o--it won't do at all!

PRESS. [Writing-absorbed] "Beginning of the British Revolution!"

POULDER. [To JAMES] Put it in the cooler. 'Enry, 'old up the
cooler. Gently! Miss Anne, get be'ind the Press.

JAMES. [Grimly--holding the bomb above the cooler] It won't be the
Press that'll stop Miss Anne's goin' to 'Eaven if one o' this sort
goes off. Look out! I'm goin' to drop it.

[ALL recoil. HENRY puts the cooler down and backs away.]

L. ANNE. [Dancing forward] Oh! Let me see! I missed all the war,
you know!

[JAMES lowers the bomb into the cooler.]

POULDER. [Regaining courage--to THE PRESS, who is scribbling in his
note-book] If you mention this before the police lay their hands on
it, it'll be contempt o' Court.

PRESS. [Struck] I say, major domo, don't call in the police!
That's the last resort. Let me do the Sherlocking for you. Who's
been down here?

L. ANNE. The plumber's man about the gas---a little blighter we'd
never seen before.

JAMES. Lives close by, in Royal Court Mews--No. 3. I had a word
with him before he came down. Lemmy his name is.

PRESS. "Lemmy!" [Noting the address] Right-o!

L. ANNE. Oh! Do let me come with you!

POULDER. [Barring the way] I've got to lay it all before Lord
William.

PRESS. Ah! What's he like?

POULDER. [With dignity] A gentleman, sir.

PRESS. Then he won't want the police in.

POULDER. Nor the Press, if I may go so far, as to say so.

PRESS. One to you! But I defy you to keep this from the Press,
major domo: This is the most significant thing that has happened in
our time. Guy Fawkes is nothing to it. The foundations of Society
reeling! By George, it's a second Bethlehem!

[He writes.]

POULDER. [To JAMES] Take up your wine and follow me. 'Enry, bring
the cooler. Miss Anne, precede us. [To THE PRESS] You defy me?
Very well; I'm goin' to lock you up here.

PRESS. [Uneasy] I say this is medieval.

[He attempts to pass.]

POULDER. [Barring the way] Not so! James, put him up in that empty
'ock bin. We can't have dinner disturbed in any way.

JAMES. [Putting his hands on THE PRESS'S shoulders] Look here--go
quiet! I've had a grudge against you yellow newspaper boys ever
since the war--frothin' up your daily hate, an' makin' the Huns
desperate. You nearly took my life five hundred times out there. If
you squeal, I'm gain' to take yours once--and that'll be enough.

PRESS. That