FITZSIMMONS. Too late. It won’t save you. This club must be kept respectable. Thieves cannot be tolerated.
MAUD. [Growing alarm.] But you won’t have me arrested?
FITZSIMMONS. I certainly will.
MAUD. [Pleadingly.] Please! Please!
FITZSIMMONS. [Obdurately.] I see no reason why I should not.
MAUD. [Hurriedly, in a panic.] I’ll give you a reason—a—a good one. I—I—am not Harry Jones.
FITZSIMMONS. [Grimly.] A good reason in itself to call in the police.
MAUD. That isn’t the reason. I’m—a—Oh! I’m so ashamed.
FITZSIMMONS. [Sternly.] I should say you ought to be. [Reaches for telephone receiver.]
MAUD. [In rush of desperation.] Stop! I’m a—I’m a—a girl. There! [Sinks down in chair, burying her face in her hands.]