[BARTHWICK, losing his smile, has put his wine-glass down;
there is a silence—SNOW, looking from face to face, remarks]
—took him into the house and gave him whisky; and under the influence of an empty stomach the man says he took the box.
MRS. BARTHWICK. The impudent wretch!
BARTHWICK. D' you mean that he—er—intends to put this forward to-morrow?
SNOW. That'll be his line, sir; but whether he's endeavouring to shield his wife, or whether [he looks at JACK] there's something in it, will be for the magistrate to say.
MRS. BARTHWICK. [Haughtily.] Something in what? I don't understand you. As if my son would bring a man like that into the house!
BARTHWICK. [From the fireplace, with an effort to be calm.] My son can speak for himself, no doubt. Well, Jack, what do you say?
MRS. BARTHWICK. [Sharply.] What does he say? Why, of course, he says the whole story's stuff!
JACK. [Embarrassed.] Well, of course, I—of course, I don't know anything about it.
MRS. BARTHWICK. I should think not, indeed! [To Snow.] The man is an audacious ruffian!