THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. No, Ambrose: you are indispensable. There is no one else.
THE ENVOY. Very well, then. What are you going to do?
THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. My dear Ambrose, you are the leader of the party, not I. What are you going to do?
THE ENVOY. I am going to tell the exact truth; thats what I'm going to do. Do you take me for a liar?
THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [puzzled] Oh. I beg your pardon. I understood you to say—
THE ENVOY [cutting him short] You understood me to say that I am going back to Baghdad to tell the British electorate that the oracle repeated to me, word for word, what it said to Sir Fuller Eastwind fifteen years ago. Molly and Ethel can bear me out. So must you, if you are an honest man. Come on.
He goes out, followed by his wife and daughter.
THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [left alone and shrinking into an old and desolate figure] What am I to do? I am a most perplexed and wretched man. [He falls on his knees, and stretches his hands in entreaty over the abyss]. I invoke the oracle. I cannot go back and connive at a blasphemous lie. I implore guidance.
The Pythoness walks in on the gallery behind him, and touches him on the shoulder. Her size is now natural. Her face is hidden by her hood. He flinches as if from an electric shock; turns to her; and cowers, covering his eyes in terror.
THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. No: not close to me. I'm afraid I can't bear it.