Frampington. (Starting slightly at the appellation.) It was too much. I naturally wanted to be locked up for the right thing. The truth is the Inspector thought I was drunk—probably because I was so calm. One of the constables said I—er—smelt of drink.
Mrs. R. Haslam. And did you?
Frampington. Certainly not. Beyond half-a-pint of Bordeaux at the Ritz, I assure you I had had nothing whatever.
Flora. The Ritz?
Frampington. Why not, madam?
Flora. As you say, why not!
Frampington. It was handy for Vine Street, and this being my last night of freedom, you see—— As a novelist, Mrs. Haslam, you will understand I had a natural desire to do myself well.
Mrs. R. Haslam. The only thing I understand is that you seem to have come here for the pleasure of hearing yourself talk.
Frampington. (Rising simply.) I beg your pardon. I came here to ask the Bishop to accompany me to the police-station as corroborative evidence. When your servant told me he wasn't here, the idea occurred to me that perhaps some member of your family wouldn't mind going with me—just to identify me.
Mrs. R. Haslam. Charlie, you'd better go on your way to the office.