh yes, dear. Well—I’ll be back there soon now. I’ll be coming pretty well straight away. . . . What? Yes. Right you are. Right you are. . . . Good-bye. (Puts down receiver. He looks thoughtful, and suddenly a trifle older and more lonely. Pause.) Ronald hasn’t come back. . . .
Rupert. Hasn’t come back?
Sir Johnstone (looking first at Rupert and then in front of him). No. . . .
Granillo. Oh, that’s the storm.
Sir Johnstone. Yes. That’s what it must be.
Rupert (acidly). Didn’t you say he’d been to the Coliseum?
Sir Johnstone. That’s right.
Rupert. I am disliking the telephone to-night.
Brandon. Was he expected back, then, sir?
Sir Johnstone. Yes. Apparently he arranged to get back to tea. My wife gets so alarmed if there’s any hitch.
Brandon. He’ll probably be back by the time you get home.
Sir Johnstone. Yes. . . . yes, I expect he will. (Brightening.) Well, we must be off. Where did we leave our hats and coats? Oh—downstairs.
Brandon. Yes. I’ll go and get them.
[He goes out. Granillo is drinking again.
Leila (to Sir Johnstone). Well—we’ve got your parcel all ready. (Shows it to him.)
Sir Johnstone. Oh—that is sweet of you. Thank you very much. That’s a wonderful parcel, isn’t it?
Leila. Well, it’s not bad, is it?
Sir Johnstone. I should say not. Yes. . . . (Rather listless.) That’s very convenient. . . .
[Brandon re-enters with Sir Johnstone’s hat and coat.
Brandon. Here you are, Sir Johnstone. And it’s not raining now. (Helping him on with it.) But I expect you’d like a taxi, wouldn’t you?
Sir Johnstone. Yes. I think I’d like a taxi. I’d rather like to get back. I can’t think where that boy’s got to. . . . Thank you. I’ve never known him fail when he’s said he’d be back.
Brandon. Then he must be very filial, sir.
Sir Johnstone. Yes. He is. Well, then, it only remains to thank you for the most charming evening, to say nothing of the most charming company, the company being even more delightful than the books, and that’s saying an enormous amount. (Smiles.) Well. (To Leila) Good night———
Leila. Good night.
Sir Johnstone (to Raglan). Good night.
Raglan. Good night, sir.
Sir Johnstone. Good night, Mr. Cadell.
Rupert. Good night, sir.
[Sir Johnstone looks at Granillo, who is having another drink.
Sir Johnstone (moving towards door). And I’ll have to give you something in exchange for those books, you know.
Brandon. Never, sir.
Sir Johnstone. Oh yes. You must have something back. You must have some swaps, as we used to say. You must have your swaps. Oh yes. . . .
Brandon. Now you’re forgetting them, sir.
[Leila brings them to him and puts them shyly and kindly into his hand.
Sir Johnstone. Ah—thank you. That won’t do, will it? Just like me. Just like me. I’m getting on, you know. I’m getting old, that’s my trouble.
[He goes out, in a rather bewildered way, followed by Brandon. Mrs. Debenham smiles a farewell all round. They all murmur “Good night” and smile. She exits. Granillo follows them out.
Leila (yawning). Oh dear. Well—I’m going too.
Raglan. What part do you have to go to?
[Rupert is now at window, looking out.
Leila. Oh—I’m South Kensingtonish.
Raglan. Oh, then we’ll get a taxi, shall we? And I’ll drop you.
Rupert (coming down). Where, then, do you live, Mr. Raglan?
Raglan. Me? Oh———I live up at Hampstead.
Rupert. Oh, I see. Then it’ll be quite easy to drop her.
Leila. I wish you’d drop your sarcastic remarks.
Rupert. Pardon, pardon. I crave your pardon. I’m always suspecting Love’s Young Dream—(he gives a ferocious blow with his stick on chest as he brings out the word “dream”) when it’s non-existent.
[Brandon and Granillo re-enter. Granillo is still staggering slightly.
Brandon. Well, well.
Leila. Well—I suppose we must go now.
Brandon. Oh—won’t you stay and have another spot?
Leila. Oh no. I don’t think so. Thanks awfully. I think I ought to be going.
Raglan. Yes. Same here, really.
Rupert. Yes. I thought so.
Leila (to Brandon: looking at Granillo reproachfully). Well, if you’re still going to-night, I certainly wouldn’t let him drive.
Granillo. Whadyoumean?
Brandon. I will not, Leila. You may be sure. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Granno.
Leila. He certainly ought.
Granillo. Whadyoumean? (Trying to grin.)
[Raglan is looking nervous and shy.
Leila (departingly). Well? . . .
Brandon. Well? . . .
Raglan. Well? . . .
[They go out. They are followed by Rupert, who stops at door.
Rupert. Good night, Granillo.
Granillo (again at sideboard; turning round, as though startled). Good night, Rupert.
[Rupert goes out. Granillo sips at another drink, and looks in front of him blankly and miserably. Staggers down stage to chair. Bangs glass down on table. Puts head in hands. Brandon enters. He stops for a moment in doorway, with a little smile of satisfaction on his lips. He goes over to window and draws curtains to, and then to sideboard and pours himself out a drink.
Brandon. Well?
Granillo (from hands). Well?
Brandon (taking his drink with relish). All’s well.
[Comes down to chest and plants his foot on it.
Granillo. God! I thought he got on to it.
Brandon. Who? Rupert?
Granillo. Yes.
Brandon. Yes. So did I. For a few moments. But that’s what gave piquancy to the evening. He hadn’t.
Granillo. You’re sure he hadn’t?
Brandon. Quite sure. (Pause while he drinks.) I sometimes rather wish he had. God. Rupert. Queer lad. I wonder. (Reflectively.) If he had been with us he wouldn’t have got drunk, Granno.
Granillo (looking up from hands). I not drunk. . . . I’m a little blurred, that’s all. (Sits up stiffly.) Hullo! What’s that?
Brandon. What?
Granillo. I thought I heard something.
Brandon. Be yourself, Granno.
Granillo. I thought it was the bell. (Pause, as both listen.)
[The bell is heard ringing.
It was! It was!
Brandon (finishing his drink: evenly.) Well. (Gulp.) What of it? (Carefully finishes drink.) I’ll go down. (He puts down the glass and goes out.)
[There is a long pause. Granillo looks in front of him steadily. Voices are heard from downstairs. Suddenly, and obviously having run up the stairs, Brandon re-enters. Goes to mantelpiece, rather flustered.
Brandon. It’s Rupert. He’s left his cigarette case behind, apparently. Have you seen it?
Granillo. No.
Brandon (looking first at first table, then at chest, then at second table). Well, it must be here somewhere.
[Rupert appears in doorway. He has his overcoat on, and his hat in his hand, and for a moment he is not seen. Then Brandon sees him.
Brandon. Hullo. You come up?
Rupert. Yes——— (He slowly takes off his coat, and places it, with his hat, on the divan. Comes down stage.)
[Brandon and Granillo watch him intently.
I thought you might give me another spot. (Sits down.)
CURTAIN.