.

GERALD. But, of course. (Firmly, as if a little nervous of a scene from
BOB) My dear Bob, you're as right as anything. You've got nothing on
earth to worry about. At the worst it's only a question of money, and we
can always put that right somehow.

BOB. I'm not sure that it is only a question of money.

GERALD (frightened). What do you mean? (Turning away with a laugh)
You're talking nonsense.

BOB. Gerald, Marcus is a wrong un. (Fiercely) An out-and-out wrong un.

GERALD. The only time I saw him he looked like it.

BOB. God knows what he's let me in for.

GERALD. You mean money?

BOB. More than that, perhaps.

GERALD. You mean you're just going bankrupt?

BOB. No. (After a pause) Prosecution.

GERALD. Well, let them prosecute. That ends Marcus. You're well rid of
him.

BOB (miserably). Perhaps it isn't only Marcus.

GERALD (sharply, after this has sunk in). What can they prosecute you
for?

BOB (speaking rapidly). What the devil did they ever send me to the City
for? I didn't want to go. I was never any good at figures. I loathe
the whole thing. What the devil did they want to send me there for--and
shove me on to a wrong un like Marcus? That's his life, messing about
with money in the City. How can I stand out against a man like that? I
never wanted to go into it at all.

GERALD (holding out his cigarette-case). Have another cigarette? (They
each light one, and GERALD sits down in the chair opposite to him.)
Let's look at it calmly. You've done nothing dishonourable, I know that.
That's obvious.

BOB. You see, Jerry, I'm so hopeless at that sort of business.
Naturally I got in the way of leaving things to Marcus. But that's all.
(Resentfully) Of course, that's all.

GERALD. Good. Well, then, you're making much too much fuss about it.
My dear boy, innocent people don't get put into prison nowadays. You've
been reading detective stories. "The Stain on the Bath Mat," or "The
Crimson Sponge." Good Lord! I shall be coming to _you_ next and saying
that _I'm_ going to be put in prison for selling secret documents to a
foreign country. These things don't happen; they don't really, old boy.

BOB (cheered, but not convinced). I don't know; it looks devilish bad,
what I can make of it.

GERALD. Well, let's see what I can make of it.

BOB (trying not to show his eagerness). I was wondering if you would.
Come up on Monday and we'll have a go at it together. Marcus has gone,
of course. Probably halfwa