DE LEVIS. [In a voice whose faint exoticism is broken by a vexed excitement] I say, I'm awfully sorry, Winsor, but I thought I'd better tell you at once. I've just had—er—rather a lot of money stolen.
WINSOR. What! [There is something of outrage in his tone and glance, as who should say: "In my house?">[ How do you mean stolen?
DE LEVIS. I put it under my pillow and went to have a bath; when I came back it was gone.
WINSOR. Good Lord! How much?
DE LEVIS. Nearly a thousand-nine hundred and seventy, I think.
WINSOR. Phew! [Again the faint tone of outrage, that a man should have so much money about him].
DE LEVIS. I sold my Rosemary filly to-day on the course to Bentman the bookie, and he paid me in notes.
WINSOR. What? That weed Dancy gave you in the Spring?
DE LEVIS. Yes. But I tried her pretty high the other day; and she's in the Cambridgeshire. I was only out of my room a quarter of an hour, and I locked my door.
WINSOR. [Again outraged] You locked—