THE FINGER OF GOD
A Play
By Percival Wilde
[The living room of Strickland's apartment. At the rear, a doorway, heavily curtained, leads into another room. At the left of the doorway, a bay window, also heavily curtained, is set into the diagonal wall. Near the center, an ornate writing desk, upon which is a telephone. At the right, the main entrance. The furnishings, in general, are luxurious and costly.
As the curtain rises Strickland, kneeling, is burning papers in a grate near the main door. Benson, his valet, is packing a suitcase which lies open on the writing desk. It is ten-thirty; a bitterly cold night in winter.]
Strickland. Benson!
Benson. Yes, sir.
Strickland. Close the window: it's cold.
Benson [goes to the window]. The window is closed, sir. It's been closed all evening.