kisses her passionately; she breaks away from him and stands
panting._ MR. PERIGAL _comes in followed by_ FRANCIS ETCHINGHAM,
_who wears on one foot a large felt slipper, and walks with a
stick_.
PERIGAL.
Your father insisted on coming downstairs.
ETCHINGHAM.
I really can’t stand my room any longer. And I can walk quite well now.
CATHERINE.
I thought Dr. O’Farrell said you were to stay upstairs till to-morrow,
father.
ETCHINGHAM.
O’Farrell’s an idiot.
COLBY.
[_Smiling._] It certainly looks as if you were better when you start
abusing your doctor.
PERIGAL.
[_To_ COLBY.] I hope I haven’t kept you waiting?
COLBY.
Not a bit!
PERIGAL.
[_Very amiably._] Lady Francis has been showing me an old photograph.
ETCHINGHAM.
[_Settling himself heavily into an armchair._] That little joke of
Angela’s didn’t quite come off.
[CATHERINE _gives him a footstool and puts his foot on it_.
PERIGAL.
I looked at it blankly, and then she said: Don’t you remember? It’s
so-and-so. It gave me quite a start. It was the photograph of a young
lady I’d been so madly in love with that I asked her to bolt with
me--married woman and all that sort of thing--and, would you believe it?
thirty years have passed since then, and upon my soul I didn’t know her
from Adam!
ETCHINGHAM.
Or Eve!
[CATHERINE _looks at him gravely, seeing the application to herself
of his story_.
COLBY.
You must congratulate yourself.
PERIGAL.
Well, my friends, I do. I’m not a high-minded, quixotic fellow like you,
and I don’t mind telling you that I find it very agreeable to be
Secretary for Foreign Affairs and Prime Minister. And yet, at the time,
if anyone had given me the choice between my present position and a trip
across Europe with the object of my affections, I wouldn’t have
hesitated.
COLBY.
A merciful providence evidently had you under its care.
[CATHERINE _gives a slight start and rises as she hears these
words, and looks at him steadily_.
PERIGAL.
Well, we must be off. We mustn’t let even this charming lady interfere
too much with the working of the British Empire.
CATHERINE.
Good-bye.
PERIGAL.
You must get your mother to show you that photograph. Thirty years ago I
thought the little hussy much more attractive than that. [_Turning to_
ETCHINGHAM.] Good-bye, Frank. I hope your foot’ll be all right in a day
or two.
[PERIGAL _and_ COLBY _go out_.
ETCHINGHAM.
I remember that little woman quite well. Not much to look at. I wondered
at the time what Perigal saw in her.
CATHERINE.
You don’t want me just now, father, do you?
ETCHINGHAM.
No, dear. Are you going out?
CATHERINE.
I’m only going to my room. I want--I want to be alone for a little bit.
ETCHINGHAM.
Oh!
[_Before she can give any explanation, the_ BUTLER _comes in to
announce_ BENNETT, _and she takes advantage of this to make her
escape_.
THOMPSON.
Mr. Bennett.
[_Exit._
ETCHINGHAM.
Ah, Mr. Bennett, forgive me if I don’t get up.
BENNETT.
I’m glad to see you’re better, my lord.
ETCHINGHAM.
Is anything the matter?
BENNETT.
[_Surprised._] I thought your lordship expected me. You telephoned?
ETCHINGHAM.
I?
BENNETT.
Perhaps the Governor....
ETCHINGHAM.
[_Interrupting._] Ah yes, of course. George didn’t mention it. I suppose
he wants me to sign cheques. I can do it just as well here as at the
office. I expect Mr. Winter is in. Would you mind ringing?
BENNETT.
Certainly.
[_Before he can ring_, GEORGE WINTER _comes in_.
GEORGE WINTER.
I’ve given orders that no one is to be let up until those people arrive
from Middlepool.
ETCHINGHAM.
By Jove, I’d forgotten all about them. I say, George, you made a mistake
in letting them come.
GEORGE WINTER.
And I’ve told Lady Francis that we shall want this room to ourselves,
and no one’s to come in without knocking at the door.
ETCHINGHAM.
By the way, was it you who sent for Bennett?
GEORGE WINTER.
It was. Your gout has come in very handy. Sit down, Fred. We’d better
make ourselves cosy. Quite comfortable, Etchingham?
ETCHINGHAM.
Quite, thank you.
GEORGE WINTER.
Foot all right?
ETCHINGHAM.
I don’t feel it at the moment.
[_Throughout the next scene_ GEORGE WINTER _is as gay and jovial as
possible. He is thoroughly amused by the torture he is inflicting.
He plays with_ FRANCIS ETCHINGHAM _as a cat would with a mouse_.
GEORGE WINTER.
I thought you might like to know at once that Macdonald’s report on the
mine has come.
ETCHINGHAM.
Ah, that’s good news. Now we can get to work at once.
GEORGE WINTER.
Have you got it with you, Fred?
BENNETT.
Yes, sir.
GEORGE WINTER.
I’m sure his lordship would like to have a look at it.
ETCHINGHAM.
Yes, hand it over, Bennett. This is really a thrilling moment. I believe
I’m going to make my fortune at last.
GEORGE WINTER.
As you justly remark, it’s a thrilling moment.
[BENNETT _takes the report out of a despatch-case and hands it to_
ETCHINGHAM.
ETCHINGHAM.
Impressive document, isn’t it?
[_He smoothes it out and begins to read._ GEORGE WINTER _watches
him with a certain amusement_.
GEORGE WINTER.
Rather technical, isn’t it?
ETCHINGHAM.
[_Somewhat irritably._] Upon my soul, I don’t know why Macdonald can’t
put it into plain English?
GEORGE WINTER.
I’m thankful he didn’t put it any plainer.
ETCHINGHAM.
I must honestly confess that I don’t quite grasp what he means.
GEORGE WINTER.
I thought you wouldn’t. The long and the short of it can be told in two
words.
ETCHINGHAM.
[_Putting down the report with a slight sigh of relief._] Ah!
GEORGE WINTER.
The mine was practically worked out when we bought it. There’s no gold
there worth speaking of. We’ve been done in the eye, and we’re eighty
thousand pounds to the bad.
[_There is a moment’s pause._ ETCHINGHAM _looks at_ GEORGE WINTER
_blankly_. BENNETT _glances nervously from one to the other_.
ETCHINGHAM.
[_Hardly able to speak, his tongue sticking to his throat._]
You’re--you’re joking!
GEORGE WINTER.
Read the report.
ETCHINGHAM.
[_Looking at it helplessly._] Then....
GEORGE WINTER.
Your fortune is beginning to look rather silly, isn’t it? So’s mine.
ETCHINGHAM.
Is this true, Mr. Bennett?
BENNETT.
I’m afraid it is, my lord.
ETCHINGHAM.
My God! What’s to be done now?
GEORGE WINTER.
What do you think ought to be done?
ETCHINGHAM.
I?
GEORGE WINTER.
You’re chairman of the Syndicate. Your opinion can’t fail to be
valuable.
ETCHINGHAM.
[_Hesitatingly._] We must just pocket our loss.
GEORGE WINTER.
H’m!
BENNETT.
With things in their present state a loss like that is about as much as
we can stand.
ETCHINGHAM.
The slump must come to an end soon.
GEORGE WINTER.
We’ve been saying that for the last two months.
ETCHINGHAM.
Then what the deuce is to be done?
GEORGE WINTER.
That’s what we’re asking you.
BENNETT.
We’ve got the Lewishams to reckon with.
GEORGE WINTER.
Now’s their time to make a raid on us.
ETCHINGHAM.
[_Hoarsely._] It doesn’t mean that we smash up, George?
GEORGE WINTER.
[_Taking out his watch._] Boyce will be here in a quarter of an hour.
ETCHINGHAM.
George, don’t play the fool now. I’ve put all my eggs in this basket. I
thought I was going to be rich at last. I wanted to get out of the whole
thing. I wanted to live quietly and comfortably.
BENNETT.
What are you going to do, Governor?
GEORGE WINTER.
[_Looking at_ ETCHINGHAM.] Suppress the report.
[BENNETT _gives a start, but does not speak_.
GEORGE WINTER.
Go ahead as if we believed in the mine. We’ve got the Government
expert’s report on which we bought the thing. We’ll put that in the
prospectus.
ETCHINGHAM.
But isn’t that dishonest?
GEORGE WINTER.
Very.
ETCHINGHAM.
George!
GEORGE WINTER.
It’s an axiom in mining circles that when you’ve got hold of a rotten
thing the proper course is to pass it on to the British public.
ETCHINGHAM.
The public will find out there’s no gold there when you pay no
dividends.
GEORGE WINTER.
Oh, we’ll pay dividends for a year or two. By then we shall have turned
the corner, and we’ll find another carrot for the British public.
ETCHINGHAM.
But you say yourself it’s dishonest.
GEORGE WINTER.
There’s another point you seem to have forgotten.
ETCHINGHAM.
What is that?
[GEORGE WINTER _pauses and looks at him for an instant
reflectively_.
GEORGE WINTER.
We paid for the mine with money that didn’t belong to us.
ETCHINGHAM.
What d’you mean?
GEORGE WINTER.
We’re in exactly the same position as the shop-boy who sneaks five bob
from his master’s till to put it on a horse. If the horse comes in he
puts it back, and if it doesn’t, he gets a month’s hard labour.... We
shall get seven years.
ETCHINGHAM.
What are you talking about, George?
GEORGE WINTER.
Has it escaped your memory that you and I are Directors of the
Middlepool Investment Trust?
ETCHINGHAM.
Well?
GEORGE WINTER.
We had to plank down eighty thousand pounds within twenty-four hours or
lose the mine.
BENNETT.
It looked like a certainty.
GEORGE WINTER.
At that moment it was impossible for us to raise anything like that sum.
The bank held a hundred thousand pounds of bearer bonds for the
Middlepool Investment Trust. They delivered them on an order signed by
you, me, and Bennett. We borrowed on them and completed the purchase of
a worthless mine.
ETCHINGHAM.
But I’ve never signed anything.
BENNETT.
Yes, you did, my lord. They wouldn’t have delivered the bonds without.
ETCHINGHAM.
Then my signature’s been forged.
GEORGE WINTER.
Don’t you remember one day, after an excellent luncheon at Pym’s, you
were just off to a wedding, and I asked you to come up into the office
and sign some papers?
ETCHINGHAM.
But I never looked at them. I didn’t know....
GEORGE WINTER.
[_Interrupting blandly._] Ah, that’s your affair.
ETCHINGHAM.
[_Indignantly._] I shall go to the police.
GEORGE WINTER.
D’you think you’ve got a plausible story to tell them? It sounds
devilish improbable that a business man, a chairman of half a dozen
companies, should sign documents without looking at them. Bennett and I
will swear that you carefully read everything that was put before
you--as, indeed, was your duty, my dear friend--and fully understood the
nature of your act.
ETCHINGHAM.
Mr. Bennett, you’ll testify that I never realized for a moment what I
was doing. You told me they were purely formal documents. I saw George
sign them. I added my signature without hesitation.
GEORGE WINTER.
I think Mr. Bennett would be more than human if he cleared you at his
own expense.
BENNETT.
If there were any trouble, my lord, I should have to tell the truth.
ETCHINGHAM.
That’s just what I want you to do.
BENNETT.
I should have to say that you agreed with us in the necessity of
borrowing the bonds with the idea of putting them back as soon as we’d
floated the company, and that you signed the order to the bank with full
knowledge of the seriousness of your act.
GEORGE WINTER.
What is truth, said jesting Pilate.
BENNETT.
You’re just as deep in it as we are, my lord.
ETCHINGHAM.
Oh, my God!
GEORGE WINTER.
It’s no use losing one’s head because one’s in a tight place.
ETCHINGHAM.
You’ve tricked me. You’re a common swindler. In a month we may all be in
prison.
GEORGE WINTER.
I hear they make you very comfortable there nowadays.
ETCHINGHAM.
Well, I see my duty before me. I didn’t know, but now there can be no
excuse for me. I must go to Scotland Yard at once. I shall make a clean
breast of the whole thing.
GEORGE WINTER.
D’you think that’ll help you? It may mean five years instead of seven.
ETCHINGHAM.
Every one will know that I’m incapable of such an act.
GEORGE WINTER.
Don’t be a silly fool. Listen to me. We’ve got you tight. If we go
under, you go under too. Let there be no doubt in your mind about that.
ETCHINGHAM.
I must do my duty.
GEORGE WINTER.
Your duty is to keep your head and help us out of the mess as best you
can.
ETCHINGHAM.
But nothing can be done. The mine’s worthless. How are we to raise
eighty thousand pounds?
GEORGE WINTER.
We’ve got six weeks before we need replace the bonds. If we can do it by
then no one will ever know they’ve left the cellars of the bank.
ETCHINGHAM.
There’s no more chance of replacing them in six weeks than there is the
day after to-morrow.
GEORGE WINTER.
Yes, there is, if we can float the company. That’s where you come in.
I’ve got to keep my seat. I want all my prestige. I can’t have a
divorce. You must go to Kate at once, and tell her that the only way she
can save you from prison is by telling these men who are coming from
Middlepool that she has no cause for complaint against me.
ETCHINGHAM.
Good God! I’d forgotten Kate.
BENNETT.
It’s only by going on now that we can save ourselves and the money
that’s invested in our companies.
ETCHINGHAM.
[_Irritably._] You wouldn’t have got into such a mess with Kate if you
hadn’t made such a damned fool of yourself. Why couldn’t you leave these
women alone?
GEORGE WINTER.
[_With a chuckle._] My dear fellow, you speak as if I were to blame.
They simply flung themselves into my arms. It would have been very rude
if I hadn’t occasionally pressed them to my bosom.
BENNETT.
It’s not much the Governor asks you, my lord.
ETCHINGHAM.
To go and tell my daughter that I’m a thief and a swindler, and throw
myself on her mercy!
GEORGE WINTER.
That’s it.
ETCHINGHAM.
I’ll see you damned first!
GEORGE WINTER.
The alternative is prison.... It’s not very nice, penal servitude--is
it, Fred? You know all about it. You can tell him.
BENNETT.
[_With a gasp._] Governor!
ETCHINGHAM.
What does he mean?
GEORGE WINTER.
Fred’s a solicitor who was struck off the rolls. He was sentenced to
three years for misappropriating a client’s money.
ETCHINGHAM.
Good God! Is that true, Mr. Bennett?
BENNETT.
[_Ashamed._] Yes, my lord.
ETCHINGHAM.
I never knew.
GEORGE WINTER.
Of course you didn’t. It’s not the kind of thing you’d expect him to
brag about, is it? But it’ll go worse with him if we’re found out,
because he’s been at it before. Tell him what it’s like, Fred.
BENNETT.
[_With agony._] Oh, Governor, don’t!
GEORGE WINTER.
I knew him before he went in. His name was Feltman then. And when they
let him out I took him because I felt sure he had everything to gain by
sticking to me, and everything to lose by giving me away.
ETCHINGHAM.
My God!
GEORGE WINTER.
He can tell you what you’re in for. What the broad arrow’s like to wear,
and what the food’s like to eat. And the work--it’s a healthy life,
regular hours--you’re strong for your age. I don’t see why you shouldn’t
break stones in the quarries with the rest of us. Hour after hour with
your back feeling as if it were going to break, and your arms aching,
aching, but not so badly as your heart.
[BENNETT _breaks down and sobs, difficultly trying to restrain
himself_.
GEORGE WINTER.
And you count the days, three hundred and sixty-five in a year, and you
wonder if they’ll ever come to an end. And your mind keeps on working.
It wouldn’t be so bad if you were a brainless hulk like the man who’s
sweating away beside you; but you think, and you can’t help thinking.
And you curse yourself. And you think of the people outside who are free
to do as they like, and you think of the spring-time and the flowers,
and you think of the pleasant streets of London. And then there’s the
regret which wrings your heart day after day, and you wish--you wish a
thousand times you were dead. You sleep, you’re too tired not to, even
though you’ve got hunger gnawing at your vitals, for you’re hungry,
always hungry--and in your sleep you dream that you’re back again in
your home, happy and comfortable; and when you wake up and feel your
hard prison bed, you cry like a child.
BENNETT.
Oh, my God! My God!
GEORGE WINTER.
And then when you come out, it’s not over. You slink along the streets,
feeling that it’s written on your forehead for every one to see, and
your heart beats when you catch sight of a policeman. And at night it
all comes back to you. You see it again, the warders, the convict gang,
the prison food, and your back aches with the labour. And you wake
shrieking with terror, shrieking, shrieking!
[_There is a pause._ ETCHINGHAM _looks straight in front of him
with chill, stony eyes_. BENNETT _cowers brokenly, trembling in
every limb. There is a knock at the door. Tap, tap, tap. Even_
GEORGE WINTER _starts and a shiver runs through him. The knocking
is repeated._
GEORGE WINTER.
[_Angry with his own nervousness._] Who the devil’s that? Come in!
_The_ BUTLER _enters_.
GEORGE WINTER.
What is it? I told you we weren’t to be disturbed.
THOMPSON.
The gentlemen have come, sir.
[GEORGE WINTER _reflects for an instant, and gives_ ETCHINGHAM _a
rapid glance_.
GEORGE WINTER.
I’ll ring when you can show them up.
THOMPSON.
Very good, sir.
[_Exit._
GEORGE WINTER.
[_Abruptly._] Now go to Kate, tell her what I’ve told you, and say the
only way she can save you is by giving in.
ETCHINGHAM.
[_Hoarsely._] I’ll see you damned first.
GEORGE WINTER.
[_Astounded._] What!
ETCHINGHAM.
[_Gathering strength and courage._] I tell you I won’t. And you can go
to Hell!
BENNETT.
My lord, you don’t know what you’re doing.
GEORGE WINTER.
[_Hardly able to believe his ears._] D’you mean to say you refuse to
speak to Kate?
ETCHINGHAM.
If I speak to her it’ll only be to tell her that you’re a rotten
scoundrel, and it’s worth her while to put up with anything to be rid of
you.
GEORGE WINTER.
It means seven years, you know that, don’t you?
ETCHINGHAM.
For you and that dirty convict there.
GEORGE WINTER.
You think you can get off by turning on us, but you can’t. We’ve got you
tight.
ETCHINGHAM.
You miserable fellow, d’you think I shall try to escape my penalty?
GEORGE WINTER.
[_With angry impatience._] It’s tomfoolery. We haven’t got time for
highfalutin now. Those fellows can’t be kept waiting all night. Kate’s
the only person who can save us, and you....
ETCHINGHAM.
[_Throwing the words at him._] I tell you I won’t. You’ve made a catspaw
of me. And you thought you’d only got to say the word and I’d come to
heel.
GEORGE WINTER.
[_Contemptuously._] You’ve done it often enough before.
BENNETT.
Don’t expect any mercy from him, my lord. He’ll do you in as sure as
eggs is eggs.
ETCHINGHAM.
I don’t want any mercy. You think you’ve got me tight. Don’t you know
that I’ve got a way of escape whenever I choose to take it.
GEORGE WINTER.
What are you going to do?
ETCHINGHAM.
That’s my business.
[GEORGE WINTER _understands; he drains a long breath_.
BENNETT.
[_In a whisper._] What does he mean, Governor?
GEORGE WINTER.
D’you think you’d have the courage?
BENNETT.
[_Understanding._] Ah!... I tried it once, but I couldn’t do it. My hand
shook. I let them take me.
GEORGE WINTER.
[_Reflectively._] I hadn’t thought of that. You can shoot yourself.
ETCHINGHAM.
[_Bitterly sarcastic._] I’m obliged to you for the permission.
GEORGE WINTER.
We drove him too far, Fred. We’ve made a mess of it.
ETCHINGHAM.
You have, a confounded mess.
[_He gets up and hobbles across the room towards the door._ GEORGE
WINTER _intercepts him_.
GEORGE WINTER.
Where are you going?
ETCHINGHAM.
[_Insolently._] Get out of my way, you damned bounder.
[GEORGE WINTER _looks at him for a moment and steps aside_.
GEORGE WINTER.
[_With a grim smile._] It is plain that you don’t think there’s anything
more to be got out of me.
ETCHINGHAM.
[_With a wave of the hand._] I wish you a pleasant time at Portland,
gentlemen.
GEORGE WINTER.
Ring the bell, Fred.
[ETCHINGHAM _stops as he hears the order and turns round_.
BENNETT.
That’ll bring those men up. Don’t you remember you told....
GEORGE WINTER.
[_Interrupting._] Ring the bell, damn you!
[BENNETT, _without a word, presses the button_. ETCHINGHAM _comes
back into the middle of the room_.
ETCHINGHAM.
What are you going to do?
GEORGE WINTER.
Hulloa, I thought you were routing out your pistols by now.
ETCHINGHAM.
You’re not going to see those fellows?
BENNETT.
They’ll insist on seeing Mrs. Winter.
GEORGE WINTER.
Then I shall send for her.
ETCHINGHAM.
Oh, you needn’t think she’ll back you up in your confounded lies.
GEORGE WINTER.
[_Blandly._] Anyhow, I dare say you’d like to wait and see.
ETCHINGHAM.
[_Suspiciously._] Have you got something up your sleeve?
GEORGE WINTER.
My dear fellow, our sex would be at an impossible disadvantage in its
dealings with the other, if it were not for the most obstinate of all
their passions.... Self-sacrifice.
ETCHINGHAM.
You’re counting on that?
GEORGE WINTER.
You’ve given Kate such a training in it that I can’t help thinking it
has become a habit.
ETCHINGHAM.
I won’t say a word to move her.
[_He flings himself heavily into a chair. Already half his heroic
resolutions have evaporated._ GEORGE WINTER _watches him with
cynical amusement_.
GEORGE WINTER.
Like all great men I leave as little as possible to chance.
ETCHINGHAM.
[_With a start._] Perigal?
GEORGE WINTER.
That’s it.
BENNETT.
D’you think there’s a chance, Governor?
GEORGE WINTER.
We must risk it. It’s the last fling.
[_The_ BUTLER _ushers in_ MR. SWALECLIFFE, JAMES FORD _and_ COLONEL
BOYCE. MR. SWALECLIFFE _is a Nonconformist Minister, clean shaven,
with a sallow grave face_. JAMES FORD _is a wealthy man, a pillar
of the Nonconformist church in Middlepool and a local politician of
importance; he is a large man, stout, oldish, badly dressed, with a
slight North Country accent; he gives the impression of shrewdness,
but also of complete honesty and straightforwardness_. COLONEL
BOYCE, _who is_ GEORGE WINTER’S _agent, is spare and tall, bronzed,
with grey hair and a grey waxed moustache; alert, neatly dressed
and dapper. He is the kind of retired military man who may be seen
by the score in Bath, Tunbridge Wells or Cheltenham._
THOMPSON.
Mr. Swalecliffe, Mr. James Ford, Colonel Boyce.
[_Exit._
GEORGE WINTER.
How d’you do? I’m delighted to see you! I hope I haven’t kept you
waiting?
JAMES FORD.
Not a bit! It’s of no consequence.
GEORGE WINTER.
Let me introduce you to my father-in-law. Mr. Swalecliffe--Lord Francis
Etchingham.
[MR. SWALECLIFFE _bows stiffly. He is not going to open his mouth
if he can help it._
GEORGE WINTER.
Mr. James Ford.
JAMES FORD.
Pleased to meet you, Lord Francis.
ETCHINGHAM.
It’s very kind of you to say so.
GEORGE WINTER.
When I suggested to Lord Francis that it would be more convenient for
you to come here, he put his house at my disposal. My wife is staying
here, you know. We’re doing up the house in Portman Square, and she
can’t stand the smell of paint.
BOYCE.
[_Anxious to make things easy._] Naturally. I don’t like it myself.
GEORGE WINTER.
How is your wife, Mr. Swalecliffe? Well, I trust.
SWALECLIFFE.
Thank you.
GEORGE WINTER.
And the children?
SWALECLIFFE.
Yes, thank you.
GEORGE WINTER.
Now sit down and make yourselves comfortable, won’t you? Have you had
tea?
JAMES FORD.
Yes, thank you.
BOYCE.
[_Rather pompously._] I took them into my club.
GEORGE WINTER.
Will you have a drink? I can recommend my father-in-law’s whisky. I know
it’s no good offering you one, Mr. Swalecliffe?
JAMES FORD.
Boyce and I had a little drop of Scotch to our tea.
GEORGE WINTER.
Then we’ll get to business at once, shall we?
SWALECLIFFE.
[_Clearing his throat._] I should like to say, before we go any further,
that it is with the greatest regret that Mr. Ford and I have come up to
London on such an errand.
JAMES FORD.
There’s been a lot of gossip in Middlepool, and, well, we thought the
shortest way to settle it was....
BOYCE.
I personally don’t think this is a matter of which the committee ought
to take any notice. A man’s private life is his private life, and....
JAMES FORD.
That’s all very well, Colonel. Winter’s an old friend of mine. We’ve
had business dealings together for the past twenty years. But ... well,
it’s a question of winning the election or losing it. There’s never been
much in it one way or another, and fifty votes more or less will make
all the difference.
SWALECLIFFE.
I want to tell you frankly, Mr. Winter, that I should feel it my duty to
vote against you, if there were any truth in the reports that have been
going about. And I should feel it my duty to advise my congregation to
follow my example.
GEORGE WINTER.
That’s clear enough in all conscience. Gentlemen, the best answer I can
make to you is that I receive you in my father-in-law’s house. My wife
is upstairs in her mother’s boudoir. I give you my word of honour that
there is not the smallest shadow of truth in any single syllable that
you have heard. I have issued a writ for libel against the _Herald_,
and....
BOYCE.
Surely that ought to satisfy anyone.
JAMES FORD.
Well, it doesn’t satisfy me.
GEORGE WINTER.