MRS. TERENCE: Why, what's 'e done?

HUBERT: Exactly.

OLIVIA: I don't know, but I feel so strongly ... Is Dora there?...

(_Calling cautiously_) Dora!

MRS. TERENCE: Oh, she won't know anything. She's as 'alf-witted as she's lazy, and that's sayin' a lot. She'd cut 'er nose off to stop the dust-bin smelling sooner than empty it, she would.

DORA _comes in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her ap.r.o.n._

DORA: Did somebody say Dora?

OLIVIA: Has Dan said any more about marrying you?

DORA: No. _She_ 'asn't brought it up again, either.

OLIVIA: Does he talk to you at all?

DORA (_perplexed_): Oh ... only how-do-you-do and beg-your-pardon.

I've never really spent any time in 'is company, you see. Except, o'

course--

HUBERT: Quite. What's your idea of him?

DORA: Oh.... (_Moving to the centre of the room_) 'E's all right.

Takes 'is fun where 'e finds it. And leaves it.... Cracks 'imself up, you know. Pretends 'e doesn't care a twopenny, but always got 'is eye on what you're thinking of 'im ... if you know what I mean.

OLIVIA: Yes, I do. That incredible vanity ... they always have it.

Always.

HUBERT: Who?

_A pause._

OLIVIA: Murderers.

_A pause. They stare at her._

HUBERT: Good G.o.d!...

MRS. TERENCE: D'you mean ... this woman they're looking for?

OLIVIA: I'm sure of it.

MRS. TERENCE: But 'es's such a--such a ordinary boy--

OLIVIA: That's just it--and then he's suddenly so ... extraordinary.

I've felt it ever since I heard him sing that song--I told you--

HUBERT: That "mighty-lak-a-rose" thing, you mean? Oh, but it's a pretty well-known one--

OLIVIA: It's more than that. I've kept on saying to myself: No, murder's a thing we read about in the papers; it isn't real life; it can't touch us. ... But it can. And it's here. All round us. In the forest ... in this house. We're ... living with it. (_After a pause, rising decisively_) Bring his luggage in here, will you, Mrs.

Terence?

MRS. TERENCE (_staggered_): 'Is luggage? (_Recovering, to_ DORA) Give me a 'and.

_Wide-eyed, she goes into the kitchen, followed by_ DORA.

HUBERT: I say, this is a bit thick, you know--spying--

OLIVIA (_urgently_): We may never have the house to ourselves again.

_She runs to each window and looks out across the forest._ MRS.

TERENCE _returns carrying luggage: one large and one small suitcase_. DORA _follows, lugging an old-fashioned thick leather hat-box_. MRS. TERENCE _places the suitcases on the table_; DORA _plants the hat-box in the middle of the floor._

MRS. TERENCE (_in a conspiratorial tone_): This is all.

HUBERT: But look here, we can't do this--

OLIVIA _snaps open the lid of the larger suitcase with a jerk. A pause. They look, almost afraid_. DORA _moves to the back of the table._

MRS. TERENCE (_as_ OLIVIA _lifts it gingerly_): A dirty shirt ...

HUBERT: That's all right.

OLIVIA: A clean pair of socks ... packet of razor-blades ...

HUBERT: We shouldn't be doing this--I feel as if I were at school again--

MRS. TERENCE: Singlet ...

OLIVIA: Half ticket to Shepperley Palais de Danse ...

MRS. TERENCE: Oh, it's a proper 'aunt!

DORA: Oh, 'ere's a pocket-book. With a letter.

(_She gives the letter to_ MRS. TERENCE _and the pocket-book to_ OLIVIA.)

HUBERT: Look here, this is going a bit too far--you can't do this to a chap--

MRS. TERENCE (_taking the letter from the envelope_): Don't be silly, dear, your wife'll do it to you 'undreds of times....

(_Sniffing the note-paper_) Pooh.... (_Reading, as they crane over her shoulder_) "Dear Baby-Face my own ..." Signed Lil....

OLIVIA: What awful writing....

MRS. TERENCE (_reading, heavily_): "... Next time you strike Newcastle, O.K. by me, baby...." Ooh!

HUBERT: Just another servant-girl.... Sorry, Dora....