 Act I of Enchancery by Arthur Wing Pinero. Characters Captain Dionysius McCafferty, formerly in the Balletera militia, now proprietor of the Railway Hotel, Steepleton Junction. Read by Larry Wilson. Dr. Titus, his medical attendant. Read by Stephen Fellows. Montague, Joel Deith. Read by Todd. Mr. Hinksman. Read by Alan Mapstone. John, Mrs. Smith's servant. Read by Thomas Peter. Mr. Buzzard, a butcher. Read by Adrian Stevens. Mr. Gorge, a draper. Read by Son of the Exiles. Mrs. Smith, read by Sonia. Mrs. Marmaduke Jackson. Read by T.J. Burns. Patricia McCafferty. Read by Phon. Amelia Ann Buzzard. Read by Leanne Yau. Walker, Mrs. Smith's servant. Read by Devorah Allen. Kittles, read by Eva Davis. Stage Directions, read by Michael Maggs. Enchancery, Act One, Drawing a Blank. The Parlor of the Railway Hotel at Steepleton Junction. Act Two, Artificial Memory, The Best Room in the Hotel. Act Three, Home Sweet Home. Sitting Room at Mrs. Marmaduke Jackson's Gravesend. Three Sundays elapse between Acts One and Two. Act Two occurs on the morning and Act Three on the evening of the same day. Enchancery, Act One, Drawing a Blank. Scene, The Comfortable Parlor of a Small Hotel. Upstage Right, Door Leading to Bar. Upstage Left, Door with Passage Backing. At Back, Large Window or Windows. Looking onto a Country Prospect with a Railway, Telegraph Wires, etc. Upstage at Back, Two Small Tables of Equal Size. Round Table, Right Centre. Three Chairs, Round Table, Left Centre. Two Chairs Placed as in Plan. Downstage Left, Fireplace. Above Fireplace, Armchair. Below Fireplace, An Ordinary Chair. Downstage Right, Sideboard with Crockery, Plate, etc. On Sideboard, A Work Basket with Needlework. By Sideboard, A Chair or Stool. On Table Right Centre, A Cribbage Board and Cards, Long Clay Pipes, Matches and a Newspaper. On Table Left Centre, Pipes, Newspapers and Matches. The Room generally furnished with all the characteristics of an Inn Parlor. Stuffed Birds, Fishing Rods and Basket, A Gun or Two, Sporting Pictures, etc. Short, Lively Music at Opening. As the curtain rises, The Angry Voice of McCafferty, Accompanied by a Small Crash of Broken Crockery, Is Heard in the Distance, Off Left. Patricia enters Door Right, Listening. Patricia is a Buxom, Brawny, Irish Woman, Neatly Dressed, but with a Wild Head of Red Hair. My Pa's in a Queer Temper by the sound of it. She crosses to Door Left and listens. McCafferty's voice rises higher. There now, he's arguing in Politics with poor Mr Jolliff. Looking towards Door Right. Thank Goodness! Here's the Gentleman arriving. Mr Gorge enters Door Right. He is a Thin Man, almost entirely bald, with a treble voice. Mr Gorge, Politely. Good evening, Miss McCafferty. Rubbing his hands heartily. Any news, eh? Any news? Good evening to you, Mr Gorge. There's nothing stirring. How's Captain McCafferty tonight? There is another Crash, Off Left. Mr Gorge's manner changes to extreme timidity. Patricia jerking her head towards Left. I think he's just having a chat with Mr Jolliff, the Gentleman stopping in the hotel. Oh! Mr Gorge goes up to Table Left Centre, very quietly and nervously, and sits behind the table. Oh, yes! I'll take my usual, Miss McCafferty. Patricia crosses to Right Centre, as Mr Buzzerd enters Door Right. Mr Buzzerd is a fat, red-faced man with bushy hair and gruff voice. The reverse of Mr Gorge. Mr Buzzerd, jovially. Good evening, Miss McCafferty. Good evening, Mr Gorge. Good evening, Mr Buzzerd. Any news, eh? Any news? I believe not, sir. How is your poor papa tonight? Another distinct Crash. Mr Buzzerd's face changes. He stands, rooted to the spot. He's just having a little bit of a chat with Mr Jolliff, the Gentleman stopping in the hotel. Mr Buzzerd, nervously. Oh! I think I'll take my usual, Miss McCafferty. Patricia goes out Door Right. Mr Buzzerd tiptoes up to the table, Right Centre, and sits behind it. He and Mr Gorge load their long pipes gloomily. Captain seems a little worse than ordinary tonight, Mr Buzzerd, sir. He do, he do. Time Dr Titus was here to keep him under. Mr Gorge, looking towards Door. Here is the doctor. Dr Titus enters Door Right. He is a middle-aged, professional-looking person, with iron-grey hair and whiskers. His attire is rather inclined to cederness. His man are pompous and bombastic. Good evening, Gentleman. Crosses left and puts hat on mantelpiece. Good evening, Doctor. Good evening. Good evening. Titus bustling over to armchair. How is Captain McCafferty tonight? Miss McCafferty's voice heard outside. He's upstairs. With Mr Jolliff. The gentleman staying in the hotel. Having a little bit of a chat. Oh, quite so, quite so. Patricia enters Door Right, carrying tray with glasses, etc. She gives Mr Gorge and Mr Buzzerd their drinks. You're single-handed tonight, Miss McCafferty. Where's the waiter? He contradicted Papad this afternoon. So Papad has missed him through the window. I'm so glad you've come, Doctor. And is it whiskey you'll take? It is whiskey. Irish? Any whiskey would become Irish when dispensed by your fair hands. Go on, now. Goes out Door Right. Mr Gorge and Mr Buzzerd light their pipes. This excitement is very bad for the Captain, ain't it, Doctor? Very, very. You might tell us how Captain McCafferty's ailment came about, Doctor, if it's no secret. Titus, standing on Harthrog, left centre. Certainly. My friend, I may say our friend, our host of the Railway Hotel at Stiebelton, was formerly a Captain in the Distinguished Balletara Militia. One of his brother-officers, who was also a cheese-monger, thought it wise upon one occasion to wink at Mrs McCafferty, the Captain's wife. Now alas, beyond the reach of all such advances. They are mean. Indeed. Captain McCafferty, always shall I say a hasty man, dragged the offender to Belgium, with a fought a duel with pistols. Oh, gracious! I was the medical man concerned. In the result, the Captain spoiled his opponent's new hat, while the cheese-monger contrived to lodge a bullet in the Captain's body. Mercy me. Well, I never. Now, gentlemen, the whereabouts of that bullet has never been discovered. If it is still in Captain McCafferty's body, I say if that bullet is still in Captain McCafferty's body, the slightest excitement such as would be produced by thwarting a fond wish or upsetting a cherished project, the slightest excitement might produce the most alarming results. Gentlemen, it is a most interesting case. Mr. Gorge and Mr. Buzzard wipe their foreheads nervously. Most interesting, most interesting. Then you remain in stupiton, Doctor, expressly to look after the Captain. Captain McCafferty is good enough to appoint me his medical attendant. You're watching for the bullet, eh? I am watching for the bullet. Then if the bullet is ever discovered, you were a very comfortable post, eh, Doctor? Gets up and takes light from table right centre. Titus drawing himself up. Mr. Gorge. I beg your pardon, Doctor. No offence. Mr. Gorge and Mr. Buzzard talk together. Dr. Titus turns from them and slightly produces a pocketbook. From which he takes out a small leaden bullet. Titus aside, weighing the bullet in his hand. But the bullet isn't likely to be discovered while it's in Bob Titus' pocketbook. He returns bullet to the pocketbook, and pocketbook to his pocket. Aside. It's a most interesting case. Patricia enters door right, carrying tumbler of drink, which she gives to Titus. Here you are, Doctor. Another distant crash is heard, with McCafferty's voice above it. Keep your eyes on Pa, Doctor. If he loses his temper, he's done entirely. McCafferty, outside. What do you mean, Mr. Joliff, sir? By regarding me in that manner, with your eye, you're wearing an impertinent look, sir. He's coming. There is a general movement. The two men at the table bury their heads in their papers. Titus sits in chair, below fireplace left. Patricia runs to right centre and sits, taking needlework from basket on sideboard. Captain Dionysius McCafferty, with his hands in his pockets, rushes in from door left. He is a fat, untidily dressed old man, with fiery face, red whiskers and bushy hair. His eyes are bolting from their sockets, and he is trembling with passion. He looks round fiercely, as if seeking some excuse for an outburst. Finding none, he sinks into chair, centre. I wish you a very good evening to all of you. Mr. Gorge, in a small voice, over his paper. Good evening, Captain McCafferty. McCafferty turns upon him suddenly. Mr. Gorge disappears behind his newspaper. Mr. Buzzard, over his paper. Delighted to see you, Captain. McCafferty glares at him. He disappears like Mr. Gorge. McCafferty to Patricia. What are you doing, Pat, by darling? Mending the white waistcoat you tore up, when you were a little quit out last night. You've been agitating yourself again, Captain McCafferty. No, I've not. Mr. Jolief agitated me. Dear me, how? He contradicted by assertion. Oh, I'm sure he mistaking, Papa. What did Mr. Jolief say? He didn't say anything. He regarded me in a contradictory manner, with his eye. I'll speak to Mr. Jolief. He'll explain everything satisfactorily. I'll be bound. Goes to door, implements it, and calls. Mr. Jolief? Mr. Jolief? Jolief, in distance. Yes? Step down and join us in the parlor, will you? Oh, yes, certainly. Titus returns to his seat before fire left, as Montague Jolief enters. He is a fair-haired individual, with a pale, anxious face, roving eyes, and a large expanse of forehead. Jolief, as he enters. Delighted to make one. Delighted to make one. Good evening. Captain McCafferty is under the mistaken impression, Mr. Jolief, that you contradicted some assertion he made. Ah, no, I'm sure Mr. Jolief didn't, did you, Mr. Jolief? Jolief shakes his head. No. He contradicted me with a look of his eye. Quite a mistake, quite a mistake. Captain McCafferty expressed his conviction at Stiepelton, which at present both ninety-eight inhabitants, a hotel, and a railway station, would in a short space of time become the centre of British commerce, with a mayor, a town council, and a bishopric. In reply, I am merely said, oh. McCafferty, rising. But you looked dubious, or? Knowing the precarious state of my health, you looked dubious. I assure you, Captain McCafferty, I didn't mean to. Ah, very well then. I accept your apology, and say no more. But I assure. Say no more. No, I can assure you. Say no more. Turning to Gorge and Buzzard. Gentlemen, we'll play with the cards. Well, Captain McCafferty, if I might suggest. Keep silence, or, when I make a proposal. Turning to Gorge. We'll play three-handed crib. Mr. Gorge moves timidly to chair at back of table, right centre. Mr. Buzzard, to right of same table, they sit playing at table, right centre. Patricia sits doing her needlework and watching them, right. Joliff sinks into chair, left centre, facing Titus. What a dreadful person. Titus, drawing nearer to Joliff. Mr. Jolie, feel pardoned my freedom, I hope, but will you allow me to put to you one little question? Certainly, what is it? Now that you are completely recovered from your unfortunate railway accident, why do you remain in this wretched little town, in this equally wretched little inn, under the tyrannic rule of that despotic old ruffian? Why, ah? With a poor devil of a doctor with her to practice it's different. I'm chained to Steepleton in attendance on old McCafferty, but you, you're a free man, why not be up in a way? Joliff draws himself up and takes Titus by the sleeve, and looks round mysteriously. Up and away? Where to? To your relatives. Where are they? Well then to your friends. Where are they? Oh, dear, oh, dear, well then to the town where you reside. What town? Confound it, man, why don't you return to the place you came from? Where's that? Why, you never mean to say you don't know. Beckins to Titus to come nearer. Can I trust you, I wonder? That depends. Are you a tailor? I don't know. I mean, will you keep my secret? A most awful, harrowing secret. My dear sir, I'm a doctor, of course I will. Your word of honour? My word of honour. I've been longing for a confidant. Sit down. They sit close together, left centre. McCafferty playing upstage violently. What do you mean, sir? What do you mean? Well, captain, I was thinking. To the devil with your thinking. Keep calm. Gentlemen, gentlemen, don't agitate the captain. He corrected my counten. No one the precarious tater my health, too, would have bullied in me. He corrected my counten. Well, well, I apologise. Sad wise. Go on with the amusement then, you couple of blundering ignoramuses. They resume playing. What a dreadful person. What a dreadful person. Now, Mr. Jolie, if I'm your servant. Soft music in orchestra. Dr. Titus, you remember my being brought to the railway inn at Steibelton, don't you? Of course I do, six weeks ago. Six weeks at Steibelton Junction. Turning and pointing. You can see the exact spot from that window. Two passenger trains came into violent collision. Nothing resulted but a few scratches and bruises, and everybody was able, after a trifling delay, to resume their journey. Everybody with one important exception. Yourself? Myself. I was carefully deposited in the best bedroom of the Railway Hotel, where, owing to the assiduous nursing of that kind creature there— Pointing to Patricia. And the unremitting attention of Dr. Titus. Taking Titus's hand. In three weeks I was on my legs again. As strong as a horse. Strong as a tandem. Never was better. At least I don't think I ever was better. But Dr. Titus, I don't remember. Don't remember? No. I'm vigorous and hearty. Can eat, drink, and sleep. I'm well educated. Can speak French. Jabber a little German. Know a phrase or two of Italian. And have a fair knowledge of music. But Dr. Titus, ever since that little smash-off at Steepleton Junction, I haven't the least idea who the devil I am, whence I came, or where I'm going. Good gracious, what's wrong? Music stops. My memory. My mind's a perfect blank as to the past. Every incident of, I hope, of my distinguished career previous to that railway accident has entirely left me. But you know your name. Joliff. Producing card case. Yes, but only through finding my card case in my overcoat pocket. Handing card to Titus. Here it is. Montague Joliff. No address. MJ, number thirty-six, was marked on my collars, which leads me to hope I am a gentleman. Why? Well, nobody but a gentleman would have thirty-six white, three-fold linen-matter collars. Well, this is another most interesting case. Have you searched all the directories? Joliff, with a look of horror. No. Why not? I'm afraid to. Nonsense, do it at once. Rises. No, no, no. I might turn out to be a party I don't like. I might have to follow a trade or profession I detest. Or what is more awful? I might discover my profession without remembering how to practice it. I might find myself a colonel who has forgotten his drill, a captain in the navy who knows nothing but how to be seasick, or a doctor who cannot remember the pharmacopia. In short, I may be a soldier, sailor, apothecary, plow-boy, or a thief. Ah, but on the other hand... On the other hand I may be the hero of the hour, the author of the latest craze in books, the new drawing-room tenor, or the fashionable tragedian. I may be an MP, one of the cabinet, or perhaps a member of the county court. It's this, it buoys me up. But, Dr. Titus, I shan't be able to stand the uncertainty much longer. Give me your opinion. He rises and puts himself in studied position. Now, what do you think I am? Titus sitting, leaning back, and surveying him. A very lucky fellow. Lucky? Certainly why, it as much as I can do to forget a few tradesman's bills. You want my advice? Yes. Take it easy. Accept your position. You'll never have so little anxiety as you have at the present moment. How old are you? Don't know. What do you think? Think I'm a chicken? Well, you're in the prime of life, with no conscience to prick you on the score of past misdeeds. Enjoy yourself, make merry, until your recollections return. Rises, business with chair. Oh, they will return then? Of course they will, all of a sudden. Your case is no rarer in the annals of medicine than it is in fiction. When those two railway engines came together, you experienced a shock. I did. That's the cause. Music has before. One day, without a moment's warning, like the bursting of a soap bubble in a man's ear, your memory will come back to you. The sight of somebody's ugly face, the sound of a familiar voice, the melody of a miserable comic song, or the air of a waltz from a discordant organ, and the rusty gates of the past will be opened. Like a flash of lightning, you will regain the consciousness of cares and responsibilities, arrears of income tax unpaid, and all the evils of a well-spent life. Be warned, don't seek to hasten matters, and in the meantime, be happy. Music ceases. Happy? When I'm thrown a founding on the mercy of that violent old Captain McCafferty? Dr. Titus, he's a demon. Well, he's a beast, but he's taken a fancy to you. But I've no money. Don't ask for his bill. But suppose he does. Then fly to her. Her? My good sir, you're blind. Haven't you discovered? What? Miss McCafferty, Patricia, your devoted nurse, she's lost her heart to you. You don't say so. I do, you lucky devil. No past and a nice comfortable snug future. How I envy you. I tell you, I have not lost the game. Well, but Captain McCafferty. Then some of you have been putting my pigs back. Oh, Captain, no. Putting my pigs back, and me in a delicate state of health. Titus, joining group at back. Gentlemen, gentlemen, don't agitate the Captain. Joliff has seated himself in armchair left centre. Patricia crosses from right and stands behind his chair. I find you're beginning to look, Mr. Joliff, dear. Am I, Miss McCafferty? I've done with the Miss McCafferty. My name's Patricia, and that's the short first. Sure, I haven't fed you on good calf's foot jelly, you at one end of the spoon, and me at the other. To be called Miss McCafferty, now that you can feed without me. Titus was right. To Patricia. I'm very much obliged, Miss McCaffer— Patricia. Patricia smoothing his hair. I combed your hair in the middle, when I had the dressing of it, and pretty you looked. I suppose I shall never have the combing of it again, at all, at all. Sits right. Joliff, aside. I should think Titus was right. Titus, going. Gentlemen, who will join in a game of pyramids upstairs? I will. So will I. Captain. No, I've got a little private affair to talk over with Mr. Joliff. Titus, gorge and buzzard go off door left. Joliff rises and is about to sneak away quietly. I think I'll make one, Doctor. I think I'll make one. McCafferty takes his arm and brings him back. Didn't you hear me say I'd got a little business with you? Big pardon, big pardon. Business is a pleasure. Eh? I said business is a pleasure. McCafferty, pointing to chair. Sit down, then. Joliff sits nervously. Patricia, my darling, retire to the bar till I call ye. Patricia rises and crosses to right. McCafferty detains her and embraces her, wiping his eyes with emotion. Ah, my little girl, is the time coming when I've to share ye with another man? Go, darling. Patricia goes out door right. Joliff, aside. I've a sentiment something dreadful is going to happen. McCafferty, turning to Joliff. Mr. Montague Joliff, sir. You've been with us, an occupant of the best bedroom at this hotel, six weeks come yesterday. You were brought here flat on the brad of your back, bruised and battered. You've been nursed by my own daughter, and physically by my own doctor, and have enjoyed all the advantages of my own personal society. I'm sure I can never express my deep sense. Don't try, Soar, when I'm in the middle of speaking. Kindest is my disposition. He goes to the sideboard, is watched anxiously by Joliff, and from a drawer takes out a number of long sheets of paper, closely written upon, and fastened together in one corner. On paper, Soar, in plain pounds, shillings and pints, your visit to this establishment takes that figure. Handing paper to Joliff. Mr. Joliff, your bill, Soar. Joliff takes Bill with a look of horror. McCafferty goes up to table, writes centre, and puts cards, etc., in draw. Joliff, aside. I was right. I was right. Something dreadful has happened. Turning over the sheets, one by one. First week. Oh, second week. Gracious. Third week. Goodness. Fourth week. Nourishing fruit. Oh, Christopher. Fifth week. Wine. Oh, Columbus. Sixth week. Delicacies out of season. Ah, eh, ah. He collapses. McCafferty, standing over him. What the devil's the meaning of the zoological sounds you are admitting, sir? Are you delighted with the moderation of your little account, or are you not? Joliff, recovering. Oh, delighted, delighted, Captain McCafferty. Are you quite sure nothing has been left out? Turning over leaves. Where's the penny worth of peri-minkles I had for tea yesterday? McCafferty snatches the bill from him and examines it violently. How dare you give me a turn, and me in a delicate state of health? Returning bill and pointing out an item. There it is before you. Oh, of course. Reading. Peri-winkles half a crown. Thank you. You haven't charged with a pin. No, sir. Joliff tries unsuccessfully to cram the account into his pocket, holding them out to McCafferty. There isn't a lift in the hotel to take them up to my floor, is there? No, sir. Stop. I ought to tell you we take off two and a half percent to commercial travellers. Are you a commercial traveller? Joliff rising aghast. Am I a what? A commercial traveller. Ah, no, I don't think so. You don't think so? I mean I don't remember being a commercial traveller. You don't remember? Just so, just so. Of course, if a man is a commercial traveller, the chances are, attend to one who knows it, aren't they? Why certainly, sir. Just so, just so. That's what I want to get at. No, I don't think of taking off two and a half percent. Then, Mr. Joliff, if you're not a commercial traveller, what the devil are you? Joliff is jaw-dropping. Eh, what am I? What are ye? What? Hold this for a moment, will you? It's rather heavy. Joliff, who has been nursing the bundle of papers like a baby, deposits it in the captain's arms, wiping his brow. Yes, of course. What am I? Yes, or what are you? What am I? Yes, sir, what are you? Oh, I'm a gentleman. A gentleman? Ah, well, I'm glad of that. Shaking Joliff's hand. There's two of us. Now we shall get at what I'm driving at. You come of a good family, I take it. Oh, yes, the Joliff's. Oh, the Joliff's? Yes, the old Joliff's. The good old Joliff's. London boys? Well, they're spread about. They're spread about some. Some here, some there. Are they rich? No, that's the devil of it. Putting hands into pockets. All the Joliff I know is a popper. I mean, all the Joliff's I know are poppers. Fine, well, maids trapping fellows, but no money. No money. And you? Oh, I'm a regular Joliff. McCafferty. Returning the bundle of papers quickly. Take your bill now, sir. I have a communication to make to ye. Be seated. They sit. Joliff, left centre. McCafferty brings chair, centre. Joliff, aside. Something else is going to happen. Mr. Montague-Jolive, you may have heard, sir, that I'm a man in a precarious state of health, with a bullet in me somewhere or other, and where it is the devil only knows, for the doctor does not. Yes, I've heard that once or twice before. Ye may have heard also that the slightest agitation or excitement may make an angel of me. Well, I'm not prepared to pledge. None of your dirty dubious looks, sir. Yes or no? Yes. Very well, then. Now, sir, I'm desirous of settling the future of this wonderful property, the Steepleton Railway Hotel, by way of selecting a gentleman to succeed the present proprietor now before ye. And, sir, after looking on all sides of me, my choice has fallen upon you. But, Captain McCafferty, I've no capital. Stop. I'm coming to that. Are you? I'm glad of that. I don't deny that I should have preferred ye with a capital, but as you're a pauper I must take ye as ye are. Joliff, attempting to rise. But, Captain McCafferty. McCafferty, pushing him back. Sit down, Mr. Joliff, sir. You may have observed that my little girl has taken a strong lacking for ye. Your little girl? My daughter, Patricia. Really, Captain? I don't think. Rising. Don't contradict me, sir, when you know the doctor forbids it. I say, sir, that my little girl is pining for ye. Why, sir, she's the shadow of what she was a month ago. You don't say so. But I do say so. Excitedly slapping his knees at each sentence. And I say, sir, that Dionysius McCafferty has made up his mind that the band shall go up next Sunday for your wedding, with the best girl that ever drew breath in the parlor, or beer in the bar. Rising. Give me your hand, Mr. Joliff. You're in luck, sir. Puts chair back right. Joliff, rising. But, Captain McCafferty. McCafferty, turning. Well, sir. Suppose I've got a wife already. What? Suppose I've got a wife already. McCafferty, in a rage. What do you mean to say? You've crawled into my house and stolen the heart of my little girl? Whilst you've got a wife waiting for your homecoming? Joliff, alarmed. Don't excite yourself, Captain. Don't excite yourself. Think of the bullet. McCafferty, sinking into chair right. Viper. You've done for me, Viper. Captain McCafferty, don't excite yourself. I didn't say I was married. McCafferty, groans. On the contrary, I don't think I am married. What do you mean, you blaggard? I mean, I don't remember ever marrying anybody. McCafferty, jumping up. Don't remember? You see, if a man is married, the chances are, ten to one, he knows it, ain't they? When I was married, I knew it. Just so, just so. That's what I want to get at. That's what I want to get at. What a shock you gave me. Bless you, my boy. Oh, calm, my little girl. And you shall make her a happy creature with the good news. Wait a minute. Wait a minute. McCafferty goes to door right, opens it, and calls. Patricia, Pat, come here. What am I going to do? What am I going to do? Oh, if I could only remember. Pat, my darling, the blow has dropped on me. I've got to share ye with another man. Go to him, and there he stands, your own lawful husband, that is, to be. Patricia crosses to Joliff. Bashfully. Montague. But, but, but, Patricia. They embrace. Ah, then, I shall comb your hair again for you, after all. She leads him over to right, she sitting. McCafferty goes to door left, and calls. Doctor, come down. Mr. Godge, Mr. Buzzard, sirs, come down. Titus, Gorge, and Buzzard, enter quickly. Well, Captain, what is it? Mr. Joliff has proposed for my little girl, and I've consented. McCafferty left centre. Titus, Gorge, and Buzzard gather round Joliff and Patricia, congratulating them noisily. Congratulate you, Mr. Joliff. You're a lucky man, sir. Titus aside to Joliff. You've taken the doctor's advice, then, lucky devil. Gorge and Buzzard resume their places behind table as before. Titus goes up left centre. A bell rings off right. What's that? The post I fancy with the London papers. She bustles off right. McCafferty crosses to Joliff. Ah, my boy! It's not a penniless bride ye take to your heart. For I've made up my mind to settle upon my daughter the sum of what's the amount of your bill. Takes bill from under Joliff's arm. Total, one hundred sixty-eight pounds, five, ten. That's the exact amount I mean to settle on my daughter. So to the devil with the bill? Throwing away bill and grasping Joliff's hand. Consider you've got the money. Heaven prosper you. Music. Patricia enters with six London papers. The London papers. McCafferty takes three, throws one to Gorge, one to Titus, who has dropped into jail left, and sits left centre keeping remaining one. Patricia gives one to Buzzard and one to Joliff. Who brings chair and sits centre, retaining one herself sitting right. They all simultaneously open the papers, turn them twice, and begin reading greedily. Music. Mysterious and melodramatic played piano. After a short pause, Joliff utters a cry of horror. He looks round and seeing that no one is looking at him. Reads. Ah! Looking round, reading. Two hundred pound reward. Absconded about six weeks ago. Montague, Joliff. Fair, slim. About five feet ten inches in height. The above reward will be paid on application to Monsieur's crew and patchett solicitors. Graze in. Montague, Joliff. That's my name. Fair. I'm fair. Slim. I am slim. Five feet ten inches in height. That's my measure. I'm a criminal. I'm a criminal. They all look up from their papers in astonishment. What's the matter? What's the matter? What's the matter? What's the matter? Music quickens. Beginning with Patricia, Joliff goes from one to the other, snatching the newspapers. Don't read the papers. Don't read the papers. Don't read the papers. All rise in confusion. Joliff sinks into chair-centre with newspapers under his arm. Music swells loudly as curtain falls. Quick curtain. End of Act One. Act Two of Enchancery by Arthur Wing Pinero. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, auto-volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Act Two. Artificial Memory. Scene. The best room of the hotel. At back centre a large window looking out onto sky prospect with the tops of some distant trees left and right. Upstage and facing each other, doors set obliquely. Downstage right, fireplace. Before fireplace an armchair and footstool. On the armchair a loose cushion under which some newspapers are concealed. A hearth-rog to be raised showing some newspapers under it. Downstage left centre a couch. Upstage centre a large dining table laid for wedding breakfast with glass, plate, flowers etc etc. In the centre of the table a large wedding cake. Decanters of spirit etc. Seven or eight chairs ran the table. Inside door right lock and key. Outside door left lock and key practicable. Most important. Articles of furniture, pictures, portraits etc. to fill spaces. Sea plan of scene. Mendelssohn's wedding march at Rise of Curtain. McCafferty enters door right carrying two bottles of champagne. McCafferty is in resplendent attire dressed in all the colours of the rainbow and wearing a large wedding favour. He deposits the wine on the table. Ah, shoo! It's a mighty good job that my little girl's not married every day of my life. What with the wedding breakfasts, my wines and spirits to say? Ah, nothing, supplying the bridegroom with a trousseau as well as the bride. A knock at door right. Come in now. Mr. Hinksman enters carrying a glass of grog. A rather shabby-looking person with a sharp, inquiring manner. I'm afraid I'm intruding. I'll tell you that when I know who you are. My name's... Checking himself. Ah, Simpson. I arrived at Steeples in late last night having a look round on railway business. Oh, I remember you coming. McCafferty busies himself at table. Hinksman comes down right, places grog on mantelpiece. Got a wedding here today, are you? My little girl's to be sacrificed. Who's the happy man? Do you mean the be-maddening idiot she's wasted her young affections on? I mean the bridegroom. His name, bad luck to him, is Joliv. Mr. Montague Joliv. Hinksman starts. Takes out pocketbook and makes notes. Hinksman aside. That's my man. I thought I was on the right track. To McCafferty was assumed indifference. A resident here, I suppose. No, a stranger came here from the devil those were about a couple of months ago. Hinksman writing again. I've got him, I've got him. Or my name's not James Hinkman. And going to commit bigamy too, is he? Oh, this will make a pretty case this will. Pockets notebook and turns as McCafferty comes down. I should like to join the wedding party, Captain McCafferty, if you've no objection. Well, you'll join it if you pay your damage. The more, the wretcheter. Mr. Gorge and Mr. Buzzard bustle in door right, gaudily dressed and wearing wedding favours. Here we are, Captain. Here we are. Coming centre. Here you are, here you are. Do you think I can't see you? You are visible to the naked eye, I can tell you, and about an hour or two soon, both of you. Met a taste same and too light, Captain. Don't dictate to me, sore, on an anxious occasion like the present. Big pardon, Captain. May we have a peep at the bride? Well, your daughter Amelia Ann is addressing of her. Goes to door and calls. Mr. Gorge and Mr. Buzzard go up and inspect the table. Patricia. Pat, come down and show yourself if you're decent. He turns and sees Gorge and Buzzard inspecting table. Mr. Gorge, Mr. Buzzard soars. You'll not touch the meal now till the melancholy time arrives. Patricia enters door left, attended by Amelia Ann Buzzard. Miss Buzzard is dressed in a very old, made-ish style, quite a contrast to Patricia. Patricia is dressed in bridal white and orange blossoms. Here I am, Papa. Here she is, gentlemen, and it's something more than parental pride when I say, mind your eyesight. To Hinksman who is standing on Harthrog down right. Mr. Simpson, my daughter. Hinksman bows to Patricia. And seven shillens a yard is the dress she's standing in. O Pa, how can you expose me to such an ordeal? This is an unexpected pleasure, Captain McCafferty. I suppose I shall have the pleasure of making the acquaintance of Mr. Jolliff by and by. He was sitting in the passage with his head again the wall as we come along. Then why the devil didn't he bring him along with thee? You're the best man, aren't you? Fetch him here now. Certainly, Captain, certainly. Buzzard and Gorge bustle out door right. Papa, is it commie foe that we should meet? And is it commie foe, the father-in-law, should provide the bridegroom with a two-sew to say nothing of pocket money into the bargain? Buzzard and Gorge re-enter with Jolliff. Jolliff is in wedding clothes, looking exceedingly anxious and unwell. He glances round wildly. Good evening. It's morning, you aggravating imbecile. Papa. It's evening if you haven't been to bed all night. Where's Dr. Titus? I wish to consult Dr. Titus. He'll be here by and by. What do ye require? I want a sleeping-draft. I think a little nap. Seeing Buzzard on his left. What are you when the time comes? Oh, I'm the best man. Jolliff, looking him up and down. The very best man? Buzzard nods ascent. Thank you. The arrangements are splendid. Seeing Gorge on right. You're the second best man, I suppose? Oh, yes, yes, I suppose, son. Thank you. The arrangements are magnificent. Gorge and Buzzard both go up right of table. Jolliff sees Hinksman. Ah, I beg pardon. I don't know you, do I? Mr. Simpson. Captain McCafferty has asked me to the wedding. How nice. Are there any more coming up? Coming centre aside. What am I going to do? I know I'm a criminal. But am I a married criminal? Oh, if only I could remember. He goes up to table. Takes a decanter of spirits and tries to pour some into glass. Rattling the decanter against the glass in his agitation. McCafferty taking decanter from him. No, you'll not. You'll not take the refreshment until the melancholy time arrives. Jolliff and McCafferty expostulate with each other upstage. Hinksman, down right, refers to his notebook. Hinksman, aside. That's my man, all better pony. I wish I hadn't lost that there photo of Montague Jolliff. I've wired to town for another, and must wait till it comes. But this chap answers the description. Fair, he's fair. Slim, he's slim. Five foot ten inches in height. That's about his measure. And gonna commit bigamy too, are you, Mr. Jolliff? Looking him up and down. Well, you look as if you was gonna commit everything, Mr. Jolliff. Returns notebook to pocket. Well, I don't take my eye off you till I get the other photo from town, and chance it. McCafferty coming down with Jolliff. And there you are, standing shaken like the tail of a pig. And you haven't kissed your bride on the wedding morning. Is it a behaviour? Shaking his fist at Jolliff. I wish my state of health would permit me to lose my temper, Wiggy. I was about to do it. I was about to do it. Miss Buzzard and Patricia rise. Jolliff crosses to them and distractedly embraces Miss Buzzard. Both ladies utter small screams. What are you doing? What are you doing? Hear her kissing the wrong woman. Oh, mistake. Oh, mistake. Kisses Patricia. Mr. Buzzard indignantly. Kissing my daughter, Mr. Jolliff. You forget yourself, sir. Jolliff throwing up his arms. I should think I do. Take him away. Take him away. And put him somewhere till the time comes to make him my relative. Take him away. I'd rather explain. I'd rather explain. Gorge and Buzzard take hold of him on each side, and he is borne out door right. McCafferty following, gesticulating violently. Hello. This won't do. I mustn't lose sight of my man till I get that photo from town. To the ladies. Servant, ladies. He goes out door right. Patricia rises and crosses to table, centre. I'm sure Papa's too hard to amount to queue. It's a confusing time for him. Gentlemen are getting married every day of their lives. Simpering. Not to me at any rate. At chair right. Miss Buzzard gloomily. No, not to me either. Going to window, centre. Patricia listening. What's that down below, dear? Miss Buzzard runs to window and looks out. Some arrivals from the railway station. A young lady with two servants, a man's servant and a maid. Gracious. Here's fashion. Oh, bother. I'm coming here on my marriage day. Nobody to look after the kitchen but the bride. Crossing to the door. I hope Pa will have the good sense to shut the door on him. Come along, dear, and help me put on my veil. Yes, dear, with pleasure. Patricia goes out door left, followed by Miss Buzzard. As they leave, the door right opens and Jollif re-enters stealthily, closing the door behind him. I've given my best man the slip and stole it away. If I could only reflect coherently on my position, but such a dreadful headache has come on. Crosses and sits on sofa, left centre, leaning his head on his hands. Oh, if I hadn't committed that dreadful crime, whatever it was, and knew who I was, wouldn't I make the railway company pay for this? Unperceived by Jollif, Hinksman returns quietly door right. What's my man up to now? Hiding behind window-curtains. If he'd only say or do something to identify himself, I'd whip him off to the magistrate in a jiffy. Jollif aside. If I had sufficient courage to fly, where could I find a shelter, even a cabin shelter? No, Stepleton is my only chance of safety. Nobody comes to Stepleton unless they're left there by a railway accident. If I went to some busier spot, I should be arrested for that dreadful crime I've committed. Oh, how could I have done that dreadful deed, whatever it was? I wonder whether I was a hardened criminal, or only a victim of sudden temptation. I do hope I wasn't a mean thief. I should despise myself if I'd been guilty of a nasty little paltry misdemeanor. Rising. No. I hope it was a skillful dexterous forgery, or a brilliant audacious embezzlement. Oh, fancy. I shall never be able to write my recollections. Hinksman puts his hat out from curtains. What's he muttering of air? Jollif sitting in armchair. And now, am I, or am I not, about to perpetrate a bigamy? Wiping his eyes. Poor Patricia. I shouldn't like to deceive her. She's a large-minded woman, large-minded and large-hearted. Great woman altogether. No, I don't think I can be a married man. If I'd been married, I should never have committed that dreadful crime. Unless it was for the sake of a starving wife and family. Rising quickly. No. I must risk it. I must risk it. Marriage is my only chance of self-preservation. After the ceremony, McCafferty is bound to protect his boy, his son-in-law. Oh, the difficulty I've had to conceal the offers of reward for my apprehension. At the present moment there are three weeks' daily papers concealed all over the hotel. He lifts up the cushion of the chair in which he has been sitting. Under the cushion there is a quantity of newspapers. Little does old McCafferty suspect the volcano upon which he sits. Goes to hearth-rug and gingerly lifts up the corner. A heap of newspapers is strewn under the rug. McCafferty's voice is heard without. Step this way, man, and mind the stairs. McCafferty? McCafferty is my time come. I'll go and put my head in cold water. Oh, if I could only forget to take it out again. Goes out, left door. Hinksman, coming from behind curtain. This chap's conscience is a-pricking him. So judge by his antics. Looking towards door left. He can't get out of this side of the house, but I'll keep my eye on him. I'll keep my eye on him. He goes off, door left. As he leaves, McCafferty enters, followed by Mrs. Smith, John, and Walker. Mrs. Smith is a young and pretty girl in an elegant travelling dress. Walker is a neatly attired, good-looking maid, and John a very superior, smart man-servant, tall, fair, and slim. Walker carries some handbags, and John the raps. You'll not find a better apartment in any hotel in Europe, anywhere. Thank you, this will do. I am on my way to the north and wish to break the terribly long journey by remaining here tonight. Well, you'll do as you like, but take notice that the railway train will be a paradise to what this hotel will be for the next dozen hours or more. Good gracious! What do you mean? I mean that there's a wedding going on here. A wedding? Who's wedding? The wedding of my little girl with the be-maddening idiot she's in love with. Mrs. Smith, delighted. A wedding? Oh, how romantic! Isn't it, Walker? Yes, ma'am. Mrs. Smith, turning to John with a sigh. Fancy, John. A wedding. Yes, ma'am. And it's here that the gorging will be done. So if you'll take my advice, you'll go below while there are doing it. Mrs. Smith, wrapping her hands. Oh, no! Do let me remain here and watch the festivities. Do, Mr.—Mr. O'Flaherty. McCafferty, indignantly. Captain McCafferty, madam. Captain McCafferty, do let me stay. I've never seen an Irish wedding. McCafferty, beside himself. An Irish wedding. And what's the difference between— Oh, no. None, I'm sure. None. None. Very well, then. Very well. Giving keys to Walker. Number five, number eight, and number sixteen are your rooms above. There are the keys. The locks are out of order. Muttering. A Irish wedding, indeed. To Mrs. Smith. A what name? Smith. Schmidt. Mrs. Smith. McCafferty, turning to go. Schmidt. Well, I've never seen an Italian before. Indignantly. Irish wedding, indeed. He goes out right, banging the door after him. Mrs. Smith laughs heartily. What an extraordinary person. Walker, run upstairs and see what my room is like. John shall go to the station for the luggage. Yes, ma'am. Walker places him back on sofa, and goes out, door left. Directly she has gone. Mrs. Smith and John exchange looks, then walk tiptoe. Mrs. Smith to door left, John to door right. They open the doors, then listen for a moment, then close the doors quietly, then they return quickly to centre, where Mrs. Smith throws herself into John's arms. Oh, Montague, Montague, Montague. Oh, my own dear precious little wife. Oh, Montague, when shall I be able to be my real self? Going to sofa. I long to throw off this disguise and be to the world what I really am. Mrs. Montague Jolliff, the wife of the dearest fellow in the world. Gets to John, takes his hand, and lays her head on his shoulder, then returns to sofa. Oh, Melina, darling, I too long to throw aside this wretched disguise and be myself again. Montague Jolliff, the husband of the best little wife in the world. But, darling, every newspaper, day after day contains the offer of a reward for my discovery. I know, I know. You don't think that Walker, my new maid, suspects anything? No, why should she? Oh, what a honeymoon for two young people. Sits on sofa. Fetched the luggage from the station, dear. John, with disgust. More porters. Goes to door and returns to centre. My honeymoon is made up of calling cabs, taking tickets, carrying luggage, and every menial occupation under the sun, and I'm worse off than a real servant. Oh, Montague. I am. Real servants get tips. I don't. Mrs. Smith rises and crosses, embracing him again. Well then, here's a tip for you, my poor dear martyr. Kissing him. Walker enters door left, unperceived by them. Sees them embrace and utters scream. They separate in confusion. Ah! Well, I never. Oh, dear, oh, dear, you, you, you came in without knocking. Really, ma'am, I must ask to leave you but once. In all my old families, the men's servants have always been the maid's perquisites. Be silent. This is my husband. A lady married a man. Well, what should a lady marry? I mean a servant man. No wonder I've never had any attention from him. My good woman, I am not a man's servant. I am merely assuming the character of one. And now that you are assured of that fact, you can go about your business. Mrs. Smith, going to Walker. Oh, no, Walker. Don't leave me in my great difficulties. You're a good-hearted woman, I know, and I'll confide in you. Have patience, Montague, dear. John sits in armchair, right centre. Mrs. Smith sits on cushion at his feet. Walker stands by centre, with arms folded. Walker, have you ever known anybody in chancery? Yes, ma'am, I have. My brother had a fight with a milkman. No, no, do you know what a ward is? A sick warden? John Dolefully. She takes us for a workhouse. Mrs. Smith, tenderly. It's only because we are a union. Yes, Walker, I am a sick ward. A heart-sick ward. Walker, I'm what they call a ward of court. One of the Lord Chancellor's young ladies, you know, and I dare not marry without the approval of the Vice Chancellor and the consent of my trustees, Major Gamboil and Admiral Turvey. And I have married without anybody's consent or approval at all. And, oh, Walker, they're trying to take my dear husband from me and to put him in the prison to make door mats. We're both very young and we couldn't bear it. And, oh, Walker, how would you like it yourself? Mrs. Smith bursts into tears. John soothes and embraces her. Walker, sympathetically. Well, ma'am, of course I didn't know when I saw you kissing Master. Bless him, I've often had the mind to do it myself. Walker! Well, ma'am, I didn't know that he was your dear good husband and a gentleman, and I couldn't think of leaving you. But what will you do if they catch him? Crying. And where are you off to now, ma'am? To an old hydropathic establishment in Pit Lorin, where we think no one would dream of looking for us. We tried to get there about two months ago, but we both met with a horrible shaking in a railway accident at this very junction. A shocking railway accident? We were thrown into each other's arms. Mrs. Smith to Walker. Yes, and that was not the worst of it. John to Mrs. Smith. No, dear. That was the best of it. In the collision, Mr. Jolliff lost his overcoat and his card case. That's why we have changed our name, in case the loss should put the police on his track. There. Run along downstairs, my good Walker, and see if there's any chance of our getting something to eat. Yes, ma'am, that I will. Crossing to door right. Eat. There, I feel I could swallow the Master to keep him out of sight. Walker goes out door right as Hinksman enters door left, unnoticed by John and Mrs. Smith. Hinksman aside. My man's a soaking of his head. I wonder whether there's another posting from town yet. Seeing Mrs. Smith and John. Hello. More wedding guests, I suppose. Mrs. Smith turning and seeing him. I beg your pardon. I beg yours, ma'am. I was just going downstairs too. Seeing Mrs. Smith's face, he starts back with a cry of surprise. Excuse me, ma'am. He takes out a pocketbook, and out of book a photo, which he rapidly compares with Mrs. Smith's face. Right by Jingo. Yours is too pretty a face to be mistook, even when seen in a photo. Mrs. Montague-Jolliff. I'm pleased to meet you, ma'am. Mrs. Smith and John utter a suppressed cry, but otherwise retain their composure. Mrs. Smith faintly. Who? Who are you, sir? Hinksman. Mr. James Hinksman. A private inquiry officer in connection with Scotland Yard. I'm employed by your guardians, Major Gamboil and Admiral Turvey, to discover the whereabouts of Mr. Montague-Jolliff, who is wanted for contempt for marrying a water court. John comes quickly between Mrs. Smith and Hinksman. Then let me tell you, Mr. James Hinksman, if you don't instantly quit this room, I shall take you by the scruff of the neck, and break a window with you. Hello. Who's this? Who am I? Mrs. Smith grasping the situation. Oh, that! That is John Shawley, my servant. He is a very faithful fellow, but who occasionally forgets his place. Go away, John, and don't interfere. John looks from one to the other, then retires up quickly. Mrs. Smith to Hinksman. And now, sir, what do you want with me? To bring you face to face with your husband. Your following your good gentleman to Steepleton gives me the one remaining proof I wanted, and a nice little game you caught him up to, now that you found him. He goes up to door, laughing, and calls. Here, Mr. Jolliff, Mr. Monty, you Jolliff, you're wanted. John has come down right centre, right of Mrs. Smith. John, aside to Mrs. Smith. What? Hush! Be quiet. Mr. Jolliff, you're wanted. John, aside to Mrs. Smith. What's the meaning of this? Wait and see. You're wanted. Jolliff, outside. Want me? Want me? Jolliff enters slowly, door left. His hair is lank and damp, and he is mopping his forehead with his handkerchief. Yes, I've got a pleasant little surprise for you. Surprise? Yes, here's your good lady. My what? Your wife, Mrs. Monty, you Jolliff, come all the way to Steepleton to find you. Hinksman pushes him over to Mrs. Smith, and sits on sofa, left centre, rubbing his hands triumphantly. Jolliff stands bewildered. My wife? My wife? Gazing at Mrs. Smith and advancing slowly. Mrs. Jolliff? Mrs. Smith, commanding herself. Mrs. Jolliff? My wife? Pulling himself together. Had any difficulty in finding me? Inquiringly. Maria? Hinksman, rising. Maria be blowed. Look here, Mr. Jolliff, it's no use you're trying to gammon me. You'd better look things straight in the face. My name's Hinksman, and I'm a detective. I'm after you, and you know well what for. Jolliff, make some move to Hinksman. Inquiringly. What? You've married Miss Melina Summers, a warden chancelry. Without the consent of the court, Major Gamboil and Admiral Turvey, the young lady's guardians, and that's the long and the short of it. Now then. Jolliff has been listening very attentively to every word, uttering a sigh of relief. Oh, that's what I've been up to. Sticks his fingers in his waistcoat, and walks up and down stage, beside himself with delight. Digging himself in the ribs. Heartful devil, gay dog, regular Jolliff. Digging Hinksman in the ribs. Hinksman remonstrates. They talk together. John, aside to Mrs. Smith. What does all this mean? The man's evidently an imposter who has taken your name to screen himself. Be silent. It may save us. Jolliff, to Hinksman. Then there's no forgery or embezzlement in the case. Well, not in my instructions. Jolliff, indignantly. Of course there isn't, sir. You'd better be careful what you insinuate. Turning to Mrs. Smith, who is standing right centre in wonderment. Well, Molina dear, how I have been expecting you, Molina. Jolliff holds out his arm to Molina, who shrinks back, while John utters an exclamation of indignation. Be quiet. You'll betray yourself. Jolliff, dropping his arms uneasily. Don't be annoyed, Molina. I can explain. I left you, Molina, about two months ago, wasn't it, Molina? Yes. You know it was. Goes and faces him. Yes, I know. I know it was. I tore myself from your side because I, you, we. They, you know why, Molina. Then I had a nasty accident and couldn't hold my pen. How I have missed you, Molina. Mrs. Smith, frightened, but conquering herself. In, indeed. And how are things at home, old place, looking just the same? Just the same. I'm rather curious to see how the old place is looking. I, I daresay. Well, we've got ourselves into a nice scrape, haven't we, Molina? I suppose, Major. Turning to Hinxman. Gamboil. Yes, Gamboil and Admiral. Turning to Hinxman. Turvy. Turvy, yes, our inner frightful rage. Awful. I always hated those two old boys. Old? Ain't no old. Joliff, correcting himself hastily. No, no, no. Not when I left home. Time does fly. Well, I suppose they'll drag me before the Vice Chancellor, an inarticulate old gentleman who will read me a long lecture and incarcerate me in Holloway Prison. It will be a sad trial for you, Molina. A sad... Joliff puts his arm round her. She averts her head. John utters a cry of rage and turns on Joliff, clenching his fists. Joliff, looking at John. What's the matter with that fellow? Mrs. Smith, still in Joliff's arms. Oh, it's, it's, it's John. Oh, is it? Then what is the matter with John? Oh, he's a little subject to nervous attacks, but he's a very faithful servant. Is he? It quite slipped my memory that I had engaged John. I don't like the looks of John. I didn't like the look of him when I engaged him. John advances fiercely with clenched fists. What the... John, take a month, take a month. John goes up attempting to restrain his rage. Well, Molina dear, I suppose they'll drag me away to prison. But it can't be for more than a fortnight. My previous high character will do wonders for me. Anxiously. From what you know of my past you would consider my character rather a high one, wouldn't you, Molina? From what I know of your past, yes. Yes, yes, yes. It will be a distressing scene when you leave me at the prison gates, but you must bear up for the sake of the little ones. Mrs. Smith starts from him with a cry. John threatening Johnniff and Hinksman in fits of laughter on the sofa. Oh, there are no little ones. No, no, my mistake. A little one, perhaps? Ha, ha, ha! There is no little one. I didn't know. I didn't know. Time does fly. Goes upstage nervously. John comes down to Mrs. Smith. John aside. I shall choke him in a minute. Johnniff, looking round. Well, I suppose there is nothing left for us, but to start back to town without delay. Are you ready, Molina? Are you ready? Hinksman, rising. Stop, stop, stop, Mr. Johnniff. Not so fast, if you please. There's another little matter again, you. Another little matter? Yeah, the charge of conspiring to commit a bigamess marriage with the daughter of the proprietor of this hotel. Your wife there, Molina Johnniff, being alive. Oh. Goes up and sits left of table. Mrs. Smith, with assumed indignation. Oh. I suppose you don't know all your husband's little capabilities, Mrs. Johnniff? With enjoyment. This is his wedding morning. Wedding morning number two. Looking at watch. It's almost time to set off to the church. Pointing to table. Look at the cake and… Pointing to the wedding favour in Johnniff's coat. Look at Mr. Johnniff's wedding favour. Johnniff hastily drags the favour from his coat and crams it into his pocket. It's all a mistake. It's all a mistake. I can explain. I have had an accident. My recollection is impaired. And when I became engaged to Miss McCafferty, I had entirely forgotten the circumstances of my marriage to this lady. What? Tell that to the marines. I shall be happy to do so. You'll tell it to the nearest local magistrate first for arm-a-gun and lodging information against you. But I protest. Do you? Well, you are green. I may be for all I know. I may be green or brown or Jones or Robinson. Mrs. Smith, eagerly to Hinksman. Sir, is there any necessity for me and my servants to remain one moment longer in Steepleton? Well, I must prove your marriage, ma'am, either by your word or a copy of your marriage certificate. My marriage certificate. Yes, ma'am. Mrs. Smith, pointing to handbag on sofa. Pleased to pass me my bag. Yes, ma'am, certainly. Hinksman picks up bag and is about to pass it to Mrs. Smith when Joliff snatches it from him. I'll pass my wife's bag. Looking at bag, a pretty little satchel. Doubtless a little present from me. John comes in between Mrs. Smith and Joliff and snatches the bag from Joliff. John handing bag to Mrs. Smith. I'll pass the bag. Joliff to John, turning him round. I've given you your month. I've given you your month. Joliff and John go upstage, one on each side of the table gesticulating and talking violently. Mrs. Smith takes certificate out of bag and handing it to Hinksman quickly. There you are. Now, may I go? Certainly, ma'am. Return certificate. Come, John. We will return to the station at once. John comes right centre. Joliff, left centre. Molina, you're a heartless creature. After the risk I've run in marrying you. Is this loving, honouring and obeying? You ought to cleave to me. John, doubling his fists. I should like to cleave to you. You've got your month. Cleave to you? When in the most cold-blooded way you forget a young wife and then snare the affections of some guileless little girl. Little girl is she. You should just see her. Mrs. Smith, very indignantly. Monster, I trust we shall never meet again. Aside to John. You are saved, dear. John and Mrs. Smith move to door right as Walker enters. Luncheon is laid in the parlour, ma'am. We shall not require it. We are leaving the hotel at once. Good gracious, what has happened? Hush, don't say anything. Molina, Molina! Oh, infamous men! Mrs. Smith goes out, followed by John and Walker. Molina, leave your address. Leave our address. About to follow them when he is pulled back by Hinksman. Calm, calm, old fella. Don't be knocked over. A year or two in prison won't hurt an old dog like you. John, if it turns on him. As you say, time does fly. Knocked over. How would you like to be torn from a young wife? The one woman in the world who shares your innermost thoughts. The one woman in the world whose heart meets to yours. The one woman in the world who knows where you live. Hinksman helps himself to a glass of whiskey. Johnliff, looking out of window. There they go. My wife and John. I don't like the look of that man's servant. He's helping my wife over a puddle. I don't like it. Hinksman, drinking. Now then, are you ready to make a complimentary call on the nearest JP? What do you mean, JP, jolly publican? Now, justice of the peace. No, sir, I'm not ready. If I get two years, how shall I know that John leaves at the end of the month? Hinksman, growing impatient. Oh, I don't know. Now, come along quietly. Oh, what a dreadful scene there will be downstairs between my best men and old McCafferty. Well, see, we're just going to set out to the church, you see. I'm your best friend. Now, are you ready? Johnliff, sinking into chair, left of table. Oh, my head's come on so bad again. As in? Looking at table. See, Champagne takes it up. Here, have a drop of this. Don't, Mr. Hinksman. Think of McCafferty. Hinksman, opening bottle. We will think of McCafferty. We'll drink his health. He fills two glasses, gives one to Johnliff, and takes the other himself. Hinksman, draining his glass at a gulp. Here's a husband to Miss McCafferty. Poor Patricia. She won't think at all highly of me. What a blow. What a blow! Hinksman, refilling his glass. Well, she wouldn't have liked to marry a married man there, would she? Draining glass. Johnliff, sipping his wine. I don't know. Patricia is a large-minded woman. Large-minded and large-hearted, great woman altogether. Hinksman, pouring himself out another glass. Little to dry this wine. Must try another. Begins opening another bottle. McCafferty will kill those best men. I do wish Patricia could have seen Melina. Melina proves what perfect taste I've got. Patricia ought to esteem it a compliment. My proposing to her when I possess such a beautiful girl in Melina. Hinksman, having opened the bottle, fills his glass and drinks. That's better, that's sweeter. Replenishes glass and lip. Johnliff, to himself. Titus is a humbug. I didn't recognize Melina at all. He said the sight of a familiar face, or sound of a familiar voice, would bring my memory back suddenly, and then— Hinksman swaying about with bottle and glass in hand. Look after yourself, old boy. Johnliff, aside. That's familiar enough, at any rate. Hinksman swaying a little, with fixed look, slowly unto himself. They may say what they like, but there's no society so instructive, or so entertaining, as the criminal classes. Pointing bottle at Johnliff. Johnliff, indignantly. Criminal classes. I believe he's getting intoxicated. Hinksman sinks back into chair, right of table. Getting? He's got. Hinksman muttering to himself in a dreamy, drunken manner. I wish I could have forty winks before we start. Johnliff, excitedly. If I could only give him the slip and make my escape. He takes decanta and sniffs it. Whiskey, Irish. Have another drain, Mr. Hinksman? Johnliff pours champagne and whiskey into Hinksman's glass. Thanks, old fella. Drinks and coughs, smacking his lips. That's better. There's more body in that. Johnliff refills Hinksman's glass. Hinksman drinks again. More body, more head. Drink it up, Mr. Hinksman. Hinksman drinks it up, rising unsteadily. I'm going, I'm going. I'm not going to waste my time any longer. Time's money, I'm going. Falls back into chair. I'm going. Drops his head gradually on table. Going, going. Falls fast asleep. Gone. Now for it. Looking out of window. There they are still. My wife and John. I'll soon put a stop to that. Goes to door right. No, I didn't go that way. My best man in Macaferty are below. I have it. My bedroom is above this, and my Portmanteau is in there ready packed for the honeymoon. I'll lower it out of the window, and myself after it. Proudly. I shall return to Molina with everything brand new. Feeling in his pocket. Half a sarban given me by Macaferty was strict injunction not to change it. What a position. Two hundred pounds on my head and nothing in my pocket. He is going to door left when Patricia enters. Followed by Miss Buzzard. Oh, Montague, why haven't you set off for the church? The time's come, dear. You'll be late for me. I was just going to give a finishing touch to my hair. The door right opens and Macaferty enters. Followed by Titus, Gorge and Buzzard. And they are all carrying their hats and gloves. Joliff goes down right. Joliff, aside. Surrounded. Surrounded. Mary is Captain Barry. They all form up in front of where Hinxman is sitting to cover him. Hinxman falls under table. What do you mean by skulking about here when it's time to be off? I was just thinking about being off upon my soul I was. Macaferty pointing to Patricia, who is sitting left centre with Miss Buzzard. There's a dazzling sight for Hinxman on his wedding morning, with the colour of her hair just breaking through her veil, for all the world liked the sun under a cloud. The men turn to Patricia with a polite murmur of admiration. Well, Joliff, unperceived, goes hastily to door right, locks it, and slips the key in his pocket. Mr. Gorge, Titus, and Mr. Buzzard, looking at Patricia. Quite a vision! Beautiful! Salving picture! Joliff, aside. Locked. They can't follow me. Macaferty turning to Joliff. And what have you got to say to her? Joliff, down right. Oh, I'm not worthy of your daughter. She's too beautiful. Too good. Very well then. Get your hat and gloves and come with me. My hat and gloves? They're upstairs. Crossing rapidly to left. I'll fetch him. I'll fetch him. I'll fetch him. Aside. Free! Free! He goes out, door left. He closes the door sharply, and is heard to turn the key in the lock outside. What's that? What the devil are you lockin' the door for? Going to it and rattling the handle. Open it, dear me. Titus. Going to door right. Tries it. Why, this is locked too. Macaferty crossing to left centre. That locked too? Then there are some treason goin' on. Hinksman, who is under the table, is heard muttering. What's this? Where am I? Hark! Where's Joliff? Two hundred pound reward. Where's Joliff? Macaferty lifts up the tablecloth. Hinksman is discovered. Mr. Subson. Hinksman rises unsteadily. No, no, my name's Hinksman. I'm a detective. I'm after Montague Joliff. He's wanted. Wanted. Wanted. Wanted. Wanted? I should think he was. I want him. Hinksman, trying to collect his thoughts. On two charges, running away with awarding chanceery. What? What? Second, conspiring to commit a bigamous marriage with. Sees Patricia. This lady is wife being alive. He's given me the slip. Where is he? Hinksman makes a rush down right. He's stopped by Titus. We can't get out. We're on the first floor and he's locked us in. A knock is heard outside. Our clock. Joliff, outside. Gentlemen, gentlemen, can you hear me? There is a cry of rage from everybody. Patricia and Miss Buzzard cross quickly to right. All the characters form an oblique line from right to door left. Beginning with Miss Buzzard, down right. Next, Titus, Patricia, Gorge, Buzzard, Hinksman. Finishing up with McCafferty. Gentlemen, I am sorry that some unexpected complications in my domestic arrangements will prevent my fulfilling my contract with Miss McCafferty. Oh. Scorpion. I am terminating my connection with the town of Stepleton, taking with me my marriage outfit for which I will repay the captain at the earliest opportunity. Oh, oh, the scorpion. The two so I gave him. Captain McCafferty, be calm. I am now on my way to catch a train, but I will hand the keys of this room to the station master before I start. He will release you. Patricia, farewell. Captain McCafferty and gentlemen, farewell. Music. The line of characters breaks up. McCafferty throws up his arms. Hinksman goes to door left and tries to open it. The villain. The villain, I'll be the end of him. Patricia rushing to McCafferty. The shock will kill my pa. Be calm. The scoundrel can't get out of this side of the house. We'll break the door down. Come on. Captain McCafferty, think of the bullet. Bullet to be damned. It's good for me. Come on. Patricia falling back right centre. Oh pa, look. They all turn. Outside the window, a knotted sheet with large new portmanteau attached, is seen to descend. Begurra, the true so I gave him. The portmanteau disappears. Then Jolliff is seen lowering himself. Patricia sinks on her knees in the centre of the stage. McCafferty, gorge and buzzard and Hinksman with cries of execration. The music swells as the curtain falls. End of act two.