TREMAYNE. What's the matter?
DEVENISH (clasping his head). Wait. Let me think. (After a pause.) Have you ever met a man called Baxter?
TREMAYNE. No.
DEVENISH. Would you like to?
TREMAYNE (grimly). Very much indeed.
DEVENISH. He's the man I told you about who's interested in Robinsons. He'll be delighted to meet you. (With a nervous laugh.) Funny thing, he's rather an authority on lions. You must show him that scar of yours; it will intrigue him immensely. (Earnestly.) Don't shake hands with him too heartily just at first; it might put him off the whole thing.
TREMAYNE. This Mr. Baxter seems to be a curious man.
DIVENISH (absently). Yes, he is rather odd. (Looking at his watch.) I wonder if I—(To TREMAYNE.) I suppose you won't be—(He stops suddenly. A slight tapping noise comes from the room where they keep umbrellas.)
TREMAYNE. What's that!
(The tapping noise is repeated, a little more loudly this time.)