Mr. X. Oh, you devil! You’ve found my one weak point—do you want to compel me to become a murderer?
Mr. Y. You can’t do that, you wretch!
Mr. X. You see, there’s a difference between one man and another. And you know yourself that I can’t do things like you do; that’s where you have the pull over me. But just consider—supposing you make me treat you in the same way that I treated the coachman. [Lifts up his hand to deliver a blow.]
Mr. Y.[Stares insolently at MR. X.] You can’t do it— you can’t do it; just as you couldn’t find your salvation in that chest.
Mr. X. You don’t believe then that I took it out of the earth?
Mr. Y. You didn’t have the pluck. Just as you didn’t have the pluck to tell your wife that she’d married a murderer.
Mr. X. You’re a different type of man to what I am—whether you’re stronger or weaker I don’t know—more criminal or not don’t touch me. But there’s no question about your being more of an ass; because you were an ass when you wrote in somebody else’s name instead of begging, as I managed to do; you were an ass when you went and stole an idea out of my book. Couldn’t you have known that I read my books? You were an ass when you thought that you were smarter than I was and that you could lure me into being a thief; you were a fool when you thought it would adjust the balance if there were two thieves in the world instead of one, and you were most foolish of all when you labored under the delusion that I would go and build up my life’s happiness without having first made the corner-stone safe. You go and write anonymous letters to my wife that her husband is a homicide?—she knew it when we were engaged! Now take yourself off!
Mr. Y. May I go?
Mr. X. You shall go now. At once. Your things will follow you. Clear out!
[Curtain.]