MRS. BRAMSON: Sh!

DAN: What?

MRS. BRAMSON: What's that?

DAN: Can you hear something?

MRS. BRAMSON: Yes! A sort of--thumping noise....

_She looks at him suddenly, leans forward, and puts her right hand inside his jacket._

Why, Danny, it's you! It's your heart ... beating!

_He laughs_.

Well! Are you all right, dear?

DAN: Fine. I been running along the path, see.... (_Garrulously_) I been out of training, I suppose; when I was at sea I never missed a day running round the decks, o' course....

MRS. BRAMSON (_sleepily_): Of course.

DAN (_speaking quickly, as if eager to conjure up a vision_): I remember those mornings--on some sea--very misty pale it is, with the sun like breathing silver where he's comin' up across the water, but not blowing on the sea at all ... and the sea-gulls standing on the deck-rail looking at themselves in the water on the deck, and only me about and nothing else ...

MRS. BRAMSON (_nodding sleepily_): Yes ...

DAN: And the sun. Just me and the sun.

MRS. BRAMSON (_nodding_): There's no sun now, dear; it's night!

_A pause. He drums his fingers on the Bible._

DAN: Yes ... it's night now. (_Reading, feverishly_) "The unG.o.dly are not so, but are like the chaff which the wind driveth away----"

MRS. BRAMSON: I think I'll go to bye-byes.... We'll have the rest to-morrow, shall we? (_Testily_) Help me, dear, help me, you know what I am----

DAN (_drumming his fingers: suddenly, urgently_): Wait a minute ...

I--I've only got two more verses----

MRS. BRAMSON: Hurry it up, dear. I don't want to wake up in the morning with a nasty cold.

DAN (_reading slowly_): "... Therefore the unG.o.dly shall not stand in the judgment, nor sinners in the congregation of the righteous....

For the Lord knoweth the way of the righteous ... But the way of the unG.o.dly ... shall perish ..."

_A pause. He shuts the Bible loudly, and lays it on the table._ MRS. BRAMSON _can hardly keep awake._

That's the end.

MRS. BRAMSON: Is it?... Ah, well, it's been a long day----

DAN: Are you quite comfortable?

MRS. BRAMSON: A bit achy. Glad to get to bed. Hope that woman's put my bottle in all right. Bet she hasn't----

DAN: Sure you're comfortable? Wouldn't you like a cushion back of your head?

MRS. BRAMSON: No, dear, just wheel me----

DAN (_rising_): I think you'll be more comfortable with a cushion.

(_Rising, humming_) "I'm a pretty little feller, everybody knows ...

dunno what to call me ..."

_He goes deliberately across, humming, and picks up a large black cushion from the sofa. His hands close on the cushion, and he stands silent a moment. He moves slowly back to the other side of her; he stands looking at her, his back three-quarters to the audience and his face hidden: he is holding the cushion in both hands._

MRS. BRAMSON _shakes herself out of sleep and looks at him._

MRS. BRAMSON: What a funny look on your face, dear. Smiling like that.... (_Foolishly_) You look so kind ...

_He begins to raise the cushion slowly._

So kind ... (_Absently_) What are you going to do with that cushion?...

_The lights dim gradually into complete darkness, and the music grows into a thunderous crescendo._

SCENE II

_The music plays a few bars, then dies down proportionately as the lights come up again.

Half an hour later. The scene is the same, with the same lighting; the room is empty and the wheel-chair has been removed._

DAN _comes in from the sun-room, smoking the stub of a cigarette. He crosses smartly, takes the bottle and gla.s.ses from the floor by the sofa and places them on the table, pours himself a quick drink, places the bottle on the floor next the desk, throws away his stub, takes another cigarette from his pocket, puts it in his mouth, takes out a box of matches, and lights a match. The clock chimes. He looks at it, seems to make a decision, blows out the match, throws the matchbox on the table, takes_ MRS. BRAMSON'S _tape and keys from his trouser pocket, crosses quickly to the safe by the fireplace, opens it, takes out the cash-box, sits on the sofa, unlocks the cash-box, stuffs the keys back into his trousers, opens the cash-box, takes out the notes, looks at them, delighted, stuffs them into his pocket, hurries into the sun-room, returns a second later with the empty invalid chair, plants it in the middle of the room, picks up the cushion from the floor above the table, looks at it a moment, arrested, throws it callously on the invalid chair, hurries into the kitchen, returns immediately with the paraffin, sprinkles it freely over the invalid chair, places the can under the table, lifts the paraffin lamp from the table, and is just about to smash it over the invalid chair when there is the sound of a chair falling over in the sun-room. His face inscrutable, he looks towards it. He carries the lamp stealthily to the desk, puts it down, looks round, picks a chair from near the table, and stands at the sun-room door with the chair held high above his head.

The stagger of footsteps;_ OLIVIA _stands in the doorway to the sun-room. She has been running through the forest; her clothes are wild, her hair has fallen about her shoulders, and she is no longer wearing her spectacles. She looks nearly beautiful. Her manner is quiet, almost dazed. He lowers the chair slowly and sits on the other side of the table. A pause._

OLIVIA: I've never seen a dead body before.... I climbed through the window and nearly fell over it. Like a sack of potatoes, or something.

I thought it was, at first.... And that's murder.

_As he looks up at her._

But it's so ordinary.... I came back ...

_As he lights his cigarette._

... expecting ... ha (_laughing hysterically_) ... I don't know ... and here I find you, smoking a cigarette ... you might have been tidying the room for the night. It's so ... ordinary.... (_After a pause, with a cry_) Why don't you _say_ something!

DAN: I thought you were goin' to stay the night at that feller's.

OLIVIA: I was.