Carve. Going away?

Janet. (Smiling.) Now do listen, darling. Let's go away. We can't stop here. This Ebag case is getting more and more on your nerves, and on mine too. I'm sure that's what's the matter with us. What it'll be next week when the trial comes on, I don't know—upon my soul I don't. It's all very well for you to refuse to see callers and never go out. But I can tell you one thing—we shall have those newspaper people on the roof in a day or two, and looking down the chimney to see how I lay the fire. Lawyers are nothing to them. Do you know—no you don't, because I didn't want you to be upset—last night's milk was brought by a journalist—with a camera. They're beginning to bribe the tradesmen. I tremble to think what will be in this morning's papers.

Carve. (Trying to make light of it.) Oh, nothing will upset me now. But you might let me know at once if the editor of the Spectator calls round with the bread.

[115]Janet. And I'll tell you another thing. That Mr. Horning—you know the breathless man on the Evening Courier that came to the Grand Babylon—he's taken lodgings opposite—arrived last night.

Carve. Oh, for a machine gun—one simple little machine gun!

Janet. So I thought if we just vanished—

Carve. It's too late—I've had the subpoena. If I hooked it, everybody would say I was an adventurer.

Janet. We could come back for the trial.

Carve. We should be followed.

Janet. Not if we start now.

Carve. Now?

Janet. Yes, now! The back door. Before it gets light.

Carve. Creep away in the dark! No! I'll go through with the thing.

Janet. Well, I shall travel alone, then. Here's my bunch of keys. I'll just explain to you where everything is. I daresay Mrs. Simpson will come in and clean up. She's not bad, as charwomen go.

Carve. Jane!

[116]

Janet. Well!

Carve. You're taking an unfair advantage of me.

Janet. (Putting tea leaves in teapot.) What if I am?

Carve. You're only a woman after all.... And I'd thought so highly of you!

Janet. (Sweetly.) Then you'll come. Better brush yourself up first.

Carve. What time is it?

Janet. (Looking at clock.) Seven o'clock.

Carve. Where do you mean to drag me to?

Janet. Well, what about this Continent of yours that I've heard so much of?

Carve. There's a train from Victoria at 8.30.

Janet. Very well then. We'll have another breakfast at Victoria.

Carve. And the cab?

Janet. There isn't going to be any cab—nor luggage—rousing the whole street! (Carve goes to window.) For goodness' sake don't draw those curtains—with the gas flaring up!

Carve. Why not?

Janet. (Conspiratorial.) Supposing there's some journalist on the watch outside!

Carve. I wanted to look at the weather.

Janet. Well, go to the front door, and mind you open it quietly.

[117]

Carve. I say, here's a curate pushed himself in at the front door!

Janet. No, he's come in at the back.

Carve. But I tell you he's here!

James. Now let me entreat everybody to remain perfectly calm.

Janet. Oh, don't worry about that. Nothing startles us now. A few curates more or less....

Carve. (Sinking into chair.) I suppose this is the very newest journalism. Would you mind me asking a question?

James. What is it?

Carve. Why did you wait till the door was opened? Seems a pity to stand on ceremony. Why not have broken a window or so and climbed right in?

James. John, is mother there?

[118]John. (At door, R.) Mother, how often shall I have to ask you to keep close to me?

Mrs. S. I'm all of a tremble.

John. (Firmly.) Come now, you mustn't give way. This is he (pointing to Carve). Do you recognise him as our father? (Janet, who is cutting a slice of bread, stops and looks from one to the other.)

Mrs. S. (To Carve.) Albert, don't you know me? To think that next Tuesday it'll be six and twenty years since you walked out o' the house casual like and—and—(Stops from emotion.)

Carve. Go on. Go on.... To think that I was once shy!

Janet. (To Mrs. Shawn.) Here, you'd better come and sit a bit nearer the fire. (Very kindly.) Come along now!

Mrs. S. (Obeying.) Thank you, m'm.

Janet. (To John.) And which of you boys was it that had the idea of keeping a middle-aged woman perishing on a doorstep before daylight in February?

John. How else could we—

James. (Interrupting him.) Excuse me, John.

John. (Subsiding.) I beg your pardon, James.

James. (To Janet.) All questions should be addressed to me. My brother John is here [119]solely to take charge of our mother. We have done our best, by careful forethought, to ensure that this painful interview shall be as brief and as dignified as possible.

Janet. And couldn't you think of anything cleverer than to give your poor mother her death of cold for a start?

James. How else could we have arranged it? I myself rang at your door for a quarter of an hour yesterday afternoon.

Janet. We never heard you.

James. Strange!

Janet. No, it isn't. We took the bell off three days ago.

James. I was told that it was impossible to effect an entrance in the ordinary way. Hence, we had to use craft. I argued that food must come into the house, and that it probably came in early.

Janet. Well, it's a good thing for you I happened to hear the cat mewing, or you might have had another couple of hours in my back yard. You're the eldest, I suppose.

James. We are twins.

Janet. Really!

Carve. As you say—really!

James. I am the older, but the difference between us is not considerable.

John. Now, mother, please don't cry.

Janet. (Having poured out a cup of tea, holds [120]it before Mrs. Shawn.) Sugar? (Mrs. Shawn signifies an affirmative—Janet drops sugar into cup, which Mrs. Shawn takes.) You'll drink it easier if you lift your veil.

James. Now, mother—you are sure you recognise this gentleman?

Mrs. S. (Not very positively.) Yes—yes. It's a rare long while....

James. He is your husband and our father?

Mrs. S. (More positively.) Yes. And sorry I am to say it. (Janet eyes her carefully.)

James. I think that suffices. (To Janet.) Madam, you are in a most unfortunate position. You supposed yourself to be a married woman, whereas you are nothing of the kind. I needn't say that as the victim of a heartless bigamist you have our deepest....

Janet. (Handing him a slice of bread on toasting-fork.) Just toast this for your mother, will you, and mind the bars. I'll get another cup or two. (Goes to sideboard and gets crockery.)

Carve. And so these are my two sons! They show little emotion in beholding the author of their being for the first time. As for me, I hardly recognise them.

Mrs. S. And is it likely, seeing they were born six months after you deserted me, Albert?

[121]Carve. I see. If it isn't indiscreet, am I a grandfather?

James. (Toasting.) No, sir.

Carve. I only wanted to know the worst. Silly joke about the fertility of curates—you've met with it, no doubt!

James. Your tone is simply lamentable, sir.

Janet. (To James.) Mind! You can do the other side. Now, take care; the fire's very hot. (In the same mild tone to Mrs. Shawn.) Twenty-six years, you say?

Mrs. S. Yes. Albert was twenty-two then, weren't you, Albert?

Carve. Undoubtedly.

Janet. And how did you come to find us out at last?

Mrs. S. It was through an advertisement put in the paper by that Mr. Texel—him that's in this law case—offering a reward for information about a Mr. Albert Shawn who'd been valet to that artist man that died.

Janet. Oh! So Mr. Texel has been advertising, has he? (Giving a cup of tea to John Shawn.)

Mrs. S. Yes, for anybody that knew Albert Shawn when he was young. "Albert Shawn," I says, "that's my husband's name." I'd been told he'd gone off in service with a painter or something of that kind. I married him as a valet.

[122]

Janet. (Pouring out tea.) A valet?

Mrs. S. A valet, ma'am.... And the struggle I've had to bring up my children. (Whimpering.)

James. Now, mother!

Janet. (Stopping James.) That will do now! Give it me. (Taking toast and fork.) Here's some tea. Now don't pretend you've never seen a cup of tea before—you a curate!

Mrs. S. Yes, they would go into the church, both of them! I don't know how we've managed it, but managed it we have, surplices and all. And very happy they were, I'm sure. And now there's this dreadful scandal. Oh, Albert, you might at least have changed your name! I—I—— (Partially breaks down.)

John. Mother, I beg——(Mrs. Shawn breaks down entirely.) Mother, I absolutely insist. You know you promised not to speak at all except in answer to questions.

James. I think, mother, you really might try——

John. Leave her to me! Now, mother!

Janet. (To John Shawn.) There's the post! Just go and bring me the letters in, will you? [123](John hesitates?) You'll find them scattered about the floor in the hall. Don't miss any.

James. And what do you propose to do, madam?

Janet. (Who has been soothing Mrs. Shawn.) Me? What about?

James. About this—this bigamy.

Janet. Oh, nothing. What are you thinking of doing?

James. Well, I suppose you're aware that bigamy is a criminal offence?

Janet. There's a police-station in the Upper Richmond Road. Better call there. It'll be so nice for you two, when you're flourishing about in the pulpit, to think of your father in prison—won't it now?

James. We, of course, should not prosecute. If you are prepared to go on living with this gentleman as though nothing had happened—

Janet. Oh, I don't mind.

James. Well, then, I doubt if we should interfere. [124]But Mr. Texel's lawyers are already in communication with the police.

Janet. (Stiffly.) I see. (An awkward pause during which everybody except Carve, who is reading his post, looks at everybody else.) Well, then, I think that's about all, isn't it? (A shorter pause.) Good-morning. (She bows to the curates, and shakes hands with Mrs. Shawn.) (To Mrs. Shawn.) Now do take care of yourself.

Mrs. S. (Weakly.) Thank you.

John. Good-morning. Mother, take my arm, please.

James. Good-morning.

Janet. Albert, they're going.

Carve. (Looking up absently and only half rising, perfunctorily and quickly) Good-morning. Good-morning. (Sits down.)

Janet. (To James Shawn, who is hovering near door L, uncertain of his way out.) This way, this time!

Janet. (Cheerfully) Oh, it's quite light! (Turns out gas.)

[125]Carve. (Gazing at her.) Incomparable woman!

Janet. So it's true after all!

Carve. What?

Janet. All that rigmarole about you being Ilam Carve?

Carve. You're beginning to come round at last?

Janet. Well, I think they were quite honest people—those three. There's no doubt the poor creature once had a husband who did run off. And it seems fairly clear his name was Albert Shawn, and he went away as valet to an artist. But then, on the other hand, if there is one thing certain in this world, it is that you were never married before you married me. That I will swear to.

Carve. And yet she identified me. She was positive.

Janet. Positive? That's just what she wasn't! And didn't you notice the queer way she looked at you as they went out? As much as to say, "I wonder now whether it is him—after all?"

Carve. Then you really think she could be mistaken on such a point?

Janet. Pooh! After twenty-six years. Besides, all men of forty-seven look more or less alike.... And so I'm the wife of Ilam Carve [126]that's supposed to be buried in Westminster Abbey and royalty went to his funeral! We'll have some tea ourselves. I say, why did you do it? (Pours out tea.)

Carve. (Casually.) I don't know. It was to save worry to begin with, and then it went on by itself and somehow I couldn't stop it.... I don't know!

Janet. (Endearingly.) Well, I've always told you frankly you've got a bee in your bonnet. (Drinking tea and turning over the post.) More letters from these newspaper people! What's this lovely crest on this envelope?

Carve. It's from Lord Leonard Alcar. He says if we'll go up and see him to-morrow afternoon he'll be very much obliged indeed, and he may be able to be of assistance to us.

Janet. (Deeply impressed.) Lord Leonard Al ... Where's the letter? (Searches for it hurriedly. As she reads it.) Well I never! (Reading) "And Mrs. Shawn." I've got nothing to go in.

Carve. Oh, I shan't go!

Janet. Why not?

Carve. Well, what about this trip to the Continent?

Janet. Continent fiddlesticks. I've never been asked to go and see a Lord before....

[127]Carve. Now listen, Jane. What earthly good can it do? I shan't go.

Janet. I shall. So there! Six Dukes in the family! I wouldn't miss it for anything.

[128]

---

ACT IV

SCENE I

Lord Leonard Alcar's study, Grosvenor Gardens. Door, back centre. Door, L. Janet's portrait is conspicuous on a wall.

Time.—The next afternoon.

Lord Leonard Alcar and Mr. Texel are coming into the room from door at back.

Alcar. You still go on collecting, Mr. Texel?

Texel. (Uncertain of his steps.) Well, yes. I've been amusing myself with pictures for pretty nigh forty years. Why should I deprive myself of this pleasure merely because my eyesight's gone?

Alcar. Why, indeed! You have the true collecting spirit. Permit me (directs Texel's hand to chair).

Texel. Thanks, I'm on to it (Sitting down.) My sight's going steadily worse, but there are still a few things that I can make out pretty clearly, Lord Leonard. Motor omnibuses, cathedrals, English easy-chairs....

[129]Alcar. Well, I'm charmed to find you in such good spirits, and really I feel very grateful to you for accepting my invitation.

Texel. Delighted to make your acquaintance, sir. Two old collectors like us—rivals at Christie's. I wonder how many times I've cabled over instructions to my agent to smash you at any cost. Delighted to meet you, Lord Leonard.

Alcar. We ought to have met earlier, Mr. Texel. Now I've got you here, I must tell you I've ventured to invite one or two—er—kindred spirits to meet you.

Servant. Mr. Ebag.

Alcar. How d'you do, Ebag?

Ebag. My lord.

Alcar. Let me introduce you to Mr. Texel. Mr. Texel, this is Mr. Ebag.

Texel. (Surprised—aside to Lord Leonard Alcar.) This one of your kindred spirits?

Ebag. (Also surprised?) Mr. Texel!

Texel. (Holding out his hand towards Ebag, who takes it.) Well, Mr. Ebag, I've made a special journey to Europe to get a verdict from an English court that you've done me up for [130]about thirty thousand dollars, and if I get it I'll do my level best afterwards to see you safe into prison; but in the meantime I'm very glad to meet you. I feel sure you're one of the right sort, whatever you are.

Ebag. You flatter me, Mr. Texel. The gladness is mutual.

Servant. Mr. Cyrus Carve. Mr. and Mrs. X.

Janet. You Lord Alcar?

Alcar. I am Lord Leonard Alcar?

Janet. My mistake! (They shake hands.) But why does this young man call me Mrs. X. I told him Carve, plain enough.

Alcar. Did he? A slip—a slip! You've brought your husband?

Janet. Yes, but not so easily as all that. I'm afraid he's quarrelling out there with Mr. Cyrus Carve. They get across one another on the stairs.

Alcar. Tut-tut. Excuse me one moment.

Janet. Mr. Ebag! So you're here too! Why, it's a family party.

[131]Ebag. (Astounded.) How do you do, Mrs. Shawn? I beg pardon, Mrs. Carve.

Janet. It seems I'm Mrs. X now—didn't you hear?

Ebag. I expect the servant had received instructions. His lordship has a great reputation for wit, you know.

Janet. (Looking round.) And what's this room supposed to be?

Ebag. Oh, the study, probably.

Janet. Really! Not what you'd call 'homely,' is it? Rather like being on the stage.

Alcar. Now we're all safely here, and I fancy there will be enough easy-chairs to go round. Mr. Texel, you already know Mr. Cyrus Carve, and you will be pleased to meet the talented artist who painted the pictures which you have been buying from Mr. Ebag. He has most kindly consented to be called Mr. X for the moment. This is Mrs. X, Mr. Texel.

Ebag. (To Cyrus.) How d'you do?

Cyrus. How d'you do?

Carve. How d'you do?

[132]

Alcar. (Observing that these three are already acquainted.) Good! Excellent! Now, Mrs.—er—X, will you have this chair near the fire? (Fixes chair for her.)

Texel. (Indicating Janet, aside to Ebag.) Good looking?

Ebag. (Aside to Texel.) Very agreeable little thing!

Texel. Excellent! Excellent!

Alcar. (Interrupting a gesture from Carve.) You have all done me a signal favour by coming here. In thanking you, I wonder if I may ask another favour. May I?

Texel. Certainly. Among kindred spirits.

Ebag. Assuredly, my lord.

Alcar. I would merely request you to control so far as possible any expression of your astonishment at meeting one another here. That is to say, any violent expression.

Carve. (Gaily and carelessly.) Oh, very well! Very well!

(Lord Leonard Alcar waves the rest of the company into chairs, tactfully separating Cyrus and Carve as much as possible. He remains standing himself.)

Janet. I suppose what you really want is to stop this funny trial from coming on.

Alcar. (Slightly taken aback.) Mrs. X, I congratulate myself on your presence here. Yes, [133]my ambition is to be peacemaker. Of course a peacemaker always runs the risk of a broken head, but I shall entrust my head to your good nature. As a proof that I really mean business, I need only point out that I haven't invited a single lawyer.

Ebag. (After slight pause.) This is exceedingly good of your lordship.

Texel. For myself I'm rather looking forward to next week. I've spared no expense to get up a first-class show. Half the papers in New York and Chicago are sending over special correspondents. I've even secured your champion humorous judge; and altogether I reckon this trial will be about the greatest judicial proposition the British public's seen in years. Still, I'm always ready to oblige—and I'll shake hands right now, on terms—my terms.

Alcar. We are making progress.

Texel. But what I don't understand is—where you come in, Lord Leonard.

Alcar. Where I come in?

Texel. Well, I don't want to be personal, but is this Hague Conference merely your hobby, or are you standing in with somebody?

Alcar. I quite appreciate your delicacy. Let me assure you that, though it gives me the greatest pleasure to see you all, I have not [134]selected you as the victims of a hobby. Nor have I anything whatever to gain by stopping the trial. The reverse. At the trial I should probably have a seat on the bench next to a delightful actress, and I should enjoy the case very much indeed. I have no doubt that even now the learned judge is strenuously preparing his inimitable flashes of humour, and that, like the rest of the world, I should allow myself to be convulsed by them. I like to think of four K.C.'s toiling hard for a miserable hundred guineas a day each. I like to think of the solicitors, good, honest fellows, striving their best to keep the costs as low as possible. I even like to think of the jury with their powerful intellects who, when we are dead and gone, Mr. Texel, will tell their grandchildren proudly how they decided the famous case of Texel v. Ebag. Above all, I like to think of the witnesses revelling in their cross-examination. Nobody will be more sorry than I to miss this grand spectacle of the greatest possible number of the greatest possible brains employed for the greatest possible length of time in settling a question that an average grocer's assistant could settle in five minutes. I am human. But, I have been approached—I have been flattered by the suggestion—that I might persuade you two gentlemen to abandon the [135]trial, and I may whisper to you that the abandonment of the trial would afford satisfaction in—er—influential quarters.

Texel. Then are we up against the British Government? Well, go ahead.

Alcar. (Protesting with a very courteous air of extreme astonishment.) My dear Mr. Texel, how can I have been so clumsy as to convey such an idea? The Government? Not in the least—not in the least. On behalf of nobody whatever. (Confidentially.) I am merely in a position to inform you positively that an amicable settlement of the case would be viewed with satisfaction in influential quarters.

Janet. Well, I can tell you it would be viewed with satisfaction in a certain street in Putney. But influential quarters—what's it got to do with them?

Alcar. I shall be quite frank with you. The dignity of Westminster Abbey is involved in this case, and nothing in all England is more sacred to us than Westminster Abbey. One has only to pronounce the word "the Abbey"—to realize that. We know what a modern trial is; we know what the modern press is; and, unhappily, we know what the modern bench is. It is impossible to contemplate with equanimity the prospect of Westminster Abbey and its solemnities being [136]given up to the tender mercy of the evening papers and a joking judge surrounded by millinery. Such an exhibition would be unseemly. It would soil our national existence. In a word, it would have a bad effect.

Carve. (Meditatively—bland.) How English! (He gets up and walks unobtrusively about the room, examining the pictures.)

Alcar. Undoubtedly. But this is England. It is perhaps a disadvantage that we are not in Russia nor in Prussia. But we must make the best of our miserable country. (In a new tone, showing the orator skilled in changes of voice.) Can't we discuss our little affair in a friendly way entirely without prejudice? We are together here, among gentlemen—

Janet. I'm afraid you're forgetting me.

Alcar. (Recovering himself.) Madam, I am convinced that none of us can be more gentlemanly than yourself.... Can we not find a way of settlement? (With luxurious enjoyment of the idea.) Imagine the fury of all those lawyers and journalists when they learn that we—er—if I may so express it—have done them in the eye!

Texel. If I wasn't going to come out on top, I could understand you worrying about your old Abbey. But I'm taking the part of your Abbey. When I win it wins, and I'm certain to win.

[137]

Alcar. I do not doubt——

Ebag. (With suave assurance.) But I do.

Alcar. (Continuing.) I do not doubt your conviction, Mr. Texel. It merely proves that you have never seen a British Jury exercising itself upon a question relating to the fine arts. If you had you would not be certain, for you would know that twelve tradesmen so occupied are capable of accomplishing the most incredible marvels. Supposing you don't win—supposing Mr. Ebag wins——

Ebag. As I assuredly shall.

Alcar. Then we should have the whole world saying, "Well, they haven't given a national funeral to a really great artist for about a century, and when at last they do try they only succeed in burying a valet."

Carve. (Looking round casually.) England all over!

Alcar. The effect would be lamentable—utterly lamentable. You will realize that in influential quarters——

Texel. But do you reckon this policy of hushing up things ever does any good?

Alcar. My dear sir, it is the corner-stone of England's greatness. It is the policy that has made her what she is!

Carve. (Looking round again.) True! What she is!

Alcar. (Turning sharply to Carve behind [138]him.) Mr. X, your interest in my picture flatters me immensely——

Carve. (Interrupting him.) I see you've bought my latest portrait of my wife.

Alcar. Yes.

Janet. (Starting up.) What's that? (She goes to inspect picture.)

Carve. I suppose it would be abusing your hospitality to inquire how much you paid our excellent dealer for it?

Alcar. Not in the least. But the fact is we haven't yet settled the price. The exact price is to depend on the result of our gathering.

Janet. Well, if anybody had told me I should find my own portrait—cooking-sleeves and all——

Alcar. And now that we have got so far, Mr. X, I should like to centralize the attention of this quite friendly gathering on yourself.

Carve. (Approaching airily.) Really! (He sits.)

Alcar. There are several questions we might discuss. For example, we might argue the artistic value of the pictures admittedly the work of Mr. X. That would probably occupy us for about ten years. Or we might ask [139]ourselves how it happened that that exceedingly astute dealer, Mr. Ebag, came to sell as a genuine Ilam Carve, without offering any explanation, a picture which, on the face of it, was painted some time after that great painter had received a national funeral in Westminster Abbey.

Ebag. Sheer carelessness, my lord.

Alcar. Or we might ask ourselves why a valet should try to pass himself off as a world-renowned artist. Or, on the other hand, why a world-renowned artist should pass himself off as a valet.

Carve. Sheer carelessness, my lord.

Alcar. But these details of psychology are beside the main point. And the main point is (to Carve)—Are you Ilam Carve or are you Albert Shawn? (To the others.) Surely with a little goodwill and unembarrassed by the assistance of experts, lawyers, and wigs generally, we can settle that! And once it is settled the need for a trial ceases. (Carve assumes an elaborately uninterested air.) The main point does not seem to interest you, Mr. X.

Carve. (Seeming to start.) I beg your pardon. No, not profoundly. Why should it?

Alcar. Yet you claim——

Carve. Excuse me. I claim nothing except to be let alone. Certainly I do not ask to be [140]accepted as Ilam Carve. I was leading a placid and agreeable existence in a place called Putney, an ideal existence with a pearl among women, when my tranquillity was disturbed and my life transformed into a perfect nightmare by a quarrel between a retail trades-man (indicating Ebag) and a wholesale ink-dealer (indicating Texel) about one of my pictures. It does not concern me. My role is and will be passive. If I am forced into the witness-box I shall answer questions to the worst of my ability, and I shall do no more. I am not cross. I am not sulking; but I consider that I have a grievance. If I am here, it is solely because my wife does what she likes with me.

Texel. Bravo! This is as good as the trial.

Alcar. (Good-humouredly.) Will you answer questions here?

Carve. (Good-humouredly.) It depends.

Alcar. Do you assert that you are Ilam Carve?

Carve. I assert nothing.

Alcar. Are you Ilam Carve?

Carve. Yes, but I don't want to be.

Alcar. Might I inquire why you allowed your servant to be buried in your name?

Carve. Well, he always did everything for me—a most useful man.... But I didn't 'allow' him to be buried in my name. On the [141]contrary, I told various people that I was not dead—but strange to say, nobody would believe me. My handsome, fascinating cousin here wouldn't even let me begin to tell him. Even my wife wouldn't believe me, so I gave it up.