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—A luxuriously furnished room in the flat of Violet Hazelwood''. Violet is seated, writing. The telephone on the table rings noisily.''

Violet (picking up the receiver). Hello ! Yes... It 's me... Oh, it's Reggie... Yes, I 'm at home to you... In three minutes?... Right, I shall be here. (Hangs up receiver.)

Maid (entering suddenly). Sir Frank Bulkeley, m'm. (Goes out and Sir Frank enters.)

Sir Frank. My dear Violet (A report is heard and a splintering of glass.) Confound it all, I'm shot! (Falls on floor.)

Violet. Yes, he certainly appears to be shot. I'd better go and see the police about it. (Goes out.)

Reggie Fortescue (entering precipitately). Violet... (Looking round in perplexity). Not here! She said she would be here... She is false to me. False! I have nothing left to live for. (Takes out a revolver, shoots himself and falls on the floor.)

Gerald Maristowe (entering cautiously through the window and carrying a rifle). This is a devil of a risky business, this rifle practice, but Ulster must he saved somehow. I see I've broken the window. Wonder if I've done any other damage. (Sees Sir Frank.) Gee! I've killed a man! (Sees Reggie.) Oh, glory! I've killed two of 'em! Reggie, too, by all that's rum! I say, you know, that's pretty useful shooting... Still, it probably means hanging, and I 'm—er—hanged if I'll be hanged. Let me rather die by my own hand. (Discharges rifle at himself, and falls on floor.)

Violet (re-entering with an Inspector and a Constable). There he is, Inspector. (Sees Gerald.) My goodness, there seem to be two now! I feel sure... (Sees Reggie.) Three! Really, Inspector, I feel almost certain that when I left... Oh, it's Reggie! My heart is broken! (Faints.)

Inspector. Stand back, Clarkson; this job requires thought. (Takes up telephone receiver.) Circus 20634, Miss... That you Doc.? Come round at once, please... Two or three men shot... Right... (Hangs up receiver.) Clarkson, measure the exact distance between each corpse and the window. (Clarkson proceeds to do so. Enter Doctor.) Ah, Doc., that's the little job I mentioned.

Doctor (kneeling by Violet). This one isn't shot; she's only fainted. She'll be all right in a minute. (Examines Gerald.) Nor is this one. He'll be all right in a minute. (Examines Reggie.) Nor is this one. He'll be all right in a minute. (Examines Sir Frank.) This one is, though. Dead as a door-nail. (Violet, Reggie and Gerald rise simultaneously to their feet.) There you are! I told you so.

Gerald (aside). Missed!

Reggie (aside). Missed! (Aloud) Violet, I love you!

Violet. I'm so glad, because I love you.

Reggie (confidentially). Do you know, I really thought I was dead. Hello, Gerald, old son, what are you doing here?

Gerald. Oh, I thought I'd sort of look in, you know.

Inspector. Violet Hazelwood, I arrest you for the murder of Sir Frank Bulkeley, Bart., and I warn you that anything you may say will be used in evidence against you. Clarkson, stop playing with that tape and handcuff the prisoner. (Clarkson does so.)

Gerald (aside). Good business! That saves my neck.

Violet. But, my dear good soul... However, I suppose it's no use to say anything. Reggie, I can never marry you now.

Reggie. You couldn't in any case, my dear, because I haven't got any money.

Violet. You forget that you are sole heir to Sir Frank there, who had fourteen thousand a year. I thought of that at once.

Reggie. Columbus! So I am. Well, that is a dashed nuisance.

Gerald (coming forward nobly). My dear, dear friends, I cannot allow your happiness to be wrecked in this way. I killed Sir Frank! You can be married now.

Reggie. Good egg! (Embraces Violet.)

Inspector. Gerald Maristowe, I arrest you for the murder of Sir Frank Bulkeley, Bart., and I warn you that anything you may say will be used in evidence against you.

Violet. Oh, we must save him. What can we do?

Clarkson. Lady, do you remember years ago giving sixpence to a starving boy in Peckham Rye?

Violet. Yes.

Clarkson. I am—that is, was—that boy. I will save your friend. Inspector, you know that a reward of £10,000 is offered for the capture of the anarchist Mazzio?

Inspector. Yes. I wish to heaven I could lay my hands on him.

Clarkson. I can tell you how to do so.

Inspector. How?

Clarkson (dramatically tearing of his wig and false moustache). I am Mazzio! (Turning to Gerald and the others) I shall struggle violently. While he is engaged in arresting me, you can make good your escape.

Inspector. Ha! Do you think I can be so easily baffled ? (Picking up telephone receiver.) There are other police in the neighbourhood.

Violet. Not so. (Slashes through the telephone cord with a knife.)

Gerald. Bravo!

Inspector. Oh, well, never mind. (Puts his head out of the window and blows a police whistle. The others look at one another in consternation.) Now I think I am master of the situation.

Clarkson. Foiled! All the same, you are less fortunate than you imagine. When I said I was Mazzio, I lied.

Inspector. Prove it.

Clarkson. Easily. Mazzio has a scar on his left forearm. (Rolling up sleeve.) I have none.

Inspector. Oh, well, never mind. I can now proceed with the arrest of the murderer of Sir Frank Bulkeley, Bart.

Gerald (aside). I'm done for!

Clarkson. There must be some way of escape. Doc., it's up to you to do something.

Doctor. With pleasure. I certify that Sir Frank died from heart disease.

Inspector (stammering). But—but—but he's obviously shot. I mean to say—

Doctor. I certify that Sir Frank Bulkeley died from heart disease ten seconds before the bullet struck him. You can do nothing in the face of my certificate.

Gerald, Reggie and Violet. Saved!



"'A Hamburg bookkeeper named Salute, who has just celebrated his 8th birthday, has been with his employers for sixty years, while his son, his grandson, and his great-grandson are also working for them.' The Evening News."

"'During the last two years some marvellous 'finds' have been made at this wonderful fortress from time to time. It is intended to continue excavation work for a moth.' Denbighshire Free Press."

They can be caught much better with beer and treacle.

"London, Wednesday.—Mr. Joseph Martin, Liberal M.P. for East St. Pancras, is resigning his seat, and will recontest it as an independent South Pole under American auspices.'—Sydney Daily Telegraph."

Sir must look out.