POLICEMAN (_stamping about the floor with the exaggerated tread of
the Law_). I’ll tell you the rest outside. I must make her think
that my suspicions are—allayed. (_He goes cunningly to the pantry
door and speaks in a loud voice._) Well, sir, that satisfies me
that she’s not the party I was in search of, and so, with your
permission, I’ll bid you good evening. What, you’re going out
yourself? Then I’ll be very happy to walk part of the way with you.
(_Nodding and winking, he goes off with heavy steps, taking
with him the reluctant_ MR. BODIE, _who like one mesmerised
also departs stamping_.
MISS THING _peeps out to make sure that they are gone.
She is wearing her hat and jacket, which have restored
her self-respect. The tears have been disposed of with
a lick of the palm. She is again a valiant soul who has
had too many brushes with the police not to be able to
face another with a tight lip. She is going, but she
is not going without her wooden board; law or no law
she cannot do without wooden boards. She gets it from a
corner where it has been artfully concealed. An imprudent
glance at the Venus again dispirits her. With a tape she
takes the Beauty’s measurements and then her own, with
depressing results. The Gods at last pity her, and advise
an examination of her rival’s foot. Excursions, alarms,
transport. She compares feet and is glorified. She slips
off her shoe and challenges Venus to put it on. Then, with
a derisive waggle of her foot at the shamed goddess, the
little enigma departs on her suspicious business, little
witting that a masterpiece of a constable is on her track._)