WINSOR. Having a bath; with his room locked and the key in his pocket.
TREISURE. Thank you, sir.
DE LEVIS. [Conscious of indefinable suspicion] Damn it! What do you mean? I WAS!
TREISURE. I beg your pardon, sir.
WINSOR. [Concealing a smile] Look here, Treisure, it's infernally awkward for everybody.
TREISURE. It is, sir.
WINSOR. What do you suggest?
TREISURE. The proper thing, sir, I suppose, would be a cordon and a complete search—in our interests.
WINSOR. I entirely refuse to suspect anybody.
TREISURE. But if Mr De Levis feels otherwise, sir?