Carve. (As if dazed.) Is that the front door bell?
Pascoe. (Drily.) Quite possibly! I'll open it.
(Exit.)
(Carve, alone, makes a gesture of despair. Re-enter Pascoe with Cyrus Carve.)
Pascoe. (As they enter.) Yes, very sudden, very sudden. There were three of us—a nurse, my assistant, and myself. This is Mr. Shawn, the deceased's valet.
Cyrus. Morning. (Looks round at disorder of room contemptuously.) Pigstye!... My name is Cyrus Carve. I'm your late master's cousin and his only relative. You've possibly never heard of me.
Carve. (Curtly.) Oh yes, I have! You got up a great quarrel when you were aged twelve, you and he.
Cyrus. Your manner isn't very respectful, my friend. However you may have treated my cousin, be good enough to remember you're not my valet.
Carve. How did you get to know about it?
Cyrus. I suppose he forbade you to send for me, eh? (Pause.) Eh?