[Down in the house there is a little noise—as it were a cloud the size of a man’s hand on the horizon—but it grows.
Toby: What’s that?
John: I don’t know.
Toby: Somebody coming up——
John: It can’t be.
[And the noise grows, as Mr. Freeman falls up the attic stairs ... there is a knocking at the door.
Good God!
[Toby leaps up; Mr. Freeman getting no answer comes in, and switches on the light.... Tableau! Mr. Freeman, John, Toby.
Mr. Freeman (after an appalling hiatus of silence, failing to cope with this new situation and throwing the scented letter on to the table): Yours.... Found it among mine.
John (rattled): Er ... thanks.... (Feebly) This is my father, my father—Miss Clyde.