FEN. What else?
Postman’s knock.
CHARLEY. There’s the postman. Wait a bit.
He goes out R. and the voices in the other room can be distinctly heard laughing, while someone is playing a waltz tune very brilliantly.
CHARLEY comes back with a letter in his hand, closes door and music dies down.
CHARLEY. Here it is. [He opens and reads it, then throws it on the table.]
FENWICK. A bit of a blow, isn’t it?
CHARLEY. I didn’t expect it. Did you?
FENWICK. Not until last week when Morgan started making enquiries as to salaries, et cetera. Then I guessed.