(DRISCOLL raises his head and gazes fixedly toward the centre of the room.)
FENTON. Yonder, at the stairhead.
BUTLER. Aye.
(FENTON and BUTLER carry the keg to the door.)
NEWCOMBE. Not that! Not that death! No! No!
JOHN TALBOT. Be silent! And look yonder! Driscoll! Fetch the light! Newcombe! Come! You have your places, all.
DRISCOLL. But, Captain! The sixth man—where will the sixth man be standing?
(There is a blank silence, in which the men look questioningly at DRISCOLL'S rapt face and at one another.)
JOHN TALBOT. Sixth?
FENTON. What sixth?