ughs shortly.)

You don't want to lose that, do you? Of course, if the term "thorough
rascal" is offensive to you, you can always decline the money. (Folds
up will and puts it in his pocket--CARVE walks about.) Now where's
the doctor?

CARVE. He's left his card. There it is.

CYRUS. He might have waited.

CARVE. Yes. But he didn't. His house is only three doors off.

CYRUS. (Looking at his watch.) I'll go in and see him about the
certificate. Now you haven't begun to put your things together, and
you've only got a bit over half an hour. In less than that time I shall
be back. I shall want to look through your luggage before you leave.

CARVE. (Lightly.) Shall you?

CYRUS. By the way, you have a latchkey? (CARVE nods.) Give it me,
please.

(CARVE surrenders latchkey.)

(CYRUS turns to go--As he is disappearing through the door, L.,
CARVE starts forward.)

CARVE. I say.

CYRUS. What now?

CARVE. (Subsiding weakly.) Nothing.

(Exit CYRUS. Sound of front door opening and of voices in
hall.)

(Then re-enter CYRUS with JANET CANNOT.)

CYRUS. This is Mr. Albert Shawn. Shawn, a friend of yours.

(Exit L.)

CARVE. (Pleased.) Oh! You!

JANET. Good-morning. D'you know, I had a suspicion the other night that
you must be Mr. Shawn?

CARVE. Had you? Well, will you sit down--er--I say (with a humorous
mysterious air). What do you think of that chap? (Pointing in
direction of hall.)

JANET. Who is it?

CARVE. It's Mr. Cyrus Carve. The great West End auctioneer.

(Sound of front-door shutting rather too vigorously.)

JANET. Well, I see no reason why he should look at me as if I'd insulted
him.

CARVE. Did he?

JANET. "Good-morning," I said to him. "Excuse me, but are you Mr. Albert
Shawn?" Because I wasn't sure, you know. And he looked.

CARVE. (After laughing.) The man is an ass.

JANET. Is he?

CARVE. Not content with being an ass merely, he is a pompous and a
stupid ass. (Laughs again to himself.) Now there is something very
important that he ought to know, and he wouldn't let me tell him.
JANET. Really?

CARVE. Yes, very important. But no. He wouldn't let me tell him. And
perhaps if I'd told him he wouldn't have believed me.

JANET. What did he do to stop you from telling him?

CARVE. (At a loss, vaguely.) I don't know--Wouldn't let me.

JANET. If you ask me, I should say the truth is, you didn't want to tell
him.

CARVE. (Impressed.) Now I wonder if