Cray. Police! What d'you mean? It's duns I'm hidin' from.
Car. Duns!
Cray. It's debt—it ain't crime.
Car. Ah! not yet. Well, good-day, Mr. Crayll. I must go back to my cooking. (crosses up)
Cray. Here, hold on. Damn it, don't be in such a hurry. (crosses down C.) I want to talk to you.
Car. I have to baste the fowls.
Cray. Curse the beastly fowls. I must see you alone for half-an-hour, d'you hear?
Car. I hear.
Cray. It's infernal important. Will you meet me to-night?
Car. No.