[Leads her off left.]
ANDREWS. [At window.] This way, Mr. Grimes.
[GRIMES enters; a powerfully built, broad-shouldered man of about fifty, with a massive jaw, covered with a scrubby beard; the face of a bulldog; a grim, masterful man, who never speaks except when he has to. He enters and seats himself in a chair by the table.] Will you have a cigar? [Grimes takes a cigar, without comment, and chews on it; sits, staring in front of him.] Mr. Hegan will be here directly, Sir.
[He nods, and ANDREWS exit. GRIMES continues to chew and stare in front of him. He is not under the necessity of making superfluous motions.]
HEGAN. [Enters left.] Hello, Grimes!
GRIMES. Hello!
HEGAN. [Betraying anxiety.] Well?
GRIMES. It's done.
HEGAN. What?
GRIMES. It's done.