MRS. S. He’s gone, and I have no longer strength even to call for help.
POS. (knocking violently at door) But I have! I’ll cry for help against any man in England! Help!
MRS. S. (rising) Ah, is that you, David?
POS. No—it’s me—Postlethwaite. Cousin Percy, open the door. (MRS. SOMERTON hastily runs and unlocks door, R. C., POSTLETHWAITE puts his head out) Is the ruffian gone?
MRS. S. Yes—yes.
POS. You’re sure of it?
MRS. S. (L.) Quite sure.
POS. (R., rushing on) Then let me get at him! Come out wherever you are, and face me like a man—come on, I say. (squaring violently) Coward! (in a tone of supreme contempt)
MRS. S. Then you have heard——
POS. Everything from that window, above that closet there, or whatever it is where I’ve been locked up for the last hour among the pickles.