Clara (aside). Why doesn’t Charles come?
Twitters (imploring). Officer, a few moments with my suffering child.
Officer. Couldn’t think of it. Get your hat.
(Enter Hunker, hastily, followed by Charles).
Hunker (recognizing Officer, aside). Thunder. There’s a copp. (Aloud, with tremor.) What’s wanted?
Officer (sententiously). Twitters.
Charles (coming forward). And this man, too—
Hunker (imploring). Shut up! I’ll fix things!
Charles. A few weeks ago he came to me and offered me a large sum for twelve pounds of arsenic—to kill rats, he said, but—
Clara (who has risen in her excitement). But, what?