BARTHWICK. [Hurrying.] Thank goodness you've come, Roper. You remember what I told you this afternoon; we've just had the detective here.
ROPER. Got the box?
BARTHWICK. Yes, yes, but look here—it was n't the charwoman at all; her drunken loafer of a husband took the things—he says that fellow there [he waves his hand at JACK, who with his shoulder raised, seems trying to ward off a blow] let him into the house last night. Can you imagine such a thing.
[Roper laughs. ]
BARTHWICK. [With excited emphasis.]. It's no laughing matter, Roper. I told you about that business of Jack's too—don't you see the brute took both the things—took that infernal purse. It'll get into the papers.
ROPER. [Raising his eyebrows.] H'm! The purse! Depravity in high life! What does your son say?
BARTHWICK. He remembers nothing. D—n! Did you ever see such a mess? It 'll get into the papers.
MRS. BARTHWICK. [With her hand across hey eyes.] Oh! it's not that——
[BARTHWICK and ROPER turn and look at her.]
BARTHWICK. It's the idea of that woman—she's just heard——