[To JACK.] Go and ask your mother if she's had it; ask her to look and see if she's missed anything else.
[JACK goes upon this mission.]
Nothing is more disquieting than losing things like this.
MARLOW. No, sir.
BARTHWICK. Have you any suspicions?
MARLOW, No, sir.
BARTHWICK. This Mrs. Jones—how long has she been working here?
MARLOW. Only this last month, sir.
BARTHWICK. What sort of person?
MARLOW. I don't know much about her, sir; seems a very quiet, respectable woman.
BARTHWICK. Who did the room this morning?
MARLOW. Wheeler and Mrs. Jones, Sir.
BARTHWICK. [With his forefinger upraised.] Now, was this Mrs. Jones in the room alone at any time?
MARLOW. [Expressionless.] Yes, Sir.
BARTHWICK. How do you know that?
MARLOW. [Reluctantly.] I found her here, sir.
BARTHWICK. And has Wheeler been in the room alone?
MARLOW. No, sir, she's not, sir. I should say, sir, that Mrs. Jones seems a very honest—
BARTHWICK. [Holding up his hand.] I want to know this: Has this Mrs. Jones been here the whole morning?
MARLOW. Yes, sir—no, sir—she stepped over to the greengrocer's for cook.
BARTHWICK. H'm! Is she in the house now?
MARLOW. Yes, Sir.
BARTHWICK. Very good. I shall make a point of clearing this up. On principle I shall make a point of fixing the responsibility; it goes to the foundations of security. In all your interests—
MARLOW. Yes, Sir.
BARTHWICK. What sort of circumstances is this Mrs. Jones in? Is her husband in work?
MARLOW. I believe not, sir.
BARTHWICK. Very well. Say nothing about it to any one. Tell Wheeler not to speak of it, and ask Mrs. Jones to step up here.
MARLOW. Very good, sir.
[MARLOW goes out, his face concerned; and BARTHWICK stays, his face judicial and a little pleased, as befits a man conducting an inquiry. MRS. BARTHWICK and hey son come in.]
BARTHWICK. Well, my dear, you've not seen it, I suppose?
MRS. BARTHWICK. No. But what an extraordinary thing, John! Marlow, of course, is out of the question. I 'm certain none of the maids as for cook!
BARTHWICK. Oh, cook!
MRS. BARTHWICK. Of course! It's perfectly detestable to me to suspect anybody.
BARTHWICK. It is not a question of one's feelings. It's a question of justice. On principle—
MRS. BARTHWICK. I shouldn't be a bit surprised if the charwoman knew something about it. It was Laura who recommended her.
BARTHWICK. [Judicially.] I am going to have Mrs. Jones up. Leave it to me; and—er—remember that nobody is guilty until they're proved so. I shall be careful. I have no intention of frightening her; I shall give her every chance. I hear she's in poor circumstances. If we are not able to do much for them we are bound to have the greatest sympathy with the poor. [MRS. JONES comes in.] [Pleasantly.] Oh! good morning, Mrs. Jones.
MRS. JONES. [Soft, and even, unemphatic.] Good morning, sir! Good morning, ma'am!
BARTHWICK. About your husband—he's not in work, I hear?
MRS. JONES. No, sir; of course he's not in work just now.
BARTHWICK. Then I suppose he's earning nothing.
MRS. JONES. No, sir, he's not earning anything just now, sir.
BARTHWICK. And how many children have you?
MRS. JONES. Three children; but of course they don't eat very much sir. [A little silence.]
BARTHWICK. And how old is the eldest?
MRS. JONES. Nine years old, sir.
BARTHWICK. Do they go to school?
MRS. JONES, Yes, sir, they all three go to school every day.
BARTHWICK. [Severely.] And what about their food when you're out at work?
MRS. JONES. Well, Sir, I have to give them their dinner to take with them. Of course I 'm not always able to give them anything; sometimes I have to send them without; but my husband is very good about the children when he's in work. But when he's not in work of course he's a very difficult man.
BARTHWICK. He drinks, I suppose?
MRS. JONES. Yes, Sir. Of course I can't say he doesn't drink, because he does.
BARTHWICK. And I suppose he takes all your money?
MRS. JONES. No, sir, he's very good about my money, except when he's not himself, and then, of course, he treats me very badly.
BARTHWICK. Now what is he—your husband?
MRS. JONES. By profession, sir, of course he's a groom.
BARTHWICK. A groom! How came he to lose his place?
MRS. JONES. He lost his place a long time ago, sir, and he's never had a very long job since; and now, of course, the motor-cars are against him.
BARTHWICK. When were you married to him, Mrs. Jones?
MRS. JONES. Eight years ago, sir that was in—
MRS. BARTHWICK. [Sharply.] Eight? You said the eldest child was nine.
MRS. JONES. Yes, ma'am; of course that was why he lost his place. He didn't treat me rightly, and of course his employer said he couldn't keep him because of the example.
BARTHWICK. You mean he—ahem—
MRS. JONES. Yes, sir; and of course after he lost his place he married me.
MRS. BARTHWICK. You actually mean to say you—you were—
BARTHWICK. My dear—
MRS. BARTHWICK. [Indignantly.] How disgraceful!
BARTHWICK. [Hurriedly.] And where are you living now, Mrs. Jones?
MRS. JONES. We've not got a home, sir. Of course we've been obliged to put away most of our things.
BARTHWICK. Put your things away! You mean to—to—er—to pawn them?
MRS. JONES. Yes, sir, to put them away. We're living in Merthyr Street—that is close by here, sir—at No. 34. We just have the one room.
BARTHWICK. And what do you pay a week?
MRS. JONES. We pay six shillings a week, sir, for a furnished room.
BARTHWICK. And I suppose you're behind in the rent?
MRS. JONES. Yes, sir, we're a little behind in the rent.
BARTHWICK. But you're in good work, aren't you?
MRS. JONES. Well, Sir, I have a day in Stamford Place Thursdays. And Mondays and Wednesdays and Fridays I come here. But to-day, of course, is a half-day, because of yesterday's Bank Holiday.
BARTHWICK. I see; four days a week, and you get half a crown a day, is that it?
MRS. JONES. Yes, sir, and my dinner; but sometimes it's only half a day, and that's eighteen pence.
BARTHWICK. And when your husband earns anything he spends it in drink, I suppose?
MRS. JONES. Sometimes he does, sir, and sometimes he gives it to me for the children. Of course he would work if he could get it, sir, but it seems there are a great many people out of work.
BARTHWICK. Ah! Yes. We—er—won't go into that. [Sympathetically.] And how about your work here? Do you find it hard?
MRS. JONES. Oh! no, sir, not very hard, sir; except of course, when I don't get my sleep at night.
BARTHWICK. Ah! And you help do all the rooms? And sometimes, I suppose, you go out for cook?
MRS. JONES. Yes, Sir.
BARTHWICK. And you've been out this morning?
MRS. JONES. Yes, sir, of course I had to go to the greengrocer's.
BARTHWICK. Exactly. So your husband earns nothing? And he's a bad character.
MRS. JONES. No, Sir, I don't say that, sir. I think there's a great deal of good in him; though he does treat me very bad sometimes. And of course I don't like to leave him, but I think I ought to, because really I hardly know how to stay with him. He often raises his hand to me. Not long ago he gave me a blow here [touches her breast] and I can feel it now. So I think I ought to leave him, don't you, sir?
BARTHWICK. Ah! I can't help you there. It's a very serious thing to leave your husband. Very serious thing.
MRS. JONES. Yes, sir, of course I 'm afraid of what he might do to
me if I were to leave him; he can be so very violent.
BARTHWICK. H'm! Well, that I can't pretend to say anything about. It's the bad principle I'm speaking of—
MRS. JONES. Yes, Sir; I know nobody can help me. I know I must decide for myself, and of course I know that he has a very hard life. And he's fond of the children, and its very hard for him to see them going without food.
BARTHWICK. [Hastily.] Well—er—thank you, I just wanted to hear about you. I don't think I need detain you any longer, Mrs. Jones.
MRS. JONES. No, sir, thank you, sir.
BARTHWICK. Good morning, then.
MRS. JONES. Good morning, sir; good morning, ma'am.
BARTHWICK. [Exchanging glances with his wife.] By the way, Mrs. Jones—I think it is only fair to tell you, a silver cigarette-box —er—is missing.
MRS. JONES. [Looking from one face to the other.] I am very sorry, sir.
BARTHWICK. Yes; you have not seen it, I suppose?
MRS. JONES. [Realising that suspicion is upon her; with an uneasy movement.] Where was it, sir; if you please, sir?
BARTHWICK. [Evasively.] Where did Marlow say? Er—in this room, yes, in this room.
MRS. JONES. No, Sir, I haven't seen it—of course if I 'd seen it I should have noticed it.
BARTHWICK. [Giving hey a rapid glance.] You—you are sure of that?
MRS. JONES. [Impassively.] Yes, Sir. [With a slow nodding of her head.] I have not seen it, and of course I don't know where it is.
[She turns and goes quietly out.]
BARTHWICK. H'm!
[The three BARTHWICKS avoid each other's glances.]
The curtain falls.
ACT II
SCENE I
The JONES's lodgings, Merthyr Street, at half-past two o'clock. The bare room, with tattered oilcloth and damp, distempered walls, has an air of tidy wretchedness. On the bed lies JONES, half-dressed; his coat is thrown across his feet, and muddy boots are lying on the floor close by. He is asleep. The door is opened and MRS. JONES comes in, dressed in a pinched black jacket and old black sailor hat; she carries a parcel wrapped up in the "Times." She puts her parcel down, unwraps an apron, half a loaf, two onions, three potatoes, and a tiny piece of bacon. Taking a teapot from the cupboard, she rinses it, shakes into it some powdered tea out of a screw of paper, puts it on the hearth, and sitting in a wooden chair quietly begins to cry.
JONES. [Stirring and yawning.] That you? What's the time?
MRS. JONES. [Drying her eyes, and in her usual voice.] Half-past two.
JONES. What you back so soon for?
MRS. JONES. I only had the half day to-day, Jem.
JONES. [On his back, and in a drowsy voice.] Got anything for dinner?
MRS. JONES. Mrs. BARTHWICK's cook gave me a little bit of bacon. I'm going to make a stew. [She prepares for cooking.] There's fourteen shillings owing for rent, James, and of course I 've only got two and fourpence. They'll be coming for it to-day.
JONES. [Turning towards her on his elbow.] Let 'em come and find my surprise packet. I've had enough o' this tryin' for work. Why should I go round and round after a job like a bloomin' squirrel in a cage. "Give us a job, sir"—"Take a man on"—"Got a wife and three children." Sick of it I am! I 'd sooner lie here and rot. "Jones, you come and join the demonstration; come and 'old a flag, and listen to the ruddy orators, and go 'ome as empty as you came." There's some that seems to like that—the sheep! When I go seekin' for a job now, and see the brutes lookin' me up an' down, it's like a thousand serpents in me. I 'm not arskin' for any treat. A man wants to sweat hisself silly and not allowed that's a rum start, ain't it? A man wants to sweat his soul out to keep the breath in him and ain't allowed—that's justice that's freedom and all the rest of it! [He turns his face towards the wall.] You're so milky mild; you don't know what goes on inside o' me. I'm done with the silly game. If they want me, let 'em come for me!
[MRS. JONES stops cooking and stands unmoving at the table.]
I've tried and done with it, I tell you. I've never been afraid of what 's before me. You mark my words—if you think they've broke my spirit, you're mistook. I'll lie and rot sooner than arsk 'em again. What makes you stand like that—you long-sufferin', Gawd-forsaken image—that's why I can't keep my hands off you. So now you know. Work! You can work, but you haven't the spirit of a louse!
MRS. JONES. [Quietly.] You talk more wild sometimes when you're yourself, James, than when you 're not. If you don't get work, how are we to go on? They won't let us stay here; they're looking to their money to-day, I know.
JONES. I see this BARTHWICK o' yours every day goin' down to Pawlyment snug and comfortable to talk his silly soul out; an' I see that young calf, his son, swellin' it about, and goin' on the razzle-dazzle. Wot 'ave they done that makes 'em any better than wot I am? They never did a day's work in their lives. I see 'em day after day.
MRS. JONES. And I wish you wouldn't come after me like that, and hang about the house. You don't seem able to keep away at all, and whatever you do it for I can't think, because of course they notice it.
JONES. I suppose I may go where I like. Where may I go? The other day I went to a place in the Edgware Road. "Gov'nor," I says to the boss, "take me on," I says. "I 'aven't done a stroke o' work not these two months; it takes the heart out of a man," I says; "I 'm one to work; I 'm not afraid of anything you can give me!" "My good man," 'e says, "I've had thirty of you here this morning. I took the first two," he says, "and that's all I want." "Thank you, then rot the world!" I says. "Blasphemin'," he says, "is not the way to get a job. Out you go, my lad!" [He laughs sardonically.] Don't you raise your voice because you're starvin'; don't yer even think of it; take it lyin' down! Take it like a sensible man, carn't you? And a little way down the street a lady says to me: [Pinching his voice] "D' you want to earn a few pence, my man?" and gives me her dog to 'old outside a shop-fat as a butler 'e was—tons o' meat had gone to the makin' of him. It did 'er good, it did, made 'er feel 'erself that charitable, but I see 'er lookin' at the copper standin' alongside o' me, for fear I should make off with 'er bloomin' fat dog. [He sits on the edge of the bed and puts a boot on. Then looking up.] What's in that head o' yours? [Almost pathetically.] Carn't you speak for once?
[There is a knock, and MRS. SEDDON, the landlady, appears, an anxious, harassed, shabby woman in working clothes.]
MRS. SEDDON. I thought I 'eard you come in, Mrs. Jones. I've spoke to my 'usband, but he says he really can't afford to wait another day.
JONES. [With scowling jocularity.] Never you mind what your 'usband says, you go your own way like a proper independent woman. Here, jenny, chuck her that.
[Producing a sovereign from his trousers pocket, he throws it to his wife, who catches it in her apron with a gasp. JONES resumes the lacing of his boots.]
MRS. JONES. [Rubbing the sovereign stealthily.] I'm very sorry we're so late with it, and of course it's fourteen shillings, so if you've got six that will be right.
[MRS. SEDDON takes the sovereign and fumbles for the change.]
JONES. [With his eyes fixed on his boots.] Bit of a surprise for yer, ain't it?
MRS. SEDDON. Thank you, and I'm sure I'm very much obliged. [She does indeed appear surprised.] I 'll bring you the change.
JONES. [Mockingly.] Don't mention it.
MRS. SEDDON. Thank you, and I'm sure I'm very much obliged. [She slides away.]
[MRS. JONES gazes at JONES who is still lacing up his boots.]
JONES. I've had a bit of luck. [Pulling out the crimson purse and some loose coins.] Picked up a purse—seven pound and more.
MRS. JONES. Oh, James!
JONES. Oh, James! What about Oh, James! I picked it up I tell you. This is lost property, this is!
MRS. JONES. But isn't there a name in it, or something?
JONES. Name? No, there ain't no name. This don't belong to such as 'ave visitin' cards. This belongs to a perfec' lidy. Tike an' smell it. [He pitches her the purse, which she puts gently to her
nose.] Now, you tell me what I ought to have done. You tell me that. You can always tell me what I ought to ha' done, can't yer?
MRS. JONES. [Laying down the purse.] I can't say what you ought to have done, James. Of course the money wasn't yours; you've taken somebody else's money.
The Silver Box Page 3
