WELLWYN. I thought I saw her last night. You can't tell me her address, I suppose?
BERTLEY. [Shaking his head.] The husband too has quite passed out of my ken. He betted on horses, you remember. I'm sometimes tempted to believe there's nothing for some of these poor folk but to pray for death.
[ANN has entered from the house. Her hair hangs from under a knitted cap. She wears a white wool jersey, and a loose silk scarf.]
BERTLEY. Ah! Ann. I was telling your father of that poor little Mrs. Megan.
ANN. Is she dead?
BERTLEY. Worse I fear. By the way—what became of her accomplice?
ANN. We haven't seen him since. [She looks searchingly at WELLWYN.] At least—have you—Daddy?
WELLWYN. [Rather hurt.] No, my dear; I have not.
BERTLEY. And the—old gentleman who drank the rum?
ANN. He got fourteen days. It was the fifth time.