At LORD HORSHAM'S house in Queen Anne's Gate, in the evening, a week later.
_If rooms express their owners' character, the grey and black of_ LORD
HORSHAM'S _drawing room, the faded brocade of its furniture, reveal him as a
man of delicate taste and somewhat thin intellectuality. He stands now
before a noiseless fire, contemplating with a troubled eye either the
pattern of the Old French carpet, or the black double doors of the library
opposite, or the moulding on the Adams ceiling, which the flicker of all the
candles casts into deeper relief. His grey hair and black clothes would melt
into the decoration of his room, were the figure not rescued from such
oblivion by the British white glaze of his shirt front and--to a sympathetic
eye--by the loveable perceptive face of the man. Sometimes he looks at the
sofa in front of him, on which sits_ WEDGECROFT, _still in the frock coat of
a busy day, depressed and irritable. With his back to them, on a sofa with
its back to them, is_ GEORGE FARRANT, _planted with his knees apart, his
hands clasped, his head bent; very glum. And sometimes_ HORSHAM _glances at
the door, as if waiting for it to open. Then his gaze will travel back, up
the long shiny black piano, with a volume of the Well Tempered Clavichord
open on its desk, to where_ CANTELUPE _is perched uncomfortably on the
bench; paler than ever; more self-contained than ever, looking, to one who
knows him as well as Horsham does, a little dangerous. So he returns to
contemplation of the ceiling or the carpet. They wait there as men wait who
have said all they want to say upon an unpleasant subject and yet cannot
dismiss it. At last_ FARRANT _breaks the silence._
FARRANT. What time did you ask him to come, Horsham?
HORSHAM. Eh ... O'Connell? I didn't ask him directly. What time did you say,
Wedgecroft?
WEDGECROFT. Any time after half past ten, I told him.
FARRANT. [_Grumbling._] It's a quarter to eleven. Doesn't Blackborough mean
to turn up at all?
HORSHAM. He was out of town ... my note had to be sent after him. I couldn't
wire, you see.
FARRANT. No.
CANTELUPE. It was by the merest chance your man caught me, Cyril. I was
taking the ten fifteen to Tonbridge and happened to go to James Street first
for some papers.
_The conversation flags again._
CANTELUPE. But since Mrs. O'Connell is dead what is the excuse for a
scandal?
_At this unpleasant dig into the subject of their thoughts the three
other men stir uncomfortably._
HORSHAM. Because the inquest is unavoidable ... apparently.
WEDGECROFT. [_Suddenly letting fly._] I declare I'd I'd have risked penal
servitude and given a certificate, but just before the end O'Connell would
call in old Fielding Andrews, who has moral scruples about everything--it's
his trademark--and of course about this...!
FARRANT. Was he told of the whole business?
WEDGECROFT. No ... O'Connell kept things up before him. Well ... the woman
was dying.
HORSHAM. Couldn't you have kept the true state of the case from Sir
Fielding?
WEDGECROFT. And been suspected of the malpractice myself if he'd found it
out? ... which he would have done ... he's no fool. Well ... I thought of
trying that....
FARRANT. My dear Wedgecroft ... how grossly quixotic! You have a duty to
yourself.
HORSHAM. [_Rescuing the conversation from unpleasantness._] I'm afraid I
feel that our position to-night is most irregular, Wedgecroft.
WEDGECROFT. Still if you can make O'Connell see reason. And if you all
can't.... [_He frowns at the alternative._]
CANTELUPE. Didn't you say she came to you first of all?
WEDGECROFT. I met her one morning at Trebell's.
FARRANT. Actually _at_ Trebell's!
WEDGECROFT. The day he came back from abroad.
FARRANT. Oh! No one seems to have noticed them together much at any time. My
wife ... No matter!
WEDGECROFT. She tackled me as a doctor with one part of her trouble ...
added she'd been with O'Connell in Ireland, which of course it turns out
wasn't true ... asked me to help her. I had to say I couldn't.
HORSHAM. [_Echoing rather than querying._] You couldn't.
FARRANT. [_Shocked._] My dear Horsham!
WEDGECROFT. Well, if she'd told me the truth!... No, anyhow I couldn't. I'm
sure there was no excuse. One can't run these risks.
FARRANT. Quite right, quite right.
WEDGECROFT. There are men who do on one pretext or another.
FARRANT. [_Not too shocked to be curious._] Are there really?
WEDGECROFT. Oh yes, men well known ... in other directions. I could give you
four addresses ... but of course I wasn't going to give her one. Though
there again ... if she'd told me the whole truth!... My God, women are such
fools! And they prefer quackery ... look at the decent doctors they simply
turn into charlatans. Though, there again, that all comes of letting a trade
work mysteriously under the thumb of a benighted oligarchy ... which is
beside the question. But one day I'll make you sit up on the subject of the
Medical Council, Horsham.