heart! It will break his heart! (_A knock._)

BRODIE. You hear!

MARY. Yes, yes. Forgive me. I am going. I will go. It is to save you, is
it not? To save you. Walter ... Mr. Leslie ... O Deacon, Deacon, God
forgive you! (_She goes out._)

BRODIE. Amen. But will He?

SCENE VII

BRODIE, HUNT

HUNT (_hat in hand_). Mr. Deacon Brodie, I believe?

BRODIE. I am he, Mr----?

HUNT. Hunt, sir: an officer from Sir John Fielding of Bow Street.

BRODIE. There can be no better passport than the name. In what can I
serve you?

HUNT. You'll excuse me, Mr. Deacon.

BRODIE. Your duty excuses you, Mr. Hunt.

HUNT. Your obedient. The fact is, Mr. Deacon (we in the office see a
good deal of the lives of private parties; and I needn't tell a
gentleman of your experience it's part of our duty to hold our tongues.
Now), it comes to our knowledge that you are a trifle jokieous. Of
course I know there ain't any harm in that. I've been young myself, Mr.
Deacon, and speaking----

BRODIE. O, but pardon me, Mr. Hunt, I am not going to discuss my private
character with you.

HUNT. To be sure you ain't. (And do I blame you? Not me.) But, speaking
as one man of the world to another, you naturally see a great deal of
bad company.

BRODIE. Not half so much as you do. But I see what you're driving at;
and if I can illuminate the course of justice, you may command me. (_He
sits, and motions HUNT to do likewise._)

HUNT. I was dead sure of it: and 'and upon 'art, Mr. Deacon, I thank
you. Now--(_consulting pocket-book_)--did you ever meet a certain George
Smith?

BRODIE. The fellow they call Jingling Geordie? (_HUNT nods._) Yes.

HUNT. Bad character?

BRODIE. Let us say ... disreputable.

HUNT. Any means of livelihood?

BRODIE. I really cannot pretend to guess. I have met the creature at
cock-fights (which, as you know, are my weakness). Perhaps he bets.

HUNT. (Mr. Deacon, from what I know of the gentleman, I should say that
if he don't--if he ain't open to any mortal thing--he ain't the man I
mean.) He used to be about with a man called Badger Moore.

BRODIE. The boxer?

HUNT. That's him. Know anything of him?

BRODIE. Not much. I lost five pieces on him in a fight; and I fear he
sold his backers.

HUNT. Speaking as one admirer of the noble art to another, Mr. Deacon,
the losers always do. I suppose the Badger cock-fights like the rest of
us?

BRODIE. I have met him in the pit.

HUNT. Well, it's a pretty spor