LORD W. Not on me.
PRESS. Pity! By the way, has it occurred to you that there may be another bomb on the premises?
LORD W. Phew! I'll have a look.
[He looks at his watch, and begins hurriedly searching the bins, bending down and going on his knees. THE PRESS reverses the notebook again and sketches him.]
PRESS. [To himself] Ah! That'll do. "Lord William examines the foundations of his house."
[A voice calls "Bill!" THE PRESS snaps the note-book to, and looks up. There, where the "communication trench" runs in, stands a tall and elegant woman in the extreme of evening dress.] [With presence of mind] Lady William? You'll find Lord William —Oh! Have you a photograph of him?
LADY W. Not on me.
PRESS. [Eyeing her] Er—no—I suppose not—no. Excuse me! [He sidles past her and is gone.]
LADY W. [With lifted eyebrows] Bill!
LORD W. [Emerging, dusting his knees] Hallo, Nell! I was just making sure there wasn't another bomb.