Cantelupe, with a gesture which might be mistaken for a bow, folds himself up.
Trebell. Shall I bring you the figures on Friday ... that might save time.
Cantelupe, by taking a deeper fold in himself seems to assent.
Trebell. Will the afternoon do? Kent shall fix the hour.
Cantelupe. [With an effort.] Kent?
Trebell. My secretary.
Cantelupe. Friday. Any hour before five. I know my way.
The three phrases having meant three separate efforts, Cantelupe escapes. Wedgecroft has walked to the table, his brows a little puckered. Now Trebell notices that Kent's door is open; he goes quickly into the room and finds it empty. Then he stands for a moment irritable and undecided before returning.
Trebell. Been here long?
Wedgecroft. Five minutes ... more, I suppose.