BODIE (_miserable_). Sh!
CINDERELLA (_now in a quiver_). Mr. Bodie, you haven’t by any
chance got an invite for to-night, have you?
BODIE. What for?
CINDERELLA (_as still as the Venus_). For—for a ball.
BODIE. There are no balls in war-time.
CINDERELLA (_dogged_). Just the one. Mr. Bodie, did you ever see
the King?
BODIE. The King? Several times.
CINDERELLA (_as white as the Venus_). Was the Prince of Wales with
him?
BODIE. Once.
CINDERELLA. What’s he like?
BODIE. Splendid! Quite young, you know. He’s not married.
CINDERELLA (_with awful intensity_). No, not yet.
BODIE. I suppose he is very difficult to satisfy.
CINDERELLA (_knitting her lips_). He has never seen the feet that
pleased him.
BODIE. Cinderella, your pulse is galloping. You frighten me. What
possesses you?
CINDERELLA (_after hesitating_). There is something I want to tell
you. Maybe I’ll not be coming back after to-night. She has paid me
up to to-night.
BODIE. Is she sending you away?
CINDERELLA. No. I’ve sort of given notice.
BODIE (_disappointed_). You’ve got another place?
(_She shuts her mouth like a box._)
Has it anything to do with the Godmother business?
(_Her mouth remains closed. He barks at her._)
Don’t then. (_He reconsiders her._) I like you, you know.
CINDERELLA (_gleaming_). It’s fine to be liked.
BODIE. Have you a lonely life?
CINDERELLA. It’s kind of lonely.
BODIE. You won’t tell me about your home?
(_She shakes her head._)
Is there any nice person to look after you in the sort of way in
which you look after me?
CINDERELLA. I’m all alone. There’s just me and my feet.
BODIE. If you go I’ll miss you. We’ve had some good times here,
Cinderella, haven’t we?
CINDERELLA (_rapturously_). We have! You mind that chop you gave
me? Hey, hey, hey! (_considering it judicially_). That was the most
charming chop I ever saw. And many is the lick of soup you’ve given
me when you thought I looked down-like. Do you mind the chicken
that was too high for you? You give me the whole chicken. That was
a day.
BODIE. I never meant you to eat it.
CINDERELLA. I didn’t eat it all myself. I shared it with them.
BODIE (_inquisitively_). With them? With whom?
(_Her mouth shuts promptly, and he sulks. She picks up the
visiting cards that litter the floor._)
CINDERELLA. What a spill! If you’re not messing you’re spilling.
Where’s the bowl?
(_She lifts the bowl and discovers the helmet. She is
appalled._)
BODIE (_in an agony of remorse pointing to the door_). Cinderella,
quick!
(_But our_ POLICEMAN _has emerged and barred the way_.)
POLICEMAN (_indicating that it is_ MR. BODIE _who must go_). If
_you_ please, sir.
BODIE. I won’t! Don’t you dare to frighten her.
POLICEMAN (_settling the matter with the palm of his hand_). That
will do. If I need you I’ll call you.
BODIE (_flinching_). Cinderella, it’s—it’s just a form. I won’t be
far away.
(_He departs reluctantly._)
POLICEMAN (_sternly_). Stand up.
CINDERELLA (_a quaking figure, who has never sat down_). I’m
standing up.
POLICEMAN. Now, no sauce.
(_He produces his note book. He is about to make a powerful
beginning when he finds her eyes regarding the middle of
his person._)
Now then, what are you staring at?
CINDERELLA. (_hotly_). That’s a poor way to polish a belt. If I was
a officer I would think shame of having my belt in that condition.
POLICEMAN. (_undoubtedly affected by her homeliness though
unconscious of it_). It’s easy to speak; it’s a miserable polish I
admit, but mind you, I’m pretty done when my job’s over; and I have
the polishing to do myself.
CINDERELLA. You have no woman person?
POLICEMAN. Not me.
CINDERELLA (_with passionate arms_). If I had that belt for half an
hour!
POLICEMAN. What would you use?
CINDERELLA. Spit.
POLICEMAN. Spit? That’s like what my mother would have said. That
was in Badgery, where I was born. When I was a boy at Badgery—(_He
stops short. She has reminded him of Badgery!_)
CINDERELLA. What’s wrong?
POLICEMAN (_heavily_). How did you manage that about Badgery?
CINDERELLA. What?
POLICEMAN. Take care, prisoner.
(_The word makes her shudder. He sits, prepared to take
notes._)
Name?
CINDERELLA. Cinderella.
POLICEMAN. Take care, Thing. Occupation, if any?
CINDERELLA (_with some pride_). Tempary help.
POLICEMAN. Last place?
CINDERELLA. 3 Robert Street.
POLICEMAN. Scotch?
(_Her mouth shuts._)
Ah, they’ll never admit that. Reason for leaving?
CINDERELLA. I had to go when the war broke out.
POLICEMAN. Why dismissed?
CINDERELLA (_forlorn_). They said I was a luxury.
POLICEMAN (_getting ready to pounce_). Now be cautious. How do you
spend your evenings after you leave this building?
(_Her mouth shuts._)
Have you another and secret occupation?
(_She blanches._)
Has it to do with boxes? What do you keep in those boxes? Where
is it that these goings-on is going on? If you won’t tell me, I’m
willing to tell you. It’s at A. C. Celeste’s.... In Bond Street, W.
(_He has levelled his finger at her, but it is a pistol
that does not go off. To his chagrin she looks relieved. He
tries hammer blows._)
Are you living in guilty splendour? How do you come to know German
words? How many German words do you think _I_ know? Just one,
_espionage_. What’s the German for ‘six months hard’?
(_She is now crumpled, and here he would do well to pause
and stride up and down the room. But he cannot leave well
alone._)
What’s this nonsense about your feet?
CINDERELLA (_plucking up courage_). It’s not nonsense.
POLICEMAN. I see nothing particular about your feet.
CINDERELLA. Then I’m sorry for you.
POLICEMAN. What is it?
CINDERELLA (_softly as if it were a line from the Bible_). Their
exquisite smallness and perfect shape.
POLICEMAN (_with a friendly glance at the Venus_). For my part I’m
partial to big women with their noses in the air.
CINDERELLA (_stung_). So is everybody (_pathetically_). I’ve tried.
But it’s none so easy, with never no butcher’s meat in the house.
You’ll see where the su-perb shoulders and the haughty manners come
from if you look in shop windows and see the whole of a cow turned
inside out and ‘Delicious’ printed on it.
POLICEMAN (_always just_). There’s something in that.
CINDERELLA (_swelling_). But it doesn’t matter how fine the rest of
you is if you doesn’t have small feet.
POLICEMAN. I never gave feet a thought.
CINDERELLA. The swells think of nothing else. (_Exploding._) Wait
till you are at the Ball. Many a haughty beauty with superb uppers
will come sailing in—as sure of the prize as if ‘Delicious’ was
pinned on her—and then forward steps the Lord Mayor, and, _utterly
disregarding her uppers_, he points to the bottom of her skirt, and
he says ‘Lift!’ and she _has_ to lift, and there’s a dead silence,
and nothing to be heard except the Prince crying ‘Throw her out!’
POLICEMAN (_somewhat staggered by her knowledge of the high life_).
What’s all this about a ball?
(CINDERELLA _sees she has said too much and her mouth shuts_.)
Was you ever at a ball?
CINDERELLA (_with dignity_). At any rate I’ve been at the Horse
Show.
POLICEMAN. A ball’s not like a Horse Show.
CINDERELLA. You’ll see.
POLICEMAN (_reverting to business_). It all comes to this, are you
genteel, or common clay?
CINDERELLA (_pertly_). I leaves that to you.
POLICEMAN. You couldn’t leave it in safer hands. I want a witness
to this.
CINDERELLA (_startled_). A witness! What are you to do?
(_With terrible self-confidence he has already opened the
door and beckoned._ MR. BODIE _comes in anxiously_.)
POLICEMAN. Take note, sir. (_With the affable manner of a
conjuror._) We are now about to try a little experiment, the object
being to discover whether this party is genteel or common clay.
CINDERELLA. Oh, Mr. Bodie, what is it?
BODIE (_remembering what he has been told of the Scotland Yard
test_). I don’t like.... I won’t have it.
POLICEMAN. It gives her the chance of proving once and for all
whether she’s of gentle blood.
CINDERELLA (_eagerly_). Does it?
BODIE. I must forbid....
CINDERELLA (_with dreadful resolution_). I’m ready. I wants to know
myself.
POLICEMAN. _Ve_—ry well. Now then, I heard you say that the old
party downstairs had paid you your wages to-day.
CINDERELLA. I see nothing you can prove by that. It was a
half-week’s wages—1s. 7d. Of course I could see my way clearer if
it had been 1s. 9d.
POLICEMAN. That’s neither here nor there. We’ll proceed. Now, very
likely you wrapped the money up in a screw of paper. Did you?
(_She is afraid of giving herself away._)
Thinking won’t help you.
CINDERELLA. It’s _my_ money.
BODIE. Nobody wants your money, Cinderella.
POLICEMAN. Answer me. Did you?
CINDERELLA. Yes.
POLICEMAN. Say ‘I did.’
CINDERELLA. I did.
POLICEMAN. And possibly for the sake of greater security you tied a
string round it—did you?
CINDERELLA. I did.
POLICEMAN (_after a glance at_ MR. BODIE _to indicate that
the supreme moment has come_). You then deposited the little
parcel—where?
BODIE (_in an agony_). Cinderella, be careful!
(_She is so dreading to do the wrong thing that she can
only stare. Finally, alas, she produces the fatal packet
from her pocket. Quiet triumph of our policeman._)
BODIE. My poor child!
CINDERELLA (_not realising yet that she has given herself away_).
What is it? Go on.
POLICEMAN. That’ll do. You can stand down.
CINDERELLA. You’ve found out?
POLICEMAN. I have.
CINDERELLA (_breathless_). And what am I?
POLICEMAN (_kindly_). I’m sorry.
CINDERELLA. Am I—common clay?
(_They look considerately at the floor; she bursts into
tears and runs into the pantry, shutting the door._)
POLICEMAN (_with melancholy satisfaction_). It’s infall_ay_ble.
BODIE. At any rate it shows that there’s nothing against her.
POLICEMAN (_taking him further from the pantry door, in a low
voice_). I dunno. There’s some queer things. Where does she go
when she leaves this house? What about that ball?—and her German
connection?—and them boards she makes into boxes—and A. C. Celeste?
Well, I’ll find out.
BODIE (_miserably_). What are you going to do?
POLICEMAN. To track her when she leaves here. I may have to adopt a
disguise. I’m a masterpiece at that.